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bracketsoffear · 2 years ago

Note

Since my submission didn't make it I'm pasting it here because I need people to know about the trollhunters book and how fucked up their version of Gunmar is

First up he looks like this:

Titles include: Gunmar the Black, the Hungry One, He Who Sups of Blood, the Untangler of Entrails

He's a troll trying to invade the human world to "feast at will".

Him and his followers kidnap and eat humans with a preference for children (190 of them the last time he tried to take over). He's about the size of a building, his spit is boiling, he can retract his spine and he sits on a throne made from their bones. Other trolls' bodies mutate just from being in his proximity. They've rebuilt the Machine, a giant meat grinder with pipes leading directly to Gunmar's maw, which are at that point filled with 45 year old kids meat mixed with rat meat (and other body parts, there's teeth in there).

When the protagonists cut open his belly there are hundreds of tinier versions of him inside.

Some body parts of his can move despite being separated from him (like his eye) and can latch onto other living beings giving him partial control over them, also like all trolls unless his gallbladder is destroyed he can completely reform his body.

The entire book starts with a page-long paragraph on how You are Meat and the later descriptions are just as visceral:

'You are food. Those muscles you flex to walk, lift, and talk? They’re patties of meat topped with chewy tendon. That skin you’ve paid so much attention to in mirrors? It’s delicious to the right tongues, a casserole of succulent tissue. And those bones that give you the strength to forge your way in the world? They rattle between teeth as the marrow is sucked down slobbering throats. These facts are unpleasant but useful. There are things out there, you see, that don’t cower in holes to be captured by us and cooked over our fires. These things have their own ways of trapping their kills, their own fires, their own appetites.'

(Gunmar quotes)

'It is believed that Gunmar chose to center his clan in San Bernardino specifically to spite the self-satisfied pacifists who populated the local underworld. Whatever the reason, he and his minions wasted no time stealing children. One per month for the first three months. Then one per week. By the time 1969 began, several children were disappearing every week in San Bernardino, each one of them dragged screaming to a hidden underground labyrinth and caged for weeks before being grilled over an open flame and eaten.'

'The Killaheed Bridge had been the ancestral home of Gunmar the Black in the far northern region of Scotland known in Gaelic as A’ Ghàidhealtachd . It is where he murdered every blood relative, erasing his surname in favor of “the Black,” and began the Gumm-Gumm cult with himself as the principal deity.'

'It was the soggy voice of one who’d spent decades gnawing on his tongue. Gunmar the Black, the Hungry One, saw me, smelled me, wished to eat me. From somewhere within the pupil’s void I could hear the splintering whack of what I knew was his wooden arm. He was aching to add another few slash marks of conquer, and as much as he’d prefer to do it in person, he wasn’t strong enough yet, so he’d just use this handy, four-ton puppet.'

'Even without the plateau, the Hungry One would’ve outsized us all. He sat upon a throne of yellowed bones collected from the 190 kids who died during the Milk Carton Epidemic, and with long icicle teeth he gobbled at the meat that spattered across his face and chest. The “Black” of his title was metaphorical; his skin glistened a deep, blistered red. With each swallow, his limbs convulsed along several unexpected joints—two elbows to each arm, a scabby, wrinkled knee on each leg, and all of them adept at bending in any direction. His crooked spine elongated and retracted like a periscope, rifling the thick porcupine spikes that ran from the back of his head all the way down his back. Luxuriously he spread the six arms that sprouted from his sinewy chest, each of which was encumbered with seeping tumors, except for the topmost left arm, which, as promised, was a weathered block of wood marked with his numerous kills. Gunmar’s jaw dropped open to reveal the mangled tongue that he’d been chewing on in resentment for over four decades.'

'The braids of their hair were hardened by dried blood and their bodies had mutated from residing too close to Gunmar: scabs birthed extra eyes, sores sprouted extra fingers, rashes gleamed with newly grown teeth.'

'Gunmar’s humungous jaw grinded and the stake-sized teeth fought for placement. His single eye blazed as he rose from his throne. Six sausage-stained arms, including the wooden one, spread open as if preparing to greet his attacker with an embrace. The Eye of Malevolence leapt from Gunmar’s shoulder and scuttled in gleeful circles through its master’s boiling drool.'

'But the spines along Gunmar’s back sprung outward like a regiment of bayonets and I heard the excruciating sounds of several of Blinky’s tentacles being torn in half.'

'What was not expected were the dozens—no, hundreds—of tiny trolls that fell from the opened cavity. The first few thumped off Jack’s helmet, wiggling and mewling, and Jack just stood there, shocked stupid. But as they continued to pour, Jack backed away, picking the parasites off his armor and flinging them to the ground in disgust. In seconds, the little trolls were everywhere, writhing in the grass, blinking tiny new eyes at the strange world around them.'

'Each was the size of a baseball and an exact copy of Gunmar: glistening red body, six little arms, a cape of quills flexing experimentally along its back. Worse, each of the beasties appeared to grow larger with each breath, as if the smell of so much human meat were enough to fortify their young bodies. Gunmar shook his torso so that a few more babies fell to the field, and he grinned down like a proud papa.'

'Blinky was struggling to his feet to our right, but the three of us still looked pretty wretched when compared to Gunmar, who stood shivering above us as if sobbing over the destruction of his infernal litter.' (they got lawnmowered)

'Gunmar lorded above us, blood streaming from between his teeth and down a torso that, emptied of babies, flapped with loose flesh. He’d lost control and was flailing about, stamping his feet like an infant, flogging himself front and back with his double-jointed arms, quills extending and flattening with the sound of a hundred falling guillotines. He spread his limbs and swooped down at us, big as a fireworks finale.'

'Gunmar the Black had waited forty-five years, but here it was at last: the final demolishing of the trollhunters, no more difficult than a little kid’s squashing worms on the playground. Afterward, he and his kind would infest the surface of the earth, gorging themselves on the meat of man and growing fat and surly in the way of the Old World. He lifted a foot over the nearest trollhunter—me—aiming so that when my runny guts squirted out they would bleed into those of the hundreds of his slaughtered offspring.'

'Gunmar’s body swayed and his six arms tried to push his skull back together to cover the exposed brain. His manifold hands, though, became confused and tussled with one another before giving up. Then the mighty lord of the Gumm-Gumms, the Hungry One, He Who Sups of Blood, the Untangler of Entrails, Gunmar the Black wavered in place for a long moment before dropping to his back with all the ceremony of a chopped tree.'

'It took only a few slices to carve out Gunmar’s heart; the leathery, tubed organ skipped around in an attempt to dodge my blade.'

(The Machine or Meat quotes)

'We climbed over a berm of melted steel and found ourselves behind a conveyor belt, a crudely sewn patchwork of stained textiles that shuttled cargo into a large tin funnel. At the moment the belt was empty of everything except greasy stains, but nonetheless I followed the progress. The funnel fed into a thundering box the size of a treehouse, held together with railroad spikes and constructed from miscreant metals: a dented go-cart frame, a child’s red wagon, a neon sign from a strip club. Scorched wires snaked in and out, while virulent fumes poured from electrical circuits gone haywire. The box shook like a laundry machine about to explode and I could hear from inside it the whirring of saw blades and the music-box plinking of a grinder churning through gristled remains. It all led to a spout on the other end.'

'A corroded pipe held aloft by spindly stilts ran from the Machine, and from inside it I could hear the squish of pulpy matter. It stunk like death, but I leaned toward a section of pipe that had been rusted away. Inside was meat, a lumpy sausage equal parts red muscle, white bone, and gray tendon mashed together with the multicolored gristle of internal organs. The fleshy sludge slugged through the pipe in uneven spurts as the Machine shoved it along. The kaleidoscopic viscera dazed me, and so I was caught unaware when the meat squirted forward and revealed something else sunk into the ground flesh.'

'I couldn’t help but see what he wanted me to see: loose teeth, embedded in the meat, white as pearls. This made me all the sicker until the meat rolled and I saw that the teeth were tiny and pointed. “Rats!” Jack shouted. “The meat is mostly rats!” Within the threads of muscle I saw a long pink tail. “Can’t you smell it?” Jack demanded. “This meat is ancient. Left over from the last war. He’s had to cut it with animal parts to keep him strong until the Killaheed is finished. Which means your friends aren’t in there, not yet.'

'From the open end of the pipe, clods of meat plopped like wet dog food into the open mouth of Gunmar the Black.'

'Their mouths were crusted with unidentifiable slop, evidence that Gunmar had been fattening them with tasty stuffing before making sausage of them in the Machine. These children and teens hadn’t been buried, they’d been planted so that the rich dirt and underworld clay could properly season their bodies for the troll palate.'

'yummy tubes of fresh meat packed into shirts, pants, jackets, and hats.'

This book could be a Flesh Leitner

#asks #not!character propaganda #flesh poll #body horror

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poursomesunaonme · 3 years ago

Text

temptation

pairing: gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru

summary: when your men aren't as doting as usual on a night out, you decide to attract it with whatever means necessary - no matter the consequences.

wc: 5.9k

a/n: this is my (late) submission for the more the merrier collab hosted by the wonderful @sinnerofthewalls !! i've been working on this for a while and it is very very very self indulgent hehe enjoy!

cw: nsfw, minors dni (18+ only), reader's kinda a bitch and very much a brat, nonverbal communication kink, brief handy over the clothes, lots and lots of teasing, leash & collar, bondage, loooots of degradation (also names such as slut, cumslut, whore) , pet names (little girl, baby, pretty girl, darling, pretty baby), sex toy use (sybian), multiple orgasms, overstim, dumbification, brief male masturbation, oral (male receiving), handjobs, face fucking, dp (vaginal & mouth, vaginal & anal), spanking with a paddle, creampie, dacryphilia, spitting, fingering (anal during dp), face slapping (hand & cock), squirting, nipple play, brief satosugu<33 (wow this list is concerning)

the sizzling drifts up from the grill, perfectly in sync with the tension buzzing around your party of three. you’re comfortably seated between satoru and suguru, both of whom strike up an easy conversation with the chef that prepares the food for your party. neither of their attention is fixed explicitly on you, yet the slow gaze that drifts over your frame every once in a while is validating enough. you had dressed to impress, after all. if looks could kill, the plunging neckline and sky-high slit would’ve left the entire restaurant full of corpses.

satoru lets out a bright peal of laughter before resting a hand on your thigh. his fingers dig into the soft meat, giving you a gentle reassurance that you’re still his. and suguru, after his eyes flicker over to the movement, mirrors the white-haired man. you sigh, content, leaning back in the chair to watch as the flames rise off the grill.

the show distracts satoru, as does any form of entertainment. his hand tears from its grip on you as he claps in delight, the orange fire dances in his cerulean eyes. you pout, having the attention ripped off of you. but suguru, always the observant one, pets your head gently before giving you a gentle peck on the cheek.

the heat that dances under your skin isn’t elicited from the flames on the grill.

both of the men now have their attention fixed on the chef again, who goes to work masterfully crafting a delicious meal. the corners of your lips curve into a frown once more. your arms cross over your chest to effectively close yourself off from the men, who didn’t seem to pay any mind to you. but after you had put in so much effort to look so pretty for them?

from what they had said when you first stepped into the room to show them your outfit, they were barely able to leave the house without tearing your clothes off. what changed between then and now? you’re the perfect temptation for them. you don’t want to have to vy for their attention, obviously, but someone has to fawn over how delicious you look. you wouldn’t even hesitate to flaunt to the chef.

you stick your tongue in your cheek, a devious plan brewing in your mind. there’s something off about how particularly bold you’re feeling tonight, but you grow restless thinking about it. additionally, you would have wanted your actions to be subtle, but that simply isn’t a part of your nature.

it’s obvious, especially when your hands come to rest on their thighs. you keep your gaze fixed on the food smoking on the grill, all sorts of different scents coming to mix in your nose. you’re salivating, but not at the thought of sinking your teeth into the meat darkening on the grill. from the corners of your eyes, satoru and suguru flex their jaws in unison.

they think they know what’s coming, but it isn’t as simple as the usual plays for their attention. you don’t ever do these sorts of things in public, reserving them for the bedroom. but if they aren’t going to pay attention to you here, what makes you think that they would be as attentive in bed?

so you inspire them in your own dazzling way.

the fabric crinkles underneath your fingers as you slowly work your way up their thighs. the muscles tense underneath your delicate fingertips, trained to tease. you can see it in their eyes, how they want to tag team you over the flaming grill to teach you a lesson for getting them worked up in public.

and you don’t make an effort to even skim over the pulsing tents that appear on their pants. you only want to give them a taste of what could be.

their patience is quickly worked to the bone when the chef begins his signature routine, where the customers have to catch the rice balls in their mouth. satoru and suguru obviously know that you’re going to pull something. they just don’t know what.

your mouth opens just a tad, eyes flickering to meet satoru’s. your tongue flicks over your bottom lip, eyes wide and innocent as you hold the gaze. the blush on his cheeks at the lewd sight of you clashes perfectly with the harsh blue depths that pierce through you. you nod at the chef to signal that you’re ready, but you make no attempt to watch where he throws. the rice ball flies through the air, grains flying off the sides to scatter around the counter, before you tilt your head back at the last second. the chef had done his best to get the ball where it was supposed to go, but you sabotage him perfectly.

you wince slightly at the hot rice burning into your cleavage, but give an innocent “oops!” before grabbing a napkin. satoru’s eyes widen, then narrow in disapproval. your fingers scoop the food out from where it nestled in between your breasts, swiping the rest of it off your dress. with an innocent grin, you offer the ball to satoru.

“want a taste, baby?” your lower lip juts out. it drives the man crazy.

it earns you a motion you know all too well.

satoru, the muscles of his jaw flexing underneath his reddening skin, slides a finger across his right brow, signaling strike one.

with a nonchalant shrug, you pop the ball into your mouth. the chef watches not so inconspicuously, looking up from under lidded eyes as you pop each finger into your mouth to taste the seasoning that makes your taste buds tingle. both satoru and suguru notice his glances, which was exactly what you hoped would happen. you don’t care that your game will get you punished beyond belief.

which is why when the chef offers you sake from a squirting bottle, you hold direct eye contact with suguru. the pink collar that sits around your neck, resembling a simple leather choker, feels tight as you swallow slowly, ignoring the burn while the liquid drips down your throat. you watch a fire dance behind suguru’s eyes as the alcohol pours messily from the corners of your mouth.

the chef doesn’t stop, seeing as you haven’t given him the signal to do so. you can feel him watching you out of the corner of your eye, how he imagines that the flavor on your tongue would sting if he tried to taste it.

suguru sees the whole scene unfold, watching as you flaunt yourself around like a common whore, letting the other men gawk at you like they want to fuck you then and there. he wants you to know that you’re his. so he swipes a finger across his jaw.

strike two.

you signal to the chef that you’re done and pat your mouth dry with a napkin. satoru and suguru are stiff as boards, absolutely incensed at your immature antics. you can’t help but smile to yourself as you watch their jaws flex, trying to hold in outbursts.

you give the men a break through eating because, of course, they’re going to need their strength for what they’ll do to you tonight. but your plan still isn’t finished. they know that.

so, as you strike up a conversation with the chef, your hands cup their painfully hard cocks under the table. much to your amusement, you watch out of the corners of your eyes as they both run a finger down their cheek like a teardrop.

strike three.

you’re fucked.

satoru wants his way with you first.

suguru mans the wheel while satoru looms over you in the backseat. you play shy with him, folding your hands neatly in your lap, slouching forward so you don’t have to come eye to eye with him in the rearview mirror. satoru sighs.

“you were a very bad girl tonight,” he scolds, his hand sneaking under the slit of your dress to rest on your thigh. the heat from his palm burns into your skin.

“but you liked it.” once you got a taste of fighting back, it’s all you wanted to do. you bite your lip, not hiding a smile very well.

“oh, you wanna be a brat now?” a white eyebrow raises over the oceanic depths as he hooks his finger underneath your collar, jerking you up to face him. you hold in a giggle on how his eyebrows furrow, making a comical 11 in the space above the bridge of his nose.

“and what about it?” you shoot back with a grin. you know you’re flying too close to the sun, but you can only dream of what kind of punishment this will elicit from your men.

satoru sighs, releasing his hold on the collar. he turns to face suguru in the rearview. “it’s gonna be an interesting night, suguru.”

“is it?” his voice carries over from the front seat easily. you can see his eyes flash as they flicker up in the rearview mirror to watch the scene unfold. satoru’s fingers trail up the slit of your dress. you shiver as they trace over the sensitive nerves of your inner thighs.

“we’ll have to pull out the big guns.”

you know that the men had been hiding something from you recently. maybe a new toy or some such thing. they had done a good job of concealing the object itself, so you knew that something big is in your cards tonight.

“ooh, the big guns? you should get into shape, little girl.”

“and if i don’t?” you lean back against the seat, feigning boredom.

the men’s eyes met in the rearview.

“then we’ll punish you like the little brat you are.”

you knew exactly what you wanted.

your untamed attitude left you strapped to what they had referred to as the big guns: a brand new sybian. your legs fold on either side of the mount, anchored to the machine itself so that they couldn’t move. your arms move freely, however, but no amount of pushing against the restraints works. all that you can do is lean forward, bracing yourself on the front of the machine for the next orgasm.

the vibrations are some of the most powerful you’ve ever felt. they’re exacerbated by the fact that your entire weight is pressing your throbbing clit on the massager pad, the dildo sunken deep in your cunt. you can’t escape the stimulation undulating relentlessly against you, but all the writhing and squirming just amplifies it.

suguru and satoru stand above you, fisting themselves at the sight of how pathetic you are. to make matters worse, you’re a fucking mess - moaning, babbling, trembling. another orgasm tightens your core. sweat drips down your body as you brace for the unraveling of the pressure in your body.

you slump over, giving into the third climax of the night. a wailing moan escapes your lips at the pins and needles prickling over your cunt, how painful yet pleasurable the overstimulation is. your legs tremble. your toes curl.

sadly, though, you aren’t granted a reprieve - not a moment to catch your breath.

the sound of satoru clicking his teeth reaches your ears, but you don’t bother to respond. your body spasms with the aftershocks of the orgasm. sweat drips down your back and your neck, freezing on your flaming skin.

tugging on the end of your leash catches your attention, but you don’t respond to it. this, obviously, disappoints your master who holds the end of the tether. the pink leather of the collar digs into your skin as satoru pulls you up to face him. the expression on his face was enough to enlighten you on what was going to happen. you know you had been a bad girl.

bad girls get punished.

“make yourself useful, slut,” satoru commands. he and suguru take a step towards you. their muscular bodies ripple in the dim light. you try to focus on them through the warm haze that clouds your vision, but your body won’t move.

that isn’t a problem for the men.

satoru yanks on the leash harshly, snapping your head forward. you crash face first into his thigh. the cartilage of your nose stings. tears that had clung to your waterline drop down your cheeks.

a heavy weight hits your cheek once, twice, and you pull back from satoru’s muscled thigh. your mouth waters at the sight waiting for you. his pretty, curved cock shines from the covering of pre and spit, just aching for your mouth.

suddenly, you feel like you have all the energy the world can offer.

your lips touch the tip in a tender kiss. you open them to take it into your mouth. the salty sweetness of his essence bursts across your tongue. the flavor shoots through your veins. all you can think is how you want more.

you ignore the hot, stabbing sensation of the powerful vibrations against your cunt. your thighs tingle with how long they’ve been exposed to the feeling. but after your nose meets the base of satoru’s cock, you can’t feel anything else but the muscle in your mouth.

the clack clack clack of suguru’s fist on his shaft draws your gaze. your eyes travel from where he’s pleasuring himself all the way up to how his eyes train themselves on you. you want to show off, show him what he’s missing.

“there you go, pretty girl,” satoru coos, gathering up your hair and fisting it at the base of your neck. “we weren’t gonna watch you fuck yourself silly all night.”

you moan, remembering the machine wreaking havoc into your cunt. you squirm, trying to avoid the vibrations, but the restraints around your legs don’t allow for such movements. instead, you focus on keeping a steady rhythm, bobbing up and down on satoru’s fat cock.

“y’know you’re right, ‘toru,” suguru chimes in from next to you.

“why’s that?”

“because we’re gonna fuck her silly, that’s why.”

you moan around satoru’s cock before you hear suguru’s footsteps approaching. he seems a patient man, but you know him better. you suck with all your might before prying yourself off satoru’s dick. you raise your eyes expectantly to suguru, who nods.

licking a long stripe from his base to his tip, you start on suguru. finding that the rest of your body can move again, you use a hand to jack satoru off while taking suguru all the way to the back of your throat.

their conversation continues around you.

“how could i forget! we owe little cumslut the punishment of her life.” satoru’s voice is sickly sweet.

“i wonder what we could do that she wouldn’t absolutely adore,” suguru teases. your eyes roll back into your head just thinking about it. he’s absolutely right, and you know it. any punishment they give always melts into the warmest pleasure. “you know what a nasty little girl she is.”

satoru nods along. “mmhm, she is… so, so nasty. just look at how much she loves sucking cock!”

suguru pats your head to affirm your lewd skills while satoru’s cock twitches in your hand. every vein on the men’s members courses underneath your delicate touches.

“looks like she’s born to do it, eh?” satoru continues with a sneer. it does seem strangely natural, how you can take such good care of both of them at once.

“gotta thank her parents, then.”

the comment would have annoyed you if you hadn’t been distracted by satoru’s fingers tangling with your hair. he jerks you off suguru’s length and pushes you down onto his own. your palm meets suguru’s sticky shaft as you begin to bob up and down on the white-haired menace.

“well we wouldn’t want to embarrass her!” satoru sighs. you feel his eyes dig into your skull. “i’m sure they don’t know that their little baby is a cock-sucking whore.”

three powerful thrusts send his cock nosing into the back of your throat with each of the syllables. exhaustion threatens to weigh down your weary bones. your arms ache, your jaw is rightfully sore. satoru knows this. he feels it.

“maybe not.” suguru clicks his teeth.

“but we know,” satoru’s grin is audible. “and that’s all that matters. right, little girl?”

you nod, too weak to enunciate your agreement around his cock.

“fucked out already from your little ride on the sybian?” suguru teases. you move to his cock at his bidding, nodding sleepily.

“ah, well, in that case, don’t worry. i can do it myself.”

you would’ve worked him up the best you could if not for another orgasm creeping through your body at the unrelenting pulsations of the sybian. seeing as the gift puts you out of commission, however, that leaves satoru to his own devices.

his hand clutches your hair at the base of your neck, hips rocking into your face. you try to keep your mouth ajar for him, to let his whole length in. but every muscle burns, every tendon screams. the pre is musky on the back of your tongue. it drips down your throat as you try to breathe, causing you to cough on him. the odd pressure makes his cock twitch.

“look at that, she’s about to cum again.” satoru’s observation doesn’t go unnoticed by suguru. your legs tremble as the pressure threatens to burst every cell in your bloodstream.

“while i fuck her face? now that’s just deplorable. we have such a dirty little girl.”

you would’ve moaned when the bliss finally washes over you, but suguru’s cock muffles it. the only sounds that manage to escape from around his cock are ones of you hacking up the fluid that drips down the wrong pipe. it’s nearly impossible to acknowledge the overstimulating climax that wreaks havoc on your cunt.

with the flip of a switch, satoru turns the machine off. a heaving, shaking breath leaves your lungs at the relief. your inner thighs tingle with the ghostly vibrations still echoing on your skin. there’s a pool of sweat and cum underneath the machine.

suguru pulls you off his cock, watching the beads of spit connect your lips to his cock. you can barely keep your eyes open, barely focus on the lazy grin that graces his lips at the sight of you looking so fucked out, so dumb.

the two men take either side of you and untie your legs. you use their shoulders as a brace to bring yourself to stand, but your legs shake so badly that they buckle underneath your weight. they share a hearty laugh and loop your arms around their shoulders so that they can carry you to the bed.

your legs pulsate as the blood rushes through them again, pins and needles prickling every inch of skin as they situate you in a new position that’s to their liking. you don’t get a reprieve, no, not when you didn’t give it to your men the entire night at dinner.

your chest presses into the mattress before you know it, ass up and exposed to the air while satoru runs his veiny cock between your slick folds. you lay in between suguru’s legs, wincing as satoru finishes the new bondage. your arms already ache, tied at the wrists at the small of your back. loops of rope up your arms keep them in place.

you can’t help but lick your lips and the sight of geto’s pretty cock. you practically lunge at him before he puts up a hand to stop you. he reaches over and rummages around in the drawer of the nightstand.

much to your horror (and arousal), suguru dangles a paddle in front of you. a pink one, with a heart cut out in the middle to leave a mark in the innocent shape when it smacks the flesh of whatever target the wielder desires.

“listen up good now, darlin’,” he says lowly. “if you take your eyes off me or stop sucking, you’re gonna get it.”

you nod profusely, mouth practically watering at the curve of his dick. instead of letting you have it, suguru grabs your chin and jerks you up to face him.

“do you understand?”

“yes, suguru.”

your heart pounds in anticipation at the next segment of the night. the two men are going to absolutely ravage your body and you can’t fucking wait. it’s embarrassing, how hearts practically pop out of your eyes at the idea of satoru fucking you onto suguru’s cock.

you wiggle your ass back against satoru, just begging to be split open.

“someone’s needy,” satoru sings, squeezing your ass. “if you want it, you should just ask.”

“fuck me, ‘toru?” you whine, eyes still trained on suguru’s cock. a bead of pre sits upon his slit, imploring you to lick it up.

“ah, i didn’t mean ask. i meant beg. bad girls have to beg for what they want. and you’ve been a very bad girl.”

heat swims under the surface of your face as you twist your head to fix an eye upon satoru’s face. you give him the most pitiable puppy eyes, jutting out your bottom lip in a comical, embarrassing pout.

“can you please fuck me? please fuck me, ‘toru, i need you.”

“who needs me?” a shit-eating grin adorns his handsome visage. you can’t believe that you’re the same person who was teasing them all night at the restaurant. how the mighty have fallen.

“a dirty slut, ‘toru. i’m a dirty slut and i need you to fuck me.”

“that’s better, what a sweet little whore.” he pushes in, veins singeing along your velvety walls. but he doesn’t move. “now what about suguru there? he looks a little neglected.”

your needy eyes fix upon suguru’s soft smile. “can i please suck your cock, suguru? can a dirty slut like me please suck your cock?”

“of course, darling. remember your rules.”

you nod before he drops his cock, hot and heavy, on your face. you squeak at the pre splattering into your eye. it stings, but you can’t stop yourself from swiveling your head to take him in your mouth.

the taste of his pre is piquant yet sweet as it bursts across your tastebuds. you take the tip in, sucking him tenderly until your eyes roll back into your head when satoru starts moving his hips.

a sharp sting on your ass reminds you not to avert your gaze.

“so cock drunk already, then?” satoru teases, thrusting slow and deep. “have i already fucked you dumb?”

“no, dumbass, she’s always been our dumb little baby,” suguru corrects him. satoru clicks his teeth in agreement before thrusting in deeper. he keeps it at a slow pace, still.

you force your gaze back to suguru before taking him further. his smile curves up into a malicious grin as he places a hand on your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. he doesn’t move to push your head or pull it, but it’s a reminder that he could stuff the entire length down your throat at any moment.

your moans echo around your mouth, the vibrations singing around suguru’s cock. this he loves, seeing as his nerves sing with those sweet sounds. his weight is heavy on your tongue.

when satoru picks up his pace, however, it’s hard to obey the cruel rules that suguru had set. you can barely keep your lips locked around his girth, can barely keep your eyes trained on him because you lose the ability to control your body at the mercy of satoru’s movements.

one, two, three harsh collisions of the wood on your ass. you yelp, tears brimming along your waterline till a fourth sends them dripping down your face. suguru, however, is unyielding.

he ignores your overstimulated squirming at satoru’s unrelenting pace. he ignores your whimpers with each crack of the paddle. but he can’t get enough of that pretty, pitiable look on your face.

“i’m gonna keep going until you obey the rules.”

by the time your nth orgasm approaches, your entire ass is in flames, decorated with the outlines of hearts.

satoru simply adores the sight of you squirming on two cocks underneath the wood of the pink paddle, so cumming in you is basically a no-brainer for him. you squeal at the sensation of him filling you to the brim. his hands dig into the flesh of your hips, leaving pretty bruises outlined with his fingerprints. you’re his.

satoru’s cum seeps out of your cunt when he pulls out. he doesn’t fuck it back in with his fingers like he usually does, seeing as suguru is more than ready to plunge into your warmth. you can barely catch your breath before satoru takes his seat in front of you and shoves his cock in your mouth.

suguru runs his hands over your poor, sore behind as he lines himself up with your entrance. you moan around satoru’s cock with the feeling of suguru fully sheathing himself inside your pussy. unlike suguru, however, with satoru, there are no rules. it’s an all you can eat buffet. but satoru takes matters into his own hands when it comes to your punishment.

your eyes roll back into your head and your eyes can barely focus on satoru’s wicked grin. he had been reclining against the headboard, taking in the view of suguru ramming into you, forcing satoru’s cock deeper down your throat, before he leans forward to get a better view.

“look at our sweet dumb baby, suguru,” satoru marvels, taking your chin in his hand and squeezing your cheeks. “so fucked out already, hm?”

you don’t answer, just let out a whine when suguru pinches the inflamed skin your ass. the one stinging touch isn’t the last. each inch of your sore behind comes under the assault of his relentless torture while his hips relentlessly slam into yours.

“c’mon, look at me, pretty baby.” satoru’s voice is sweet as honey, but the rate at which his fingers tangle into your hair to pull you up off his cock to face him is nothing of the sort. spit beads from his length to your lips.

“you look so messy, baby. i love how dirty you get for us.’’

you don’t know what to say. your jaw aches so badly from taking each of them for so long that you can barely muster a smile. satoru doesn’t give you the time to respond, however. a crack resounds through the room when his hand collides with your cheek.

your eyes widen when you meet his gaze. the warmth already blossoms underneath the skin of your face. another sting and the other cheek matches the first.

“pretty little baby. such a dirty little girl.” satoru’s humming is a dark contrast to the harsh collisions of his hands on your skin. tears brim in your eyes at another hit, and fall down your cheeks at the next. satoru’s teeth flash in the dim light with a malicious smile.

“you cryin’?”

you nod. he rubs his hands together before leaning forward so closely that your noses almost touch. “god, i love it when you cry your little whore tears. you’re so pretty when you cry.”

he quickly closes the gap between your faces. the pink of his tongue pokes out of his mouth as it swipes across your skin to taste the wetness that falls from your eyes. the contact sends a searing heat throughout your body, further egged on by suguru adjusting just the tiniest fraction of an inch and finding that sweet spot that leaves you weak in the knees.

“that better?” satoru cooes, swiping away the rest of your tears with his thumb. “now that ‘toru’s cleaned up your sweet little tears? gonna go back to suckin’ me off like a whore now?”

you nod, tongue lolling out of your mouth. the reprieve from pleasuring him wasn’t exactly painless, but it had given you a few moments to let your jaw rest. he wraps a hand around his shaft, keeping it just out of your reach when you lunge forward to taste him. the tip collides with your face when he unceremoniously drops it onto you when you’re attempting to reposition yourself to reach him.

the condescending gaze doesn’t deter you from hollowing out your cheeks when you finally maneuver him back into your mouth.

your toes curl at the consistency in suguru’s strokes, how they become more potent as he draws near to his climax. if your mind had been muddled before, it was on the brink of imploding from existence now. you could barely keep your eyes open the more suguru’s balls collided with your swollen clit, how his veiny girth stretched out your walls a little too well.

“oi oi,” satoru smiles, grinning down at you, “there’s that look… yeah, that little dumb look on your face when you’re too fucked out to speak.”

his voice is sweet as cherry wine, so it doesn’t matter that he’s being mean as shit. you smile sweetly, corners of your mouth turning up around his girth. he absolutely loves it. you don’t even care that you’re playing along with whatever game he wants.

“there it is… how ‘bout you moan for me, pretty slut. sing for us.”

the titillating moans that pour from your lips are music to the men’s ears. suguru’s relentless hips punctuates them perfectly, those staccatoed whimpers of absolute pleasure.

satoru rips you off his cock and shoves two fingers in your mouth. he doesn’t pay attention to how far down the slender digits go down your throat. so coughing and sputtering on his fingers leads to him pulling you up off them by the hair to peer into your eyes.

“you wanted to get a rise out of us so that we would punish you like this,” he grins. he reaches behind your head, and you’re not sure about what until you feel his fingers spreading your spit around your asshole. “isn’t that right, slut?”

“that’s a pretty smart plan for a dumb baby like you,” suguru muses, pinching your ass and spreading it wide for whatever satoru has in mind that you can’t lay eyes on.

you groan as satoru slips a finger in. there’s a little too much resistance with how much space suguru’s cock takes up, and satoru feels it almost immediately. he pulls back his hand.

“spit.”

you release a glob of spit onto his palm, watching the glimmering drops adorn his lithe fingers before they disappear from view. the next sense you experience of them is the feeling of them stretching your ass. his arm is long enough to reach your rear without having to sacrifice the view of your dumb little face.

it’s absolutely perfect for him.

satoru gives a few tentative pulls of his hooked finger, relishing in how you clench around him. each time he moves, he either pulls you onto his cock or pushes you onto suguru’s. either way, you’re always going to have all your holes completely full.

it doesn’t take long before the next orgasm crashes over you. the sounds that would have poured from your mouth sputter out around satoru’s cock. however, with the added stimulation that the white-headed fiend so graciously bestowed on you, the climax comes with a surprise.

the men whistle as they watch iridescent, pearly drops of juice flow down your legs. suguru’s powerless to stop his high when he feels the warm current flow around his cock. your squirt streams with streaks of white, an ephemeral mixture of your punishment.

suguru pulls out, watching the last few drops seep out of your cunt and over the ruined sheets. at the lack of structure holding you up, you fall to the side, panting like a dog to catch your breath. however, your rest isn’t forever. satoru’s fingers tangle in your hair to pull your face to face his.

“we’re not done with you just yet, slut.”

he drops you and gets to work unbinding your arms while geto settles onto the pillows. the last orgasm renders you even weaker than the previous ones, so both of the men attempt to help you into position. your ass spreads nice and wide on suguru’s girth. your fists clench at the sheets for some semblance of balance as you accommodate his size.

suguru’s chest is warm against your back. you can feel every groove of his abdominals along your spine. his hands trail up your waist, up to toy with your nipples as satoru lines himself with your entrance.

once he pushes in and gets another taste of your cunt - this time even tighter because of suguru’s cock in your ass - he wastes no time in starting to thrust into you.

with the sudden influx of stimulation, your back arches impossibly. this movement, in turn, impales you even deeper on their cocks. suguru’s hands leave your nipples in favor of holding you upwards by the ass, while satoru’s fingers dig into your thighs. they work together to pull you up and push you down onto suguru’s cock.

and in despite of that movement, satoru keeps a steady pace of his own. the way they both independently yet somehow entrancingly move in sync within you drives you up the fucking wall.

you can barely move. you have no point of center in the tempest that is their passion.

you grip the back of suguru’s neck, tangling your fingers in his baby hairs to pull him closer in a kiss. it’s hot and messy, tongues sliding into each other’s mouths. your breath is so hot that it makes you break a sweat. each time you pull back from his kiss-bitten lips, there’s a line of spit that connects your lips.

“open up, pretty girl.”

you stick out your tongue, grinning like a child when a glob of suguru’s spit drops onto it.

“c’mere now, pretty, my turn,” satoru sings. you turn to him, your fingers dig into his shoulder for steadying. he leans down to kiss you, even slower and sloppier despite his feral thrusts, before pulling back to spit in your mouth.

sensing a pattern from within your foggy brain, you lean back to kiss suguru, but instead of just watching this time, satoru leans over to join in.

your hot breath mixes as warmth spreads to every inch of your body. everything you taste, everything you feel, it’s just them. their lips, their tongues, their teeth, it’s all just those handsome men that take care of you so well.

you smile and they know you’re theirs. their cocks throb within you, twitching needily within your walls. the pleasure of the moment washes over each and every one of your desperate bodies.

the last climax hits you the hardest out of all of them. the intensity of the bliss traversing your bloodstream threatens to knock you clean out, but you attempt to cling to consciousness to revel in feeling so full and fucked out, in the feeling of creamy cum that shoots into your warmth.

all you want is to do it all over… and over… and over again.

taggin: @bakatenshii (tysm for letting me screech abt this), @princess-jaeger (ik youve been waiting for this hehe), @ob-levi-on @pink-apples001 @missyasma @leiriswhore @putridsimp @galactict3a @magicboytrash @dassmyname

all work belongs to poursomesunaonme. do not copy and repost.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk gojo #jjk geto #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #geto x reader #geto x you #gojo x reader x geto #geto x reader x gojo #🪐beanie writes!

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swap-meetog · 3 years ago

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Grandpa always acted a little off. Even after we had to find a retirement home for him to live in after he nearly set fire to his house, he still likes to act as though he were still a much younger man. To the younger members of the family he was a huge hit, but as we got older he became harder to deal with.

We were throwing a little going away party for me. I had graduated high school two years earlier, but had initially put off college as I was really into the amateur body building circuit. I had some fun, even won one contest, but it was time to get serious and focus on my education.

Grandpa was manning the grill and asked for my help distributing the hot dogs as they finished up. Eventually only two dogs were left on the grill, one for him and one for me. When I walked up to get my plate he seemed to be chanting over the meat. He had a smile plastered across his face that made him look like a clown.

He offered me my hot dog, and grabbed his own. We bit into them at the same time, and suddenly I was staring at myself!

"Thanks gramps!" He said before taking off into the crowd.

I tried to figure out what had happened and how to adjust to this body. I was huge! I couldn't even make my hands meet under my sagging gut, and I felt like my body was falling apart. I obviously needed help, so I tried to tell my parents what happened.

My heart sank when they didn't believe a word i told them. My old body even popped up behind them and started flexing my own muscles in front of me.

My dad, or I guess my son now, suggested it was time for me to go back to the home, and started collecting his keys. They loaded me into a car and took me to my new home.

Nobody believes that I am anything other than a crazy old man. The worst part is my grandfather keeps sending me pictures of himself in the gym. He always has that insane smile. How did he do this?

#body switch #bodyswap #male body swap #request

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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

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( another gif by @unearthlydust from this beautiful set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 3/?

summary: you find out about bucky’s past, he finds out about yours.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.4k, va va voom

a/n: oh look out here comes the plot, charactization, and growth between to pals who are maybe starting to feel a little something begin to take shape. but ignore that, there’s danger afoot. no spoilers for tfatws here!

( PREVIOUS | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

“You know I have to ask these questions. It’s part of the check-in.”

“Yeah,” you fire back, flat enough to warrant Dr. Hart’s scowl to grow. You can’t see it over the phone, but you know the way her words whip around you means she’s upset, “I know.”

“If you’re not following the action plan set out by the judge,” she begins, leaning forward as her tone drops into a scalding hot sort of seriousness on the other end, “You will go to prison. You know this. So, do you want to spend ten years of your life behind bars? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? Come on.”

You can’t look up from your computer’s screen. Or maybe you can, but right now, there’s a dangerous mixture of anger and guilt and frustration boiling under your skin.

“I’m trying.”

“Trying isn’t good enough for the GRC,” Dr. Hart snaps, “You know this. They’re giving you a chance — they know you’re talented. You have the ability here to go straight, to earn a living, to finally make up for those years of blackhat work.”

“Everything I did,” you fire back, ripping your eyes up to meet Dr. Hart’s, “Was for others. I didn’t get a fucking penny.”

“You’re not Robin Hood,” she shakes her head as her tone softens, “We all make mistakes. But, everything has a consequence. You know this. And this conversation isn’t even considering the other charges.”

“You know the extortion case would never hold up in court.”

Dr. Hart sighs raggedly. “And I don’t intend on ever seeing it play out in court, because you’re going to follow the conditions of your pardon.”

“The GRC is a bunch of fascists—”

“Enough,” she snaps, “If you want to go and appeal your case with the judge, be my guest, but I can almost guarantee you’ll be perp-walked out of that Federal courtroom in cuffs.”

She’s right.

Dr. Hart is right.

Your knee is bouncing, up and down and up and down. You’re wound up around yourself, arms crossed tight, brows knotted. With a shaky exhale, you just nod. You breathe, and you remind yourself that she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s not worth it. Dipping yourself back into that world, the layer of the web beneath the surface, isn’t worth it.

The GRC is your way out.

Just be a good little girl and do as you're told.

“So, I’m going to ask you again,” Dr. Hart begins, pen clicking alive on the other end of the phone call, “...Have you engaged in any illegal activities online in the last seven days?”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Inessa Sidrova’s photo stares up at him from its place on the speckled marble counter, stacked neatly next to his notebook where her name is scrawled in chicken scratch — between two other names: Zemo and Henrikson.

His laptop, technically on loan from the FBI, sits beside both.

(When Barnes had agreed in that closed doors meeting to the conditions of his pardon, a certain FBI agent by the name of Jimmy Woo had been rather insistent that Barnes needed a personal computer in order to carry out his portion of the conditions insofar as tracking down the remaining HYDRA pawns in the States. Woo had also insisted, to the agreement of Dr. Raynor, that a personal computer would help better acclimate Barnes to the new world he’d been dropped into.

Woo was even nice enough to take an hour of his own time to show Bucky enough to get started — but was whisked away for some investigation out in New Jersey.)

Bucky rubs the cold vibranium of his left palm into his eye, then exhales long and slow.

He’s done all he can. And still, no leads on the woman.

Rounding the kitchen island, he digs his cell from his pocket. He goes back to staring at that text — the one he’d laughed out loud at the moment it lit up his phone — and he can feel that ol’ bite of anxiousness creep into his arms. His fingertips tingle.

On the television, a laugh track plays over a clip of The Three Stooges. Blue eyes flick upward, and he partially wishes a ladder would put him out of his own self-induced misery.

Outside, the antics of a Saturday night in Brooklyn roll on.

In the last few days he’s parsed through his thoughts enough to realize it’s not telling you that scares him — no, it’s telling you the truth. The whole truth. All of it. After all, the good comes with a lot of bad; the sort of bad you chain in a chest and sink in the ocean. And Bucky finds that, even still, the good is questionable at best. The good is… small. Microscopic. Completely and totally tainted by the fuckin’ decades of brainwashed, war dog bullshit.

He groans and drops his head back against the wall.

He tries, for the next twenty minutes, to formulate some sort of reply to your text message. But, half the battle is figuring out what to say, and the other half is actually typing it out. This whole flip phone purchase was really starting to sting like regret — and as much as Bucky loved technology back before the war, and all the magical possibilities it held, he can’t help but feel like an ornery old man now.

It’s the change. Steve was right. Too much change.

He can’t find the space button and he can’t figure out how to delete the random 3 he’d accidentally punched in — so, with a grumpy huff of disapproval, Bucky simply dials your number.

You pick up on the third ring.

“Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” your voice is a welcomed sound, “The History Channel is running a bunch of old war documentaries you might enjoy, grandpa.”

Bucky snorts, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. “What makes you think I’d wanna watch that shit?”

“Everyone knows that old men like two things,” your voice is light, half-distracted from the sounds of it, “World War Two, or grilling. And honestly, you don’t strike me as the grilling type.”

“I like a good burger.”

“Yeah?” you snort, and Bucky can hear you shift your phone from one ear to the other, “Is that why you called? To hint at being hungry?”

“No,” he exhales, looking out the window, “No, I was trying to reply to your text but I can’t find the fuckin’ space button. Calling is easier.”

“Oh my god—”

“Shut up,” he barks with a laugh, sitting up, “Don’t even start — are you hungry?”

“Almost always, why?”

“Got any plans tonight?”

“... You do know who you’re asking, right?”

Bucky grins, a little boyish and a little tired. “Good point. Loser.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the one calling me to hangout,” you snort, leaning to prop your feet up on your desk and lean back. Your chair wheels backwards, far enough for you to get a good look down the street. It’s a nice night, cool enough, and it seems like the whole borough is awake, “But, I’m only hanging out if you tell me what the fuck is up with court mandated therapy. I can’t wait another three days.”

Your anxiety has been pricked the last few days over it.

“... Do I get to pick the place?”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

“Great,” he exhales tightly, “I hope you’re in the mood for sushi.”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Izzy’s is busy, but there’s privacy in the bustle.

Bucky had buzzed your apartment’s ringer and you’d flown down the stairs, looking… alive. The sort of alive that was new — like a fresh bud beginning to bloom in spring. It had made him grin, and he’d watched you push a tress of hair behind your ear as you decided it was warm enough for no jacket tonight. The light of the crosswalk sign lit you up like a star.

He was sweating.

Dr. Raynor was right — that was it, of course it was — that it was getting too warm for his usual outfit. So, he’d settled on the next best thing: a sweatshirt that was big enough and black enough that he could bury himself in it. His hands are tucked neatly into the pockets.

No gloves tonight.

He feels naked.

He shoulders the door and holds it open with the toe of his boot as you duck towards the back of the restaurant. There’s a booth in the back by a large bamboo plant — you weave through the place with a new found confidence. There’s anxiousness in your shoulders but it melts when you look back at Bucky. Like a watchful guard dog, he nods.

You settle into the booth, toss your jacket in the corner, and smirk.

“I get out sometimes,” Bucky remarks before you can even say anything. He shifts in the booth and reaches up to scratch his cheek with his right hand, “Not often, but I do.”

“I didn’t say anything...”

“You were going to,” he nearly smirks back, his brows raised as he adjusts the chopsticks on the table, “I know that look.”

You snort, nudging his boot under the table. That works a huffed little laugh out the man across from you. Almost immediately you can sense anxiousness rolling off him — it’s the tightness in his mouth that gives him away, the way he’s fussing with the soy sauce dish and trying to get it to line up perfectly with the marbling on the table. Worry flashes in your eyes.

“Bucky.”

He raises his head.

“You alright?” you ask quietly.

“You have to promise not to flip out.”

Your brows knot tightly — but before you can even question what the fuck he means, he’s casually dropping his other hand onto the table.

And you almost don’t notice at first. Your brain fills the gaps in, figuring it’s his glove. But, then you blink and his hand catches the light and you realize it’s not leather. It’s glittering obsidian, garnished with gold, and it’s moving. Flexing. Seams bending and warping and there’s a gentle hum coming from the appendages and you squint because he’s tapping his fingers on the table and there’s a metallic tik-tik-tik that meets your ears.

Then, your eyes jump to his face.

He looks pained.

You’re confused.

And then you’re not.

“You’re —”

You slap a hand over your own mouth. You have to promise not to flip out. Your eyes are eighty miles wide and your jaw is falling open and you’re leaning forward, whispering in a rushed tone because what the fuck.

“You’re that Bucky?!”

Oh, you feel stupid.

The hostess appears, suddenly. You snap backwards in the booth, Bucky tucks his hand away, and you both muster forced smiles to the waitress. She’s young. Pretty. Her name-tag says Sarah.

She asks about drinks.

Bucky gets a beer.

Slowly, you knock your knuckles against the table and drop your head into your hand. The look on your face is exhausted. “Do you guys have Mai Tais?”

The answer is yes. And you’re glad. Because you’re going to fucking need it.

The two of you are quiet until the drinks come — avoiding one anothers gazes for completely different reasons. Bucky is sheepish, a bit mortified, like he always is when people recognize him. It’s why he shaved his fuckin’ head. It worked well enough but… the arm was usually a dead giveaway.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if you could shave your own head and disappear. Because there’s no easy way to explain the weird elation swirling in your chest right now.

Bucky’s first to speak. His beer is in his good hand. He inhales quickly, eyes darting to you as he leans forward and whispers incredulously. He speaks quickly and his words are pointed with an edge of curiosity.

“...What do you mean ‘that Bucky’?”

“Y’know, I knew there was a reason you acted like you needed a senior citizen discount. And you know exactly what I mean,” you rush out all while waving your Mai Tai and jabbing the side with the umbrella towards him, “Listen, this is a lot to take in, Mr. Avenger.”

“I am not an Avenger—”

“You helped reverse the Snap. You’re the Winter Soldier. That makes you an Avenger—”

Bucky’s shaking his head, eye screwed shut tightly because the sudden equation to his past self being considered a hero is like being socked in the mouth. He stutters over his words and shakes his head more vigorously, like he’s trying not to hear what you’re saying.

“I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore. And it’s not like I’m not on the fuckin’ roster, doll—”

You hold a finger up, stopping him there, and take a long sip of your sunset colored drink. You swallow. You exhale. Bucky swigs his beer.

“One, don’t call me doll,” you say curtly, then raise a second finger. You lean in and squint, “Two… Christ, the haircut really makes a big difference, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” he sighs raggedly, dismissing your scrutiny.

You puff your cheeks out and exhale. Leaning back in the booth, you try not to feel so fucking insane.

“...I can never have you over now.”

Bucky’s brows narrow quickly and his eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“I can’t have you over,” you explain slower with your eyes rooted to the soy sauce in the corner, “Because I don’t think I could ever handle you seeing my signed and framed Captain America poster from his USO tour in 1943.”

Bucky’s face is deadpan. “You’re kidding.”

“I really wish I was,” you gripe, “It’s an original.”

“...You’re a Cap girl,” he says suddenly, leaning back with this look in his eye. It’s less of a question. You can’t pin it down. It looks like he's damn near traumatized.

Bucky thinks — honestly — that this is the cherry on top. Every girl back then was a Cap girl, too. It figures, now, in this new century where he’s making new friends that… as per usual, Steve gets the cake. That fuckin’ pint sized bastard.

He’ll have to tell him about this.

You yank your eyes up to Bucky’s face. His mortification is shifting to surprise to amusement. You’re fast to sit up, mouth opening to fire a retort — but Bucky’s suddenly really enjoying the look of pure horror on your face at the insinuation. He’s smirking. Plain as day. He swigs his beer.

“No, no—” you raise a finger, “No, stop it. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird, Bucky, it’s not like I have his name tattoo’d on my ass. And I knew a girl in college who did.”

His brows rise sharply and you’re finding you’re regretting everything that’s coming out of your mouth.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you guffaw, gesturing for him to show you his hand again, “I wanna see.”

Bucky sighs and plucks his hand from his hoodie pocket.

With a sort of tenderness Bucky wasn’t prepared to handle, you take his metallic hand into your own. There’s an immediate twinge — one that’s procured by flashes of violence from years of being a walking weapon. He breathes, and he reminds himself that this arm is not the same that tethered him to HYDRA all those years ago.

This arm is his, it is not him.

The sensation is different. He isn’t used to anyone touching him like this; he’s used to the feeling of flesh on the other end of a punch, or a throat caught in his palm. Not the gentle pass of your fingers, delicate and purposeful, over his knuckles.

You turn over his hand, eyes alight with curiosity — and Bucky, desperate to stamp out the hotness growing in his gut, moves quickly to flick your nose.

“Ow—”

“Don’t stare,” he says coyly, “It’s rude.”

The waitress is back. His hand is tucked away, and you wrestle the stupid expression off your face long enough to order a plate of assorted maki rolls and some fried tofu. Bucky orders what seems like his usual — shrimp tempura and spicy tuna rolls.

The waitress, Sarah, disappears with a smile.

You’re grinning.

“So… Does this make me the sidekick?” you whisper playfully.

“Shut up,” Bucky laughs, his lips almost darting into a smile.

You cock your head, pushing your chopsticks across the table with a horribly coy look on your face. It’s comical. “...I think this makes me the sidekick.”

“It — stop it — it does not make you the sidekick,” Bucky says slowly as he sips his beer and pins you in the booth across from him, “I’m not a hero. You’d have better luck asking Cap on that one.”

You grow silent. There’s a question hanging on your tongue. You’re wrestling with yourself — Bucky can see that much. He frowns.

“Spit it out, Goose.”

You blink. “Was that a Top Gun reference?”

“You wanted to be the sidekick.”

You wave it off, blinking into your Mai Tai. Your voice is quiet. Even as you speak, there’s a hesitancy akin to walking on eggshells. “What happened to Cap? Is he… alive? He’s gone off the grid. It’s, like, this massive conspiracy theory online.”

“He’s upstate.”

You blink.

“That’s ominous.”

Bucky shrugs. “Someday I’ll take you. It’s… nice.”

You go quiet. You freeze, drink halfway to your mouth. Bucky can’t help but smirk at that. His laugh is more of a scoff than anything.

“Relax, Miss America.”

“Shut up — do you mean that?”

“What, that I think you’re in love with Captain America?”

“No, you bastard, that you’ll take me. To meet him.”

Bucky’s words are easy. They roll off his tongue without a second thought. He feels… okay. Like this part is okay. Not as bad as he thought it could be. His anxiousness isn’t as heavy now. He feels like he isn’t losing you. But then again, he hasn’t gotten to the bad part yet.

“He’s my best friend,” Bucky explains plainly, “And so are you.”

The admission is warm. As easy as breathing. Two months in the making.

“Your only friend,” you say quietly, offering the joke as a cover for the softening tone that dances over your words. It’s affection, you realize, as you mimic his shrug, “But, go on.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Bucky chirps, “But, yea, I mean it. He’d like you.”

You raise your chin, wiggling a bit in the booth. It’s pride — and as much as Bucky likes the look of it, he can’t handle the ridiculousness that comes along with it. But, it’s sort of comforting. He knows this playfulness, this easiness, it’s all because he’s him. You trust him. In.a way, it strikes Bucky with guilt. There are wall of his still built up high. Maybe they’re slowly coming down, but… he’s like a stray dog, slow to trust.

“Safe to say,” you breathe, “I have a few questions.”

“I figured as much.”

You sip your drink and swallow. You raise a hand. “But — I wanna know the boundaries. I don’t want to… I don’t want to pry about shit I have no business knowing, alright? It’s your life and even if we are friends, I don’t need to know everything.”

The relief is almost immediate. He thumbs the label of his beer.

“Ask anything. But I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you the answers.”

“And I’ll leave it at that,” you say sternly, propping your elbow up on the table and offering your pinky finger, “Until you want to talk about it. Promise.”

He crooks his pinky in yours, squeezing gently. You smile.

Sarah comes back with the food, and then Bucky offers his usual half-exhausted, half-amused smirk.

“You get three questions now. Then, we shut up and eat.”

You fold your hands neatly over themselves, eyeing your food as you try your best to sort out what questions come up with the most urgency. There’s… a lot. I mean, everyone knew about the Avengers — and everyone had their opinions. The Sokovia Accords, Lagos, the Blip… and SHIELD. Years of bullshit culminating around those who were considered the heroes. The kickback usually ended up on everyday citizens like you. After the initial amazement, the reality of it all set in.

But, to Bucky’s point, he wasn’t really an Avenger.

Nowadays, there really wasn’t a team at all. No up-state compound, no leader, no Stark and no Rogers.

You’re sure the GRC will try — that the military will try. Morale and hope and blah, blah, blah.

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

It’s quick. “One hundred and six.”

“How’d they keep you alive that long?”

There’s a wince that flashes across his face like he’s been stabbed with a white hot poker in the ribs. You see a twitch of irritation bubble across his lips. Not with you. No, it’s that this question is still hard for him to answer. Bucky exhales sharply.

“Next question.”

You feel a pang of guilt flare in your chest. You move along.

“Who kept you alive that long?”

“The Russians. HYDRA, if you wanna get specific.”

You exhale and settle on the fact you now have more questions than answers. But, you nod and snatch up your chopsticks. Enough of the twenty questions game.

In all honesty, it’s not like Bucky’s existence was common knowledge. The Winter Soldier was known mostly, sure, to those who had floated in the same circles as him when he was nothing but a rabid cur on a choke chain. He can’t help but be a bit thankful for the minor erasure of his new self — sure, in the eyes of the U.S. government he was a high-level threat to be reintegrated as soon as possible and surveyed at all times. But, to the average New Yorker, he was just another person. Everyone was so used to seeing the heroes in their costumes with their bigger than life personas and…

Bucky was just Bucky.

Even he didn’t really know who that was. He was starting to.

His pardon had come with some flak from some of the more political news outlets but… somehow, the details of the Winter Soldier’s exact crimes were being kept silent. Probably to avoid panic. And, even then, the connection between the newly alive James Buchanan Barnes and The Winter Soldier hadn’t been made yet in the public eye. He was glad.

The haircut definitely helped.

It’s like he was a walking classified redaction.

Bucky has a sushi roll in his mouth when he finally speaks. “For such a Captain American fan, I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me.”

“Oh, you’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” you say as you chew, covering your mouth. You swallow and waggle your chopsticks at him, “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve… y’know, had my Avengers phase. That was years ago. It was at its peak when I worked for SHIELD. And besides, you’re kinda new to the whole superhero scene.”

Bucky frowns. “You worked for SHIELD...?”

“For a year,” you say tightly, “Back before the collapse.”

“Only a year?”

“It was for my graduate program,” you wave it off, “I won out on the most competitive internship NYU had to offer. I was working within their cybersecurity division. I will say I spent more time trying to sort of email phishing scams than anything else, though. I’m sure they saw my record and wanted to keep me away from the juicy stuff.”

Bucky squints.

You offer a sheepish shrug.

“I got into trouble when I was younger,” you sip your drink and sigh, “I always liked computers. I used to spend all my time on forum sites just… reading and talking to people and figuring out how these sites actually worked, so learning how to write my own code was just the next step. When I was fifteen, I learned how to tap phones. At sixteen, I was hijacking my neighbor’s internet conenctions and remotely controlling his laptop.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Yea, well, he was a sitting Senator who was having an affair with the nanny,” you mutter, “And I was stupid enough to try and blackmail him for cash. I wish I could say I learned my lesson.”

Bucky exhales long and hard at that, like he knows where that snap of misguided judgement goes. It’s not like he’s passing judgement onto you, but… like he knows the feeling. And you manage to not feel so small, then — telling him this is easy. It’s not your favorite part of your life by any means, but Bucky is listening. Really listening.

He fiddles with the paper wrapper of the chopsticks.

“So, less a Goose and more a Kevin Poulsen type, huh?”

You snort. “For an old man, I’m surprised you know who that is. But, I wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at seventeen. I was too busy doing community service.”

“HYDRA had their eyes on him in the 90s,” Bucky mumbles through a bite of spicy tuna, the memory popping into his mind and flying out before he can stop it, “I remember… I thought his username was stupid.”

“Oh, you didn’t like Dark Dante?”

“Like I said,” Bucky chortles, “Stupid.”

“You wouldn’t have liked mine, then,” you smirk lightly, “It’s worse.”

Bucky raises his brows, somehow doubting that entirely. “Really?”

“...I was hackrabb1t for a long time. Y’know, with a ‘one’ for the ‘i’,” you cringe, “People kept thinking I was a furry.”

There’s a pause. Bucky’s face is set in an unreadable emotion. It’s confusion mixed with amusement mixed with… something else. When he speaks, he clears his throat and tilts his head.

“It’s clever. But,” a pause, “What is a furry? I’ve been seeing that word all over PlentyOfFish.”

Your jaw flies open. You raise your hands as your head reels around. Bucky has a look on his face like he knows, he knows he shouldn’t have asked and he definitely shouldn’t have given you enough context to know where he’s seen that phrase before, because now you’re looking at him like he has seventeen heads and they’re all on fire.

“Y’know what, nevermind—”

“—Oh, no, no, there’s way too much to unpack here,” you lean forward, “You’re on PlentyOfFish?”

“ChristianMingle wasn’t really my speed — stop laughing.”

“Shut up — stop it, stop — this is too much,” you say with a high voice, “If you get catfished, I’m not helping you track the person down…”

“—What the hell is a catfish?” he nearly cries, raising both hands in a desperate shrug, “I don’t even know what any of these words mean.”

“Oh, you sweet, naive, innocent, man—”

“No, no, no, no,” he chirps, raising a finger with a deadly look of seriousness on his face, “No, I am not naive or sweet or any of the above. I’ll take ‘cute’, sure, but none a’ those.”

“Is that what the furries call you on PlentyOfFish? Cute?”

He drops his head back against the booth and stares at the ceiling.

“Our friendship was a mistake, rabbit.”

You choke out a laugh. “Shut up, you walking claw machine.”

You’re both laughing now — quieter but sustained and everytime you think you’ve calmed down enough to sip your Mai Tai, you just have to look at the distraught, scruffy man across from you to break into another fit of muffled laughter. Finally, after what feels like forever, you both manage to calm down enough to finish the plates in front of you.

There’s a warmth that’s settled in Bucky’s chest — it’s eaten away at the usual jitter in his legs, the anxious twitch of his fingers. It’s a different emotion. Acceptance, maybe. Comfort. Affection.

Then, while you’re piling the last bit of sushi rice into your mouth when your phone, set on the side of the table, begins to go off. It hums erratically, dancing in a circle, and all you do is stare at the name flashing across the screen. You’re smiling, hugging her. It’s from Jaimie’s wedding — out in some big, wide open orchard with the sun setting behind you. The picture there is old; you were both different people then.

Before… everything.

MOM Morristown, NJ

You scowl and stare.

Bucky blinks.

“You gonna get that?”

Quickly, you snap out of it. You reach and silence the buzzing with two quick taps. Quietly, you offer up a somber sigh.

“I never do.”

Bucky frowns again, this time with a worried look that digs deep into his eyebrows. You ignore it on purpose, pushing your plate away and leaning back in the booth. He knows what you’re doing — you’re avoiding his gaze, and therefore his own questions.

“Rabbit.”

“Oh, is that my new nickname, then?”

“It fits,” he chirps before crossing his arms, strategically hiding his metallic hand, “What’s up?”

You grow quiet — then it spills out.

“I can’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

You chew your lip. You bite your tongue and you hold back on the finer points of your anger — ones dredged up by the still present sting of your check-in with Dr. Hart this afternoon.

Here it comes.

“As a part of my pardon, I was ordered no-contact with my family,” you exhale, controlling the level of your voice, reciting the court papers you’d read over and over and over, “It was deemed that further contact would impact my progress towards reformed behavior and judgment.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide. His jaw is tight.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘pardon’?”

It’s your turn to cross your arms now, to ignore the sting of his look. It’s the kind that screams disappointment more than anything. You hate that you’re getting it from Bucky of all people.

“Like I said, I didn’t learn my lesson when I was a kid,” you shirk, “Last year I was arrested on a number of counts — I’d been evading the FBI, CIA, all of them, for years. I was doing it all for people like me. The ones who got left behind.”

Bucky’s tone is flat. It’s serious. His next sentence is less of a question, more of an order. The cadence is rhythmic and it reminds you of your brother the night he found out about the first time you’d been arrested; you decide, then, that Jaimie and Bucky would have gotten along.

“What did you do?”

“Whatever I could,” you wave your hands, “Identity theft, falsified documents, insurance fraud. Anything. There were people, like me, that in a blink, lost everything. Accidents, deaths, evictions and no one did anything for us. The insurance agencies wouldn’t cover damages related to The Snap. Life insurance policies, social security… It all got snatched up by people at the top while the system collapsed around us. I had to pay for my brother’s funeral out of pocket. And there were hundreds of thousands of people just like me, just trying to get by. And everything failed us.”

Bucky is stuck in silence. It’s like mud, dragging him to the bottom of a pond — the sort that’s dredged with misery. In an instant, his veins are on fire with an anger he hadn’t felt in a while. It manifests itself in the tightening of his jaw. He rubs his face and props his elbows up on the table.

“Why won’t they let you see your family?”

You fiddle with your napkin.

“My brother… His wife was on maternity leave when she disappeared in the Blip,” you mutter, “She came back to no job, a dead husband, and no home. Their apartment complex had been abandoned. She’s trying her best to make ends meet. She lives with my Mom in our old home. Neither of them can find work. They… The court thought that I’d be influenced to do something if I was around them.”

“What, like help?”

“They see me as a criminal,” you manage, “But I’m useful, so they’re keeping me around.”

Silence falls between the two of you once more — and the sad look on your face makes Bucky’s chest tight. He can see anxiety beginning to spill over; you’re wringing the napkin, fiddling with the edges. Suddenly, Bucky realizes you’re feeling exactly how he was an hour or so ago.

Your voice is soft. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.”

“Looks like we’re two birds of a feather,” he says, knocking the toe of your sneaker with his boot, “Listen, we all do stupid shit. I’ve got a lot worse weighing me down. I get it.”

You look up, sadness glistening in your expression like sun off a lake. It’s harsh. He wants to look away.

He doesn’t.

“... So, that means you’re good with computers?”

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

That’s how you find yourself in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment at almost midnight, wandering behind him in the long halls and watching curiously as he digs his key from his pocket and shoulders the door open.

It’s a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a kitchenette and that’s really it.

For its size, it’s hardly lived in.

You suppose it makes sense — Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal belongings, and with the hints he’d dropped about his life before The Blip, you were beginning to understand that he may have never really had that much to begin with.

There’s a blanket on the floor by the television and a single couch pillow. It’s tucked in the corner, behind a small sofa. There’s a chair in the living room, one from an old dining set. At the kitchen counter, there’s a stack of papers and a single laptop. Even though all the kitchen’s wares are older models, the bones of the apartment are good. Bare, but good.

You stop in the doorway to the bedroom and stare at the untouched bed. The sheets are tucked tightly in the corners — there’s something militaristic about it. Across the hall is the bathroom. It’s small. You can see a few amenities scattered across the sink’s top.

Being in here feels something like an open wound.

It was lonely. Quiet. Cold.

“We need to make a trip to HomeGoods,” you mumble as Bucky flicks on the lights, “I get the whole minimalist thing, but sheesh.”

“I don’t have a lot,” he says, kicking off his boots by the door and shrugging off his jacket, “And I don’t need a lot either.”

You watch as his shoulders sag a bit, like he can finally let down his guard just a little in his own space. It’s endearing. You perch yourself up on the kitchen counter as your eyes follow him; he moves to fling open a cabinet and grabs a mug. Then, he hesitates.

“You want tea?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Tea?”

“Dr. Raynor said,” Bucky reaches for a container of tea bags from the top shelf. His henley lifts enough to flash a bit of skin along his lower back and you swear you see a scar, “It would help with my anxiety.”

You swing your legs a little. “Then sure.”

“You can use my Captain America mug,” he chirps, laughing a little to himself, “Seeing as you’re such a big fan…”

“God, I regret even saying anything to you,” you spit as you hop down and lean around him to get a look at the mug, “Did you seriously buy that?”

“It was a gift.”

“Bullshit.”

Bucky snorts as you shake your head and wander backwards, eyeing the rest of his apartment with a bit of astonishment. It’s really nothing impressive — but, you suppose it makes sense. Whatever meager disbursement that the government was willing to give Bucky for his efforts in fixing the Snap was better than nothing.

Your gaze hangs on the blanket in the corner.

He watches you; and he notes the sore sadness that dissolves your posture at the sight of the nest in the corner. A bit of shame colors his cheeks as he heats up the water. When Bucky speaks, it’s slow.

“The bed was too soft. I couldn’t sleep on it,” he shifts from foot to foot and focuses on taking the tea bags out and methodically wrapping the strings around the handles, “Dr. Raynor said that’s a typical thing for soldiers to experience when they come home from war.”

You’re quiet for a while after that, only speaking when he rounds the counter with your tea. He offers it up with a tilt of the head.

“You never got to come home, though, right?”

“No,” comes the short reply as you both watch the lights outside the window, “No, I didn’t. Not until now.”

You nudge his arm with yours. You lean a bit. Bucky leans back.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he manages after a sigh and sip of the tea, “I can’t just feel sorry for myself anymore. I’m trying to fix the wrongs I did — and that’s why I need your help.”

You quirk a brow. He reaches around you and grabs the stack of papers on the counter. With a steady grip, Bucky presents the photo of a woman who looks strikingly familiar. You can’t place her face, but there’s something about her that feels like a slap across the cheek. She’s young here, in a faded photo with tattered edges. Beside her is a man who is laughing. The photo is candid, and they’re both beautiful. They’re both wearing a uniform — but you can’t place the era or location.

You turn to Bucky for answers.

“Back in the 70s, at the height of the Cold War, HYDRA was working in tandem with the Russians to spy on American forces,” he offers easily, staring out the window, “The American HYDRA cell hadn’t yet been planted. This man, Andrei Kuznetzov, was a spy. He was feeding the Americans information on the Russian nuclear program. His wife, the one in the photo, was ordered to kill him. She refused.”

Bucky’s fingers twitch.

His words are soaked through with pain.

“I,” he continues, “killed him.”

You hold your breath. Then you spare him a mournful look.

“Inessa Sidrova went on to help form the same HYDRA cell that ended up taking over SHIELD here in America,” Bucky mumbles, “She’s dangerous. There’s others like her, ones who I helped create, all over the world. But, she’s my top priority. I just haven’t had much luck tracking her down.”

“That’s why you need my help.”

“I’m 106 years old,” Bucky deadpans, “The microfiches at the library were getting a little tedious.”

“But,” you chirp with a sly smirk, “You figured out how to set up a PlentyOfFish account?”

He shoulders you again as you sip your tea and laugh.

“Shoulda never said anything,” Bucky grumbles, “Dr. Raynor thought it was a good idea. Y’know, to get back out in the world.”

“I can promise you,” you say with a stern shake of the head, “The metal arm will get you plenty of chicks and dudes in due time.”

“Good to know,” Bucky replies as his words lilt with a playful sort of questioning that you purposefully ignore. You’re not feeding his ego today. Maybe tomorrow, after you take a crack at figuring out where this woman is.

It’s going to be a long night.

#vacant mirrors #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier imagine #tfatws imagine #bucky barnes #marvel imagine #bucky x reader

1K notes · View notes

awakeshedreams · 3 years ago

Text

sugar and spice ( 2 )

pairing : resident bad boy!jjk x model student!reader

setting : highschool!au x stepbrother!au

summary :

a messy highschool!au x stepbrother!au where model student reader who has quite a few dirty little secrets sees her world take an unexpected turn when her mother comes home one day with an engagement announcement, to the father of none other than the school’s resident bad boy…. Jeon Jungkook.

genre : smut, for laughs, kinda pornish, slow burn with collosaly overwhelming sexual tension

rating: soft m ( for now ) due to adult content

warnings : unconventional relationship of sexual nature, tropes and clichès, teenagers partaking in porn-esque activities, made up things with made up people happening in a made up world, don’t like don’t read XD

wordcount : 3k

a/n: honestly overwhelming response for the first part. thank you so much 💜💜💜😳

here's the second.

somehow, this took up a new genre for itself while editing and became sort of a bit enemies to friends to partners in sin.

that is to say, I have a template for this but this could go any ( dirty ) way.

let me know if you like this and are curious to know how things play out.

also, spot the cameo. it's so dumb but still. I couldn't think of anything else.

enjoy.

1 2

Paranoia was an old friend of yours.

Very real, very scary and not very nice to you, your peace of mind or your tested soul.

In your head, you already played out a million different ways the image you’d spent years building could come falling apart.

All because of him. Jeon Jungkook.

Though much to your surprise and fortune- he didn’t tell anyone.

You spent the entire weekend fretting over nothing.

It was almost like none of it ever happened.

Like your parents weren't about to tie the knot soon. Like you weren’t about to become step siblings.

Like he didn't walk in on his said step sister to be masturbating in front of a camera.

In the aftermath of that inexplicably humiliating incident, you had to make up some dumb excuse to satiate your viewers for ending the stream so abruptly.

It was your cat they heard speaking, you told them.

Cats don’t speak of course, certainly not in a deep baritone. But they were effectively distracted by the string of full nudes you posted soon after that.

Those few accusatory comments saying that you did have a boyfriend after all were buried by those coming from very horny people who were over the moon about the little apology gift.

That was out of the way, but you had a more pressing matter at hand.

That night, Jungkook had walked out after saying what he had to say without another word, leaving you feeling stunned and oddly cold.

It was like all the heat in your body just ceased to exist the moment he closed the door behind him and left you there all on your own. You didn’t even get to finish but that was beside the point.

The point was, you thought that meant like with many other things, and as people should since this was a free world, he didn’t give a shit what you did with your free time or your body.

But as the days progressed, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were gravely mistaken.

Because contrary to that, he seemed to be up to something.

These days, he came around very often. Completely unprovoked and on his own accord.

It didn’t help that your mom loved having him around and feeding him.

Sometimes he was there for lunch after school. Other times he was there to fucking read the books in the study.

It was all ridiculous and quite honestly it was starting to get on your fraying nerves.

He didn’t even live there! You grumbled in pure frustration internally every time your mom asked you to add an extra plate for him on the dining table. This was your place!

Intentional or not he seemed to just love spending his time at your house for some reason.

But that just wouldn’t do.

The thing was you didn't know how to tell him you’d like to have the peace of mind he’d robbed you of by being all up in your living space every other day back.

He couldn’t just keep coming around.

Things were awkward enough without you having to see him often so already in between fleeting glimpses at school and lingering glances over the occasional dinner.

He might have been able to play it cool because it didn’t matter to him but this was a big deal for you.

He knew your secret and what else were you to do but be on edge and fidgety around him even though it seemed like he wouldn’t say a word of it?

But in the end, you couldn’t voice out your concerns. Not to him and certainly not to your mom.

So you were stuck here.

In between a massive rock and a very hard place.

Forced to endure even though you really felt like you’d been pushed past your limit.

Because he was there all the time.

For the most random reasons doing the most random things at the most random places at the most random time.

One time he had been casually listening to music while smoking by the pool and stroking the strings of his damned, matte black guitar.

You had been so stressed from all the work at school with the elections for new committee members amongst the juniors coming up so you thought to go for a swim to relax your self.

You honestly thought no one was around.

It was a Wednesday at noon so your mother was at lunch with some friends from high school. Plus, in the back of your mind, you’d reasoned that Jungkook usually only ever came over when she was around.

So you put on your best little bikini, grabbed a floatie and a soft drink and you went out.

Only to pause when you saw him sitting on one of the white lounging chairs, just looking at you with his earphones on, fingers having stilled mid strumming with a soft veil of smoke over his face.

You didn’t need to think twice to turn back.

There had been something about how his heavy lidded gaze took you in through the smoke as he did that thing where he cocked his head to the side that made you step back and quickly go back in.

You felt yourself get impossibly hotter when you realized you were probably giving him an eyeful of your poorly covered ass in motion.

You knew he was looking. You could feel his stare. Heavy. Intent. Dark. Swirling.

Like when he'd walked in on you.

You were hot and bothered the entire day.

In the end you couldn’t get anything productive done with a straight mind. And it was all his fault.

It took you about two weeks to crack.

That particular evening you were decided on telling your mom about this dilemma you were in.

Coincidentally, your mom had gone and invited him and his dad over for dinner.

Great. Just great.

You had no choice but to deeply consider the possibility of having to spill the beans another time.

Because choosing now to tell your mom meant you would probably need to tell his dad as well since they were attached at the hip every time he came over.

But no, you wouldn’t expose him in front of his father too. You weren’t cruel. Also you didn’t need the school's menace resenting you for making his strict, uptight dad turn on him.

If he didn’t have a reason to expose you before, he certainly would have one if things spiraled out that way.

So you bit your bitter tongue.

This time around, dinner was a more relaxed affair.

The weather was nice so your mom decided on a barbeque at your back yard.

This meant you wore a flowy sun dress like your mom did and he wore a loose navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up and some black casual beach shorts.

His tattoos were on full display.

You stared.

You were only distracted by them and how the patterns dance on his skin when his muscles flex as he flips whatever he is cooking on the fire because she’s never seen them in full before, you strongly reasoned.

Even with his sleeves rolled up when he was uniform, you'd only seen what he had on his forearm briefly other than the ones on the back of his hand.

That night didn’t count. It was too dim to see well. Also, that night technically didn’t exist.

Your eyes were particularly drawn to the little something peeking out the collar of his shirt.

You were too busy trying to figure out whether the curling ink around his collar bone was the flick of flames or the end of a dragon’s tail to notice that he’d lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe at the dots of sweet at his brows.

When you do, you suddenly found yourself being given an eyeful of impossibly ripped, ridged pure muscle.

You almost dropped your glass like you did your jaw.

What the holy fuck?

At that exact moment, he lifted his gaze and caught you staring.

He was probably expecting you to look away. Any decent human would expect that if they caught someone staring at them so openly. Gawking, to be completely honest.

But you didn’t. You quickly recover, pulling yourself together, and you met his gaze squarely.

You clutched the drink in your hand tight. Your pride wouldn’t let you look away.

In your own way, it was your little pay back, weak as it was.

He held your gaze with an unreadable look on his face for a moment with that signature slight tilt to his head and an added lift to his brow, before he looked away. Wordlessly, he let his shirt fall to push his hair back with his hand and went back to grilling.

You let herself breath then and tried not to think about how his biceps flexed at the motion, how his hair slicked back made him look even more dangerous and how the little smirk you caught on his lips was making you feel things she shouldn’t be.

Your mom suggested you all hang out at the pool once you were done eating.

You hadn’t been there since that day with him and quite frankly, you would rather not be.

Not with him.

You knew your mom had a swimsuit underneath her dress. She made you wear one as well.

She probably told them to come prepared for a swim too.

Just thinking about it made you short circuit.

You tore your gaze away from where he was standing with his father at the poolside, staring blankly at the surface as the older man talked to him about something.

You'd just come back from clearing the table with your mom.

When you guys got close enough, the men look your way. Jungkook’s eyes immediately landed on you. Meanwhile you just stare at your mom, trying to ignore his inexplicably fixed attention on you.

‘It’s shame we can’t swim.’

Your mother said, reaching for her boyfriend’s hand. She gave Jungkook a soft, apologetic smile.

‘Maybe once the weather is not so chilly.’ She sighed regretfully. ‘If I had known you were sensitive to the cold I would have suggested something else.’

‘It’s fine.’ Your eyes flicker to him. The smile he puts on is small and polite. ‘I’m not a very good swimmer anyway I’m afraid.’

‘Nonsense.’ She dismissed in good nature. ‘I heard you were quite the athlete in middle school. It’s all your father ever talks about sometimes. Right, honey?'

His father just grumbled.

You couldn’t hide your surprise at this revelation. You didn’t know this before.

Jungkook was quiet for a moment. Then he smiles a little with a shrug.

‘That was in the past.’

Your eyes just glided to him when he said that.

The tug at his lip looked wry and sad.

You’d never seen him like this before.

Solemn. Sombre. Not serious or intimidating or indifferent.

It felt like you were viewing him in a new light.

You settled on drinks by the pool. It was what your mom does to lighten things up.

It seemed like the gloom from earlier wasn’t all part just a part of your imagination.

Her mother suddenly chirped in between the light conversation.

'Why don't you guys get together and have a little group study?'

You suppressed the urge to groan and roll your eyes to the back of your head. You knew what she was trying to do and you wanted no part in it.

You had the words no way sitting at the tip of you tongue.

He beat you to it.

'That sounds nice,' he dared to say, even politely addressing your mom with Mrs. alongside her surname in the end uttered just the way she liked. 'I'd like that.’

You gawked at him in disbelief. Complete and utterly speechless.

Was he insane ??

'Doesn't it? Great!' Your mom is over the moon. 'Dear, take him to the study. You guys can do your teenager things and get along over books there.'

Your mom was loving and caring and she only ever wanted the best for you. You knew this.

Maybe she wanted them to get to know each other. Or maybe she just wanted to have some alone time with her man.

Either way, she practically shoved you two into the house with so much enthusiasm you wondered if she really loved you because suddenly you found yourself stuck inside your house with the last person you wanted to be with and you did not feel safe or rested.

The walk up the spirally stairs to the study had got to be one of the most intense, dragging moments of your whole life.

He remained a few steps behind you all through out the journey, following your lead in his own leisured pace.

A few steps too damn far behind in your opinion.

From that angle, you had a strong inkling that he could see your underwear from beneath your dress.

You knew this because you were familiar with what it felt like when he was staring.

What you couldn’t quite explain is why you didn't do a thing about it.

If awkward silence could manifest into a solid form for being so intense, there would have been a third occupant in the room the moment you two walked into the study.

It would’ve been so massive, all the high shelves and wooden tables lined up would have been demolished.

Jungkook remained the quiet person he was, looking around and skimming through the books on the shelves.

You were standing a safe distance away from him, absently doing the same. The books were interesting and all but you were admittedly more taken by the ink on his skin.

Up close you could clearly see the artistic patterns and symbols etched onto him.

While staring at the tats on his knuckles you couldn't help but also notice that the titles he picked up were rather complex.

Certainly not the kind of thing even high intellects reached for. Evidently, those tomes had been collecting dust in there for ages.

You were decidedly curious. Itching to ask. Hell, dying to know.

You dived before you could overthink it and find reasons not to satiate your rabid curiosity.

'You like Reader?' he paused and looked at you from the corner of his eyes. At his questioning look she gesture to the book he was holding. 'That's the third book of theirs you picked up.'

'Yeah.' he said casually, nodding a little while flipping through it. 'Their books are nice.'

A crippling lapse of silence ensues.

You tore your gaze away from his profile to stare at the titles in front of you with a burn at your cheeks, fiddling with the polished spines.

How fucking awkward. All of this.

He probably felt the same.

What were you even doing?

You thought about telling him to ignore your mom’s attempt at trying to make the two of you get along. He obviously wasn’t looking for company or a friend. Quite frankly, neither were you. Certainly not from him. You were just trying to be not rude. Something you aren’t really surprised he probably failed to understand in all honesty.

But then he spoke, dragging you out of your reverie.

'What about you?'

Your head shot up and you found that he was standing a lot closer than before, having moved to reach for yet another complicated book to idly browse through at the top shelf.

This close, you could can smell him. Soft mint and clean soap and moonlight, not smoke. He disregarded the pages in his hands to give you a side way glance.

‘What do you like?’

There was a perpetual spark swimming in the dark depth of his eyes. It was striking. Pretty even.

When he lightly raised a brow at you, your thoughts jumbled all over before it fell back into place and you realized you were staring very openly.

But this time was different from the last time. When he had been miles away, flashing you his ripped abs.

In your reverie, you hadn’t notices that he had leaned a little to meet your eyes, and that he was real close. Like real close, looking at you intently with his head cocked to the side questioningly, like he was wondering what was going on inside your head. You could feel his breath fanning your face.

Shit.

'Uh,’ you scrambled for an answer, quickly tearing your gaze away from him to appraise the bookshelf. Your face felt like it was on fire. Considering how he hadn’t moved, he could probably see just how blazed in the face you were. Out of pure instinct, you grabbed a random book and shoved it into him to make some space in between your bodies.

Maybe with a little too much force. There was a dull thump and it made you wince.

'This.’

You hated how squeaky and breathless you sounded. Like you’d just ran a marathon. Might as well have, with how hard and fast your heart was pounding.

Jungkook took it from you, and you allowed yourself to look at him as he looked the cover over, completely fine, like you hadn’t just smacked him in the chest with a book.

The corner of his lips lifted a little as he flipped it over, cocking his head the other way before he chanced you a glance, making you blink rapidly and stand on edge.

'You sure?' he asked, sounding pretty amused. You were confused for a moment until he held it up for you to see, flashing you a full on toothy grin like you’d never seen on him before. 'You like books about horse gentilia?'

The jump in your chest was something you quickly dismissed as being one of sinking dread rather than anything else.

All the color that had been congesting your face washed away.

If there was a time you truly wished the ground would swallow your entire existence whole, it would be right then and there.

word is telling me I made up the word genitilia but I’m pretty sure it’s real because it just rolls off the tongue ( smooth ) like butter like a criminal under the cover.

the hole is one of the recurring characters so please be nice to it.

alot of things happening here if you squint and look closely.

any-whomst've, hope you all liked it. let me know if you did and I don't know come say hi? 😳 have a nice day 💜

#bangtan #bts #bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts imagines #bts scenario #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts high school au #jungkook high school au #bts au #jungkook au

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heyiwrotesomethings · 4 years ago

Text

Lepidoterophobia Prt. Three (Finale)

Shinobu Kochou x She/Her Reader

A/N: A couple of y’all asked real nice for kisses and you know what, that’s valid. Shinobu is such a tease though so she’s gonna make you work for it! Just not in the way you’d expect. It’s all fluff but get ready for some loving caresses and a massage at one point! It gets a little frisky, but nothing too explicit and sorry for the sub bottom energy but, come on, its Shinobu. I think this will be it for this little series. Thanks for liking it so much! <3 (Part One) (Part Two) Word Count: 4,977

(Y/n) had been recuperating within the Butterfly Estate for only two weeks before she felt as if she was about to lose her mind.

She still hadn’t been allowed to leave her bed. Only limited movement and changes in position to partake in very simple exercises and to avoid bed sores were permitted. What made it even more depressing was how the small movements would take the little energy she had right out of her. Then there was that disgusting medicine as well. (Y/n), quite literally, almost threw up the first time Aoi had given it to her. Aoi had scolded her good after that, going on about a special brewing process and rare ingredients; how Shinobu had worked tirelessly to make it for her.

Shinobu... Now, if (Y/n) had to assemble a list of reasons for the impending mental breakdown she felt coming on, Kochou Shinobu would be at the tippy top of that list.

She was an absolute tease! Lingering touches, no regard for personal space whatsoever. Then there was her downright devious way with words that could make (Y/n)’s skin heat intensely and her brain short circuit, leaving her completely out of commission for the rest of the day in some cases.

That was to be expected though, especially since this was Shinobu they were thinking about, and (Y/n) was fine with that. She wouldn’t want her any other way. However, despite all of the teasing, or because of all of the teasing rather, Shinobu and (Y/n) had yet to kiss, unless one counted nose and cheek kisses of course. There was no shortage of those sweet affections. And it wasn’t like (Y/n) hadn’t attempted on quite a few occasion to initiate a kiss herself, but her attempts had always been thwarted. If not by the sweet little girls of the estate interrupting the moment, then by Shinobu herself turning her head so (Y/n)’s lips would meet the soft skin of her cheek instead.

There were a few close instances, such as last night when Shinobu had come by to bid (Y/n) goodnight. She hovered over (Y/n)’s face, close enough that (Y/n) could feel the air leave Shinobu’s lips and wash over her own as she spoke. Unfortunately, (Y/n) had forgotten to actually pay attention to what Shinobu was saying, which led to more teasing.

After Shinobu had thoroughly roasted (Y/n), she delicately cupped the side of (Y/n)’s cheek, her cool and calloused thumb had skimmed over her lower lip, pulling it to the side slightly as Shinobu came closer still. Their noses brushed and (Y/n) almost forgot to breathe, her head muddled with the dizzying wisteria scent that clung to the other woman. (Y/n)’s eyes slid shut and her heart beat pounded in her ears. The feeling of Shinobu’s thumb as she made another pass over her lip was electric, fire, leaving a tingling feeling in its wake over the trembling flesh.

And then, a sweet yet chaste kiss to (Y/n)’s hairline and Shinobu rose back to her full height, an undisguised smirk and gleaming, mischievous eyes filled (Y/n)’s vision as her own eyes snapped open to look over the Hashira with a barely contained sense of betrayal. Shinobu’s pigeoned laughter rang in (Y/n)‘s ears for hours after the Hashira had retired to her own bedroom and (Y/n) awkwardly maneuvered herself in her own bed to yell into her pillow.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n), are you sleeping with your eyes open? What an unsettling habit.”

“Hm?” (Y/n) blinked, turning her head to see the devil herself smiling down at her. She looked unfairly angelic in the soft sunlight that was streaming through the window. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Shinobu asked, taking a familiar perch on the edge of (Y/n)’s bed.

“Meh,” (Y/n) shrugged, willing the beating of her heart to not betray her, “Nothing. What were you saying earlier?”

Shinobu leveled a look at (Y/n) that could be clearly interpreted as saying something along the lines of, ‘I could easily grill you for the answers I want, but I’m feeling merciful at the moment so I’ll let it be’. “I had said good morning and asked you if you were ready for your light exercises. It was strange to see you look so focused. I’ll admit, I didn’t know your brain could work so hard. Don’t strain it too much though, okay?”

“Shinobu!” (Y/n) huffed, pursing her lips while Shinobu laughed at her cute expression.

“Oh don’t take it too hard, (Y/n). You know I’m just teasing. I think you’re quite intelligent,” Shinobu praised, leaning over to land a quick peck to (Y/n)’s forehead before pulling back up. “Now how about we sit you up, okay?”

“Okay,” (Y/n) couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips in response to Shinobu’s affections, “I’m ready.”

(Y/n) strained her core, and with a little help from Shinobu pushing at her back, she managed to sit upright in bed without much fuss. Still, (Y/n) felt a little light headed from the excursion.

“Take a moment to focus on your breathing.” Shinobu said. She had noticed (Y/n) swallow thickly and rubbed her back in soothing circles. “Let me know when your ready to move to the edge of the bed.”

After a minute passed, (Y/n) nodded at Shinobu and slowly but surely they worked together so that (Y/n)’s legs dangled off of the side of the bed and her arms hung loosely at her sides. It had really surprised (Y/n) how quickly her health had deteriorated in the wake of the butterfly demon’s attack. Even her legs which had been her best asset to her survival that night, felt like lead now. Heavy and weakened like the rest of her body as her energy was sapped away to heal the most damaged areas.

“Let’s begin with your arms, shall we?” Shinobu spoke almost in a whisper, her mind undoubtedly returning to that hard night as well. “Can you lift them for me?”

(Y/n) fought against the heavy feeling in her arms. Thanking the gods for the absence of the snug slings she no longer had to wear constantly. Though she had to fight hard, the burn she felt as she raised her arms felt kind of good, like stretching a sore muscle. She only managed to raise her straightened arms so that her hands were about level with her navel before they started to tense and shake.

“Good, Just hold.” Shinobu coached. (Y/n) held the position for almost fifteen seconds before she let her arms fall back to her sides in a sharp exhale of air. “Well done. Take a couple breaths and try another rep, okay?”

(Y/n) made it through three more repetitions. Blood thrummed in her ears and a light sheen of sweat covered her forehead but she had done better than yesterday and that was all she could ask for. Next were the wrist rotations which were a welcome relief despite the slight discomfort (Y/n) felt reverberate in her elbows. Then the finger flexes and shoulder rolls solidified the poor slayer’s exhaustion, but at least that signified the end of her light stretches. Or so she thought.

“We should really stretch your legs a bit. They feel stiff, don’t they?” Shinobu inquired, inspecting (Y/n) from where she stood in front of her, a finger tapping against her chin as she spoke.

“They have been feeling rather stiff,” (Y/n) agreed, “but I’m sure if I tried to stand up right now I’d buckle over like a sack of rice.”

“No need to stand. Usually I’d get the younger girls to help with such things but it won’t take long, lean back,” Even as Shinobu spoke, she didn’t give (Y/n) enough time to move on her own, pushing her flat on her back with a gentle hand pressed firmly against (Y/n)’s chest near her collarbone.

“Wah- wait. Aren’t you going to talk me through it or— eep!” (Y/n) choked on her words as Shinobu worked her hips between (Y/n)’s legs which still dangled off the bed. (Y/n) felt her blood pressure skyrocket as the space between them completely disappeared.

One of Shinobu’s hands moved slowly, excruciating so, over (Y/n)’s thigh in a way that was entirely unnecessary.

“Are you alright, (Y/n)? I’m not hurting you am I?” Shinobu cooed while her hand disappeared under the backside of (Y/n)’s thigh.

“No!” (Y/n) squeaked, cursing the way her voice rose another octave above her normal cadence.

“Good, I hope we can keep it that way. Let me know if it gets to be too much, okay dear?”

It should be a crime to have a voice that can hold such power over a person like that. Shinobu could have told (Y/n) to climb to the top of Natagumo Mountain and jump off and she’d have done it, no questions asked. (Y/n) released a shuddering breath and nodded her response, unable to trust her own voice to reply without risk of further embarrassment.

Shinobu hummed and pushed up on the back of (Y/n)’s thigh, her hand naturally sliding up to the crook of the slayer’s knee as the leg rose up. Slowly, she began to push the knee inward towards (Y/n)’s chest. (Y/n) winced slightly at the stretch, but it hardly registered in comparison to Shinobu’s extremely close proximity.

Shinobu placed her once idle hand over (Y/n)’s knee cap, her other hand sliding further up to cup (Y/n)’s calf, gently squeezing while she raised the rest of the leg and began to slowly stretch it over (Y/n)’s torso as far as she could get it to go.

(y/n) sucked in a breath, “Okay, that burns a bit!”

Shinobu paused her movements and held the leg in position, “Not bad flexibility, (Y/n). With a little bit of work I bet you could go even further. I think I’d like to see.”

What was (Y/n) supposed to say to that? She made some uncommitted sound and tried not to think too intently about how Shinobu was pressing into her. After a few more moments of holding the position, Shinobu moved the leg outward to stretch it from another angle. The limb cracked near the base of her hip and (Y/n) sighed with relief. This was a lot more gentle than what the younger girls put her through during recovery training all those months ago.

“Oh? Does that feel better, (Y/n)?” Shinobu asked, her voice like honey and silk. Her hands slowly massaging the muscles of (Y/n)’s calf and thigh. (Y/n) nodded, her eyes nearly closing as she focused on Shinobu’s ministrations. “I’d like to hear you say so, just to make sure.”

“Yeah, it feels awesome.” (Y/n) sighed again, unabashed. Shinobu giggled.

“Wonderful, let’s move on to the other one then, shall we?”

“Gods, yes please!” (Y/n) responded eagerly, rubbing her free leg against Shinobu’s side until Shinobu took hold of it and gave it the same treatment as the other leg which was now hanging loosely over the edge of the bed.

By the time Shinobu had brought (Y/n)’s other leg back down, (Y/n) was trying to fight off sleep. However, the loosened and relaxed state of her muscles after the stretches clearly were beating out her efforts.

“Wow, (Y/n). Tired already? You haven’t even eaten breakfast yet.” Shinobu commented while she absently ran her hands over (Y/n)’s thighs, the motion felt comforting.

“I know,” (Y/n) groaned, “It's your fault for being so good at your job. I feel like a limp noodle, a very sleepy limp noodle.”

“Oh?” Shinobu chuckled. Sliding her hands purposefully upward until they rested at either side of (Y/n)’s ribs. The shift in her weight had her resting on her elbows, her chest resting just below (Y/n)’s. “Perhaps I could find a way to liven you up.”

“What do you have in mind?” (Y/n) asked slyly, hoping Shinobu couldn’t hear how fast her heart was racing. She wrapped her legs over Shinobu’s hips, locking her in, in hope to distract her, but also to egg her on.

Shinobu grinned at (Y/n) and shimmied closer. One of her hands came up to cradle (Y/n)’s jaw. She leaned even closer and landed a quick kiss to (Y/n)’s chin, then she pressed another one in the crook of (Y/n)’s neck, making the injured slayer laugh as she nuzzled closer.

“Oh!” (Y/n)‘s eyes shot wide open as the feeling of teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck.

“Hm? What is it, (Y/n)?” Shinobu asked, smiling against (Y/n)’s neck. “You seem to be perking up already.” she added, punctuating her words with a quick swipe of her tongue over (Y/n)’s neck, making the girl beneath her shiver.

(Y/n) whimpered quietly, much to her embarrassment, while Shinobu lavished her neck with attentions. Shinobu slowly worked her way upward, kissing her jaw and cheek before connecting her line of vision with (Y/n)’s.

The lovestruck look in (Y/n)’s eyes quickly morphed into an indignant glare as she perceived the familiar, mischievous glimmer in Shinobu’s plum colored irises.

“No.” (Y/n) said, her tone disbelieving. “No.” She said again, this time with a little more force behind it, shaking her head while Shinobu grinned down at her. “Shinobu!”

“I’m sorry (Y/n), but my meeting is starting soon so I must be off. Aoi will be by with breakfast soon. Make sure you eat it all so you can get stronger, okay?”

“But—!” (Y/n) tried to hold Shinobu to her body by tightening her legs around her but they did nothing to help her in her weakened state. Shinobu easily slipped free and (Y/n)‘s legs dropped back down over the edge of the bed in defeat.

“No buts! Let’s get you turned around quick, alright?” Shinobu grunted as she hoisted (Y/n)’s lower half and twisted (Y/n)’s body to lay fully on the bed with very little help from the dumbfounded, disgruntled girl. Then with a quick, teasing squeeze of (Y/n)’s knee, she was gone.

(Y/n)’s arm shook as she painstakingly pulled one of the pillows behind her free and pressed it as hard as she could over her face. “What the fuck?! AHH!” (Y/n) screamed, her voice muffled by the dense material.

***

The next time Shinobu walked into her room, (Y/n) had decided that was going to kiss her. She was going to kiss her full on the mouth or die trying because if she knew one thing, it was that she couldn’t play Shinobu’s games any longer.

For the rest of the day (Y/n)’s head was filled with thoughts of Shinobu getting a taste of her own medicine. (Y/n) had it all planned out. First, she was going to tease and flirt. How hard could that be? Shinobu made it look as easy as breathing. Then, once Shinobu had been thoroughly charmed, she would be practically begging for (Y/n) to sweep her off her feet, metaphorically of course, at least until (Y/n) wasn’t on bed arrest anymore. Then she’d kiss her and it would be Shinobu who would short circuit, Shinobu who would be at (Y/n)’s complete mercy! A foolproof plan!

(Y/n)’s chance came around midday four days later. Shinobu had been sent away on a mission soon after her meeting, giving (Y/n) plenty of time to think of how to execute her plan of action. The slayer sat upright in her bed now that she could do so herself without too much strain. She stared the door down with a determined gaze, gently scratching behind Mochi’s head while the bird stood in her lap. Any minute now she would come through that door. Prepare to be seduced, Kochou Shinobu!

A knock resonated off the door before it slid open a moment later and Shinobu glided in. Mochi cawed happily, flapping off of (Y/n)’s lap to fly around the Hashira in greeting. Shinobu simpered at the overly enthusiastic raven and told the bird about a fresh meal worm cake with his name on it. Mochi screeched and Shinobu laughed, ducking her head as Mochi flew out the door and towards the garden at mach speed. Then Shinobu closed the door behind her. Then, when she turned back and smiled a most dazzling smile that was all for (Y/n), every suave thing (Y/n) had thought to say flew right out the window. Four days of planning, completely down the drain. And all that remained was one lovestruck idiot.

“H-hey... you.” (Y/n) greeted, returning Shinobu’s smile although she was definitely screaming at herself on the inside.

“Hey yourself. You already look so much better than the last time I saw you! You’ve been keeping up with your medications and stretches, right?” Shinobu sat herself down on the edge of the bed. Her back was tilted away from (Y/n) and one leg was tucked and bent over the bed sheets while the other swung off the bed. (Y/n) also noticed that curiously, Shinobu had one hand hidden behind her back.

“Of course I have. I want to get better as soon as possible.” (Y/n) nodded resolutely. “Now,” (Y/n) tilted her head and eyed Shinobu warily, “what have you got behind your back?”

“I have something I want to test with you, a game of sorts, (Y/n).” Shinobu grinned devilishly.

“I have a feeling I don’t want to play this game if that look on your face is anything to go by.”

“Oh don’t be like that, (Y/n). I think it will be good for you. Won’t you please do this? The reward should you succeed will be very sweet.”

“Hrrrmmmm,” (Y/n) winced as she adjusted herself on the bed to sit a bit straighter and looked at Shinobu suspiciously. The Hashira’s eyes gave nothing away and (Y/n) sighed. “I suppose I could humor you. I’ve missed you after all.”

Shinobu simpered, and bounced a bit closer to (Y/n) on the bed, jostling her somewhat. Her hand was still behind her back as the other one lovingly brushed at (Y/n)’s hair. “(Y/n), you’re too sweet,” she cooed, “I missed you too.” She came even closer and nuzzled (Y/n)’s nose with hers, giving it a quick peck before withdrawing. Her face appeared to have morphed into a more serious disposition that had (Y/n) feeling both confused and filled with a sense of apprehension.

“Uh, I don’t usually associate such serious expressions with games.” (Y/n) laughed nervously.

“Perhaps I misspoke earlier,” Shinobu amended, a bit sheepishly, “It’s not a game, I should not have phrased it as such. I’m sorry. I was belittling you without you even knowing, without me realizing. I didn’t mean to, I-“

“Shinobu,” (Y/n) covered the Pillar’s free hand with her own, “it’s okay. What is it?”

“Remember what I said about exposure therapy a while back?”

“Shinobu, no.” (Y/n) backed as far as she could against the headboard, her heart beat picking up pace.

“(Y/n), I think it would be good for you. I’m not saying you have to love butterflies, I just want to help lower the distress and anxiety you feel when they are near.”

“Maybe you should focus on your own fear of furry animals before you start trying to fix my problems.” (Y/n) shook her head, her eyes flickering between Shinobu’s own and the Hashira’s hidden arm.

“I told you, it’s not a fear. I just can’t stand the mess all that shedded fur makes. Need I remind you that I’m allergic to the dander left by most of those furry beasts?” Shinobu easily countered.

(Y/n) thought back to earlier last week when Naho had smuggled in a stray dog to feed it. Kiyo and Sumi had gotten an idea in their heads that if they could hide the dog from Shinobu, they could keep it. Unfortunately, they were not very good at keeping their excitement to themselves. They had already led the dog through most of the estate, including the infirmary just before Shinobu made her morning rounds. By the time they reached (Y/n)’s room to show her the sweet pup, Shinobu was already there, trying to find some solace from the irritants that ransacked her senses. Her eyes were irritated, puffy and watery. Loud, unrefined sniffles and sneezes practically had the poor Hashira gasping for air. (Y/n)‘ s heart went out to her, but the way Shinobu’s voice sounded while she was so congested was insanely adorable.

Shinobu had admonished the girls as gently as she could between ferocious sneezes that seemed impossibly loud coming from such a small woman. (Y/n) felt bad for the girls, for the dog, but at least the dog hadn’t been a stray after all.

Fortunately, it had belonged to the Wind Pillar of all people. Giyuu had apparently been charged with watching the dog while he was away on a mission. He had lost sight of it and had been looking for the fluffy white dog all morning. (Y/n) couldn’t help but chuckle as she recalled how Shinobu shit talked Shinazugawa and Tomioka while sitting at the desk in (Y/n)’s room while she mixed herself some medication between wiping her nose and dabbing tears from her eyes.

“You were so cute!” (Y/n) thought gleefully.

“There was nothing cute about it. I felt disgusting.” Shinobu disagreed, the vein in her forehead pulsed faintly. “Now, back to the subject at hand. (Y/n), behind my back I have a specimen jar. In this jar is a butterfly that is so small, it’s wingspan is only about half the size of my pinky finger,” Shinobu slid her free hand out from under (Y/n)’s and stuck out her pinky finger, “See how small that is?”

(Y/n) had wanted to say something snarky, something along the lines of every part of Shinobu being small, but she smartly kept that comment to herself and simply nodded instead. Shinobu put her hand back down over (Y/n)’s.

“The butterfly can’t get out unless you untwist the lid. All I want you to do is hold the jar for a minute. This is a completely controlled, safe environment for you to explore your responses to butterflies. If you really don’t want to try, I won’t force you. I’m only suggesting because I really wish for you to be more comfortable here, to feel more at home.”

(Y/n)’s heart warmed at Shinobu’s admission. Yes, Shinobu had an air about her that (Y/n) felt powerless to deny, but Shinobu would never want to take advantage of her nor anyone else. Though she provoked and teased like a demon, Shinobu was endlessly kind and compassionate where it mattered.

(Y/n) gave the Hashira a nervous smile and shakily presented her hands over her lap, “Don’t mess this up Kochou. I’m only doing this because I like you so much.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Shinobu said, sincerely. Finally, she produced the specimen jar from behind her back, cupping the bottom with her opposite hand while the other held firmly from the side. She gauged (Y/n)’s expression and observed for any intense discomfort in her body language as her hands made their approach.

(Y/n) immediately locked on to the small butterfly fluttering against the glass and swallowed hard. Her throat suddenly felt unbearably dry. Despite this, she kept her palms, now slightly sweaty, upturned in front of her, waiting.

(Y/n) jolted, feeling Shinobu’s knuckles slide against her palm. The only barrier left between the glass and her skin was slipping away.

“Oh gods!” All too quickly Shinobu’s hands were gone, hovering at either side of the glass, and (Y/n) was left holding the jar. “WhoooeeeEEAH! nooo nonono fuck-!“ (Y/n) scrambled to adjust her hold, only allowing the very tips of her fingers to hold on. Of course she realized that there was a layer of glass between herself and the insect, but she couldn’t help but hastily adjust her fingers every time the small insect fluttered too close. “Shinobu!”

“It’s okay, you’re doing great!” Shinobu encouraged. “Try focusing on telling me what you notice about the butterfly.”

“It looks like it’s out for blood!” (Y/n) exclaimed sharply, not taking her eyes off the specimen jar. Her fingers still dancing clumsily around the glass.

“How about you tell me about what you can physically see that is scientifically sound.” Shinobu tried again.

“It’s blue with black edges that have little white dots and it’s fast as hell! I think it’s tongue thing is flexing at me! Why is it doing that?!”

“That’s the proboscis, (Y/n). Butterflies use it to drink the nectar from flowers.” Shinobu provided helpfully.

“I bet it would drink my blood like a mosquito if it had the chance!” (y/n) thought bitterly.

“It physically can’t, (Y/n). The proboscis is too weak too pierce skin.”

“Is that true?” (Y/n) asked skeptically, “There’s not a single butterfly that would suck me dry if it could?”

“There is not a single butterfly in all of Japan that could do that to you, (Y/n).” Shinobu assured. Of course, she had read about some species of butterflies and moths overseas that did have the capability to drink blood and even presented the salty nutrients to their mates. She wasn’t going to tell (Y/n) that bit of information anytime soon though.

“Okay, that’s actually kind of reassuring, but it still freaks me out!” (Y/n)‘s fingers had finally found purchase on the rim of the metal lid. The butterfly inside had finally calmed down and settled at the bottom of the jar, it’s wings flapping intermittently.

“That’s okay, do you think you can tell me anything else about it? Our time is just about up.”

“Its legs bend weird. Its eyes are soulless. It looks like it’s resting now but it’s just biding its time.”

“Biding it’s time before I let it back out into the garden perhaps, but it has neither the desire nor the means to harm you.” Shinobu assured.

(Y/n) pursed her lips. She was staring so intently at the insect that she hardly registered Shinobu’s movements until she was fully straddling her thighs.

“What are you doing?” (Y/n) mumbled, not taking her eyes away from the jar despite Shinobu’s change in position. The Insect Pillar did not speak, instead lifting (Y/n)’s chin up. “Hey!” (Y/n) exclaimed. She tried to keep her head down, unwilling to let the butterfly out of her sight lest it suddenly disappear. Yet, Shinobu persisted, taking either side of (Y/n)’s head in her hands, drawing closer until all (Y/n) could see was purple. “Shi-“

(Y/n)’s mind went delightfully numb, filled with a fuzzy warmth that radiated all the way down to her toes. She leaned further into the kiss, reveling in the softness of Shinobu’s lips nipping against her own. After a few more moments, (Y/n) could feel Shinobu’s lips part into a smile against her own and (Y/n) couldn’t help but do the same, resting her forehead on Shinobu’s.

“What was that for?” (Y/n) giggled breathlessly, her hands had somehow made their way to Shinobu’s neck, her fingers laced behind her head threatening to pull the Hashira back in at a moment’s notice.

“Hm? Can’t I kiss my girlfriend?” Shinobu teased, landing a quick, a more chaste, kiss to (Y/n)’s lips.

“You can, and you have, but never on the lips. What changed? I thought you were going to tease me about it forever.”

“As entertaining as that sounds, I was actually trying to do you a favor.” Shinobu grinned.

“How do you figure that?” (Y/n) asked, looking at Shinobu incredulously.

“Because now that I’ve got a taste of you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Mm!”

Another kiss more fiery and involved than the last. (Y/n) actually had to slip her hands down Shinobu’s chest and push her away so she could catch her breath.

“Not that I mind, and I really don’t mind,” (Y/n) spoke between breaths, “but what changed, why right this minute?”

“It was your reward.” Shinobu stated plainly.

“For...?”

“Oh my, you really did forget already, haven’t you? I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized I had cut off the oxygen supply to your brain so effectively.”

Suddenly (Y/n)’s eyes snapped down to her lap and yelled loud enough for Shinobu to wince and lean back a smidge. How had (Y/n) forgotten? She picked up the discarded specimen jar by the lid using her index finger and thumb and scanned the inside, shivering once she found the butterfly still inside. Then she reached to place it on the bedside table, it made a little clattering sound as she quickly removed her hand as if the glass had burned her. Pulling Shinobu closer, (Y/n) buried her face in her chest and groaned while Shinobu laughed and patted (Y/n)’s head.

“You distracted me.” (Y/n)’s muffled voice accused.

“Perhaps, but didn’t it feel nice? And look, you are no worse for wear. In fact, I might even say you looked even more relaxed than before we began.”

“So what, are you going to kiss me every time I see a butterfly? Hardly seems practical.”

“Mmm but what a lovely idea. There are certainly enough around that I could get several kisses every day. If we make a habit out of it, sooner or later when you see a butterfly, your first reaction will be to pucker up rather than screaming.” Shinobu mused.

“Can’t you just be satisfied knowing that you’re the only butterfly I have ever, and will ever like?” (Y/n) paused, “Well, you and Kanao, Aoi, Naho, Kiyo, and Sumi.”

“I’m so honored.” Shinobu smiled and rolled her eyes, still stroking (Y/n)’s hair.

“You should be. It’s a very exclusive list. But there is an even more exclusive list that only you have access to.” (Y/n) said, returning to an upright position to face Shinobu once more.

“And what list would that be?”

(Y/n) tilted her head and stole another kiss from Shinobu who eagerly reciprocated, chasing (Y/n)’s lips even as she pulled away, giggling.

“The list of butterflies that I could not be happier to kiss.”

#kny x reader #kny oneshots #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer oneshots #shinobu kocho #shinobu kochou #shinobu x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #shinobu kochou x reader

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merakiaes · 5 years ago

Text

A Day In The Life Of A Santo - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x reader, Santos x reader (platonic)

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: Same disclaimer as always; I’m really distracted so this is a mess, and it’s not proofread. But I hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think. Spanish translations at the end xx

Wordcount: 5097

Summary: The title says it all. How a regular day looks for the Santos when you’re the girlfriend of their leader.

It was nine o’clock in the morning when you woke up from your slumber on this particular Saturday morning in July.

You didn’t even have to look outside to be able to conclude that it would be a nice day, the bright rays of sun slipping into the room through the closed blinds and the thick, humid heat hanging over you being more than enough to prove that to you.

In the corner of yours and Oscar’s shared bedroom, the fan was still spinning and slowly moving from left to right after you’d put it on throughout the night when it had gotten to hot for you to sleep, the low, whirring sound blending in with Oscar’s light snores.

With a deep breath, you shuffled up against the headboard of the bed and stretched your arms over your head, blinking to get the sleep out of your eyes and adjust them to the new light.

Warm breaths fanned across the side of your thigh and you looked down to see Oscar sleeping soundly beside you.

He was laying on his stomach with his arms tucked under the pillow he was resting his head on, his face turned towards you and light snores leaving his slightly parted lips.

One of his legs were pulled up slightly, while the other was close to falling off the edge of the bed, indicating that he’d fallen asleep the very same second his body hit the bed without taking any time to get himself comfortable.

His back was flexed, showing off the muscles he’d built up while in prison all those years, and all of the skin visible for your viewing pleasure was littered with dark, wide bruises after whatever run they had gotten called out for late the night before.

He was out like a light, not reacting in the slightest as you reached out and caressed a small cut right on his cheekbone, simply continuing his slow snoring where he laid sleeping peacefully.

You knew that he could use all the sleep he could get with how hard he had been working to keep the block safe lately, so you got out of bed as quietly as you possibly could to avoid disturbing him and patted out of your bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you.

As if on cue, your stomach rumbled the second the door was shut behind you, leading you straight to the kitchen.

The air was quiet as you walked through the sunlit house. As you passed Cesar’s bedroom, you could hear him snoring lightly in an identical way to his older brother, and as you entered the living-room area the only sound you could hear was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Much to your disappointment but not so much to your surprise, you found the fridge empty and unable to satisfy your hunger and cravings, the single banana laying on the top shelf not looking very appealing.

You were still dizzy with sleep and a part of you just wanted to go back to sleep and curl up in your man’s arms, but on another note, you were already up so you might as well get an early start to your day, knowing the Santos were going to show up sooner than later like they did every day.

So you took a quick shower and got dressed, sneaking around your bedroom in the search for wearable clothes without making as much as a sound.

You couldn’t find a clean shirt and seeing as your wardrobe door always let out a loud wail when being opened, you settled with Oscar’s black and grey plaid that you found on the floor, buttoning it up over your sports bra and tying it up at the hem of your jeans before heading off to the store.

You were gone no longer than half an hour and still, when you got back home, the lawn was full of Santos sitting around, drinking beer, lifting weights and listening to music.

Any other person probably would have been annoyed to find a bunch of gangsters just sitting around outside your house from the early hours of the day until the late hours of the night and at first, you had been, but then you got used to it, and also got to know them all well enough to know that they weren’t as mannerless and piggish as one would have thought based off of stereotypes.

Or maybe they were and just acted like gentlemen with you because they risked getting torn a new one by Spooky if they treated you like they treated everything else.

Either way, you weren’t opposed to having them around, because they were always watching over you.

The second you parked your car upfront and stepped out, their eyes were on you, all of them calling out to greet you in some way or another. You waved back at them as you rounded your car, opening the trunk and bringing out two of the many grocery bags.

They stopped their lifting and drinking as you passed them and when you stopped to adjust one of the brown paper bags in your arms in order to avoid a can of beans falling out, Sad Eyes came up to you and wordlessly took the bag from your arms, a cigarette hanging from his lips and another tucked behind his ear.

When he did this, a chain reaction seemed to be triggered causing other Santos to get out of their seats, as well, all of them coming over to you.

“You need some help, Lady Spooky?” One of them asked and you nodded, smiling at them kindly.

“Please. There are more bags in the car.” You confirmed and they nodded back, throwing their cigarettes to the ground.

“We got you.” The Santo told you and threw a nod over his shoulder to the others, pointing to the car.

Without another word, they all rounded you and headed for your car, wasting no time in starting to pick up the bags from the trunk.

While they occupied themselves with that, you and Sad Eyes began walking inside, walking up the red, chipped steps of the porch.

“You still haven’t fixed your broken taillight.” He spoke up for the first time, letting you enter through the already open front door first.

You sighed, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to and Oscar’s been busy.” You answered.

You instantly caught sight of a few other Santos sitting around in the couch inside when you entered, conversing lowly among themselves while sipping on their beers and smoking their cigarettes, a dozen of neatly stacked bills laying on the coffee table in front of them.

You didn’t bat an eye at the money, knowing it was none of your business, but the smoke hanging thickly in the air never failed to make you annoyed.

You glared at them and to further prove your irritation, you dramatically waved your hand in front of your face to get the smoke away.

“Not in the house, please, boys.” You scolded them simply, walking right over to them and taking the cigarette out of one of their hands, putting it out on the ashtray on the table.

He kissed his teeth, an annoyed expression crossing his face to match your own, but he did nothing to protest, simply leaning back into the sofa and taking a sip of his beer. “Sorry.”

The others followed your example and put their cigarettes out on the ashtray, instead bringing another bag of money out to count while you and Sad Eyes moved on to the kitchen with the bags, the other Santos not being far behind with the rest of them.

While they wordlessly dumped them on the kitchen counter, grabbing the beer you ‘d bought and moving on to join the others at the couch, Sad Eyes stayed behind with you, helping you unpack the groceries into the fridge.

“You got the parts?” He brought the topic of your car back up as you worked together to get everything unpacked.

You nodded, moving on to put the dry goods into the cupboards. “Yeah, in the garage.” You answered.

He hummed and grabbed something from one of the bags. “Tell you what.” He said, causing you to turn around to face him, seeing him now holding up a package of ground beef and lips stretched into a small smile. “You fix us up some of your hamburgers and I’ll fix your light.”

Raising an eyebrow, you crumpled up an empty paper bag in your hands while shooting him an amused smile. “Wouldn’t you rather have some real breakfast?” You asked, and he instantly shook his head, chuckling.

“Nah, your burgers beat breakfast by far.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” You chuckled with him, throwing the paper bag in the trash and walking over to him, sticking out your hand with a teasing grin stretched across your features. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Guzman.”

He laughed at your childish antics, but nonetheless took your hand in his and shook it before wordlessly leaving you alone in the kitchen, the two of you going parted ways to hold up your respective ends of the bargain.

You finished unpacking the groceries on your own to the sound of Spanish chatter coming from the couch and loud, crude hip hop music sounding from outside on the porch.

Once you were done, you mixed the minced meat with the spices and other ingredients you needed to make a good, firm patty mixture, and prepared everything else that you would be needing for serving on a tray, carrying it all out to the backyard where you fired up the grill.

While waiting for the coals to reach the perfect fervency, you went back inside and walked out on the porch, seeing Sad Eyes now occupying himself with your taillight and the others having returned to lifting weights on the lawn.

“Hey, boys!” You called out for them while leaning your elbows on the wall of the porch.

They turned to look at you, stopping in their movements, and you flashed them a smile all while squinting your eyes against the sun. “If you move to the back I’ll fix you up some burgers.”

The second the word ‘burgers’ reached their ears, they had dropped everything they were holding and stood up, heading straight for the red fence in front of Oscar’s Impala to round to the back of the house.

That left only Sad Eyes who was still working away on your car, and he simply raised his fingers to his forehead to lazily salute you, telling you that he was fine and that he would be back when he was done.

You offered him an equally as lazy wave, before walking back inside.

When hearing you say you were cooking for them, the Santos who had been sitting in the couch had seemingly also disappeared to the back, the house now completely empty, so you locked up the front door behind you before going back outside.

The Santos were all now sitting around in the sofas in the back rather than in the front, music now streaming out from Oscar’s sound system in the living room and the variously aged men having started a game of cards.

While they occupied themselves with that, you tended to the food, wasting no time in getting to cooking the burgers once the heat of the grill was perfect.

You cooked them all medium-rare, knowing all of them well enough at this point to know how they preferred their meat.

When you were flipping the first batch, you dropped the spatula and burned your thumb on the side of the grill when out of instinct reaching for it again, but you didn’t get much time to think about it with the full-grown men repeatedly calling out for you and asking when the food was going to be done even though you had just started.

A whistle suddenly sounded from behind you as you were putting the last batch of finished burgers onto a plate, causing you to jump slightly.

Looking to your side, you caught sight of one of the higher-ranked Santos standing beside you with a Corona in hand, his other hand reaching for the burgers. “Let me get that first one.”

You instantly slapped his hand away, causing him to look at you with a nasty glare. But you weren’t affected, simply glaring back. “No can do, the first one is reserved for Sad Eyes.” You told him. “And speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

Your attention moved from the Santo to Sad Eyes who was now walking through the living room door, wiping his hands on Oscar’s red grease rag. “How’s the tail light coming along?” You asked, and he instantly looked up at you.

“All good, Lady Spooky.” He replied, dropping the rag to a table and coming up to you where you were standing by the grill.

“Well, then. A deal’s a deal.” You smiled, grabbing one of the patties and some bread.

You put the patty on top of the lower piece of bread and added everything you knew Sad Eyes liked on his burgers, holding the finished product up for him only a few seconds later.

He wordlessly took it from you and raised it to his mouth, wasting no time in taking a large bite.

You raised an eyebrow at him while closing the grill, wiping your hands on the front of Oscar’s shirt. “Good?” You asked, still smiling, and he closed his eyes as he chewed, nodding contently.

“Lo mejor.” He replied once he had swallowed, opening his eyes again and leaning down to press a sloppy, wet, brotherly kiss to your cheek. “Gracias.” He thanked you, before grabbing a beer from the cooler behind you and leaving you behind to wipe the hamburger dressing left behind by his lips off your skin with the back of your hand.

You chuckled with amusement, once again having to wipe your hand off on your shirt, and motioned for the other Santo that it was his turn to grab his burger.

He wasted no time and while he began building a burger of his own, you stepped away from the grill, looking over the backyard and yelling out. “Come get your food, boys!”

Like the other Santo, they wasted no time, putting down their beers and heading over while you started heading for the living room door.

“Yo, ma, where you going?” A Santo called out from behind you as you passed, causing you to turn back around.

“I’m gonna wake up that lazy ass still snoring away in the bedroom.” You replied, holding a finger out at him while smiling teasingly. “You better save us some food. I worked way too hard not to get any.”

Sad Eyes looked up from his already almost finished burger where he was now sitting in one of the sofas, nodding his head at you while standing up. “Don’t worry, (Y/N), I got you.” He promised. “I’ll make sure they don’t hover the grub.”

“You’re an angel.” You offered him a smile and kissed his cheek as he reached you. “I’ll be right back.”

He nodded at you and headed over to the grill where the Santos were now busying themselves with making themselves burgers, to grab his second one and hopefully live up to his promise to save you and Oscar some.

Without another word, you turned back around and headed into the house, heading straight for the bedroom.

At the end of the hallway, Cesar’s bedroom door was now wide open, meaning he must have left when you were cooking, most likely to go to Monse’s or Ruby’s house.

But your bedroom door was still closed, just like you left it, and as you opened it, you came to find that Oscar was still snoring lightly in bed.

Now, however, he had rolled over to his side on your side of the bed, holding your floral pattered pillow under his head tightly.

His back was turned to you, and the snores leaving his lips were now slightly louder than they had been when you left him, and you felt bad for waking him up.

But you knew you had to, or else he would get annoyed that you didn’t, so you pattered over to the bed and climbed onto it, crawling up behind him and wrapping your arms around his chest.

His snoring instantly ceased and out of instinct, his hands came up to grab yours were they rested on his chest.

You smiled at that, your cheek pressing against his feverishly hot back. “You gonna get up?” You asked softly against his skin, sensing his awakening.

He only grumbled under his breath in response, turning around where he laid, scooting down on the bed and pressing his face into your chest in one fluid motion.

His clingy antics brought a chuckle from your lips but nonetheless, you wrapped your arms around him and moved your body closer to his, allowing him to cling to you while caressing the back of his head with the tips of your fingers.

You stayed like that in silence for a moment, just listening to the music and voices sounding from outside.

It was nice, and you didn’t mind it, but soon you could feel Oscar’s breathing slowing down again, and you knew you had to get him to wake up one way or another.

“The Santos are here.” You broke the silence softly, getting nothing more than another low grumble in response.

“I made burgers.”

He grumbled again, pressing his face further into your chest and letting out a long, warm breath.

“I missed you.”

His voice was muffled but you heard him clearly, your fingers coming to a stop where they were caressing his neck and eyes flickering down to look at him with a raised eyebrow as he finally brought his head back up.

“You’ve been asleep.” You pointed out, amused. “How can you miss me when you’re asleep?”

“I always miss you when you’re not at my side.” He answered without missing a beat, eyes squinted as he looked up at you, still ridden with sleep. “But I meant before. You were already asleep when I got back last night. Didn’t get to see you.”

His words caused a flurry of butterflies to go through your stomach and chest, and his groggy voice, deep with sleep, only intensified the feeling.

He was smiling up ever so softly at you, but you could see that he was troubled, and the cuts and bruises littered all over his face confirmed yours suspicions, bringing a sad smile to your lips. “Rough night?”

He hummed in response, bringing one of his hands up to pull it over his face while the other rested on your hip. He mumbled something incoherent into his palm and you creased your eyebrows together ni confusion.

“What was that, baby?” You asked, propping yourself up on your elbow to better be able to look at him.

He pulled his hand over his face again and let out a long, tired breath through his nose before removing the hand from over his face, now looking at you with slightly less squinted eyes.

“Beso.” He spoke again, his voice this time clear.

Your eyebrow shot up, lips tugging into an amused smirk. “Well, aren’t you awfully needy today.” You chuckled, but didn’t need to be told twice, leaning down to meet his lips that were already puckering in awaiting.

The kiss was sweet and short, or at least so you expected it to be. However, when you tried pulling away, Oscar moved his face right after yours and tightened his grip on your hip, his other hand rising to cradle your cheek in order to pull you even closer.

You smiled into it, but still made a second attempt to get out of his grip. “We can do this later, baby.” You mumbled against his lips, and he grumbled back.

“No, ahora.”

You giggled at the feeling of his warm hand sneaking under your, or well, his shirt, beginning to caress up and down your side.

You almost melted right into his affectionate touches, but you caught yourself before you could and brought your hand to his, pulling it back out from underneath the shirt and mumbling again; “Later.”

“Now.” He didn’t give up, and before you were even able to progress what happened, he had slid his wrist out of your grasp and moved his hand down to your ass where he delivered a sharp slap, followed by a very forceful grab.

You jumped at his sudden friskiness and, much to his dismay, jumped right out of the kiss. Your hand instantly went out to slap his arm, your eyes wide open and chest heaving up and down from the kiss you had just shared.

“Oscar!” You scolded, while he just laughed, eyes squinting up again and showing off his long, dark lashes.

His hand was still resting on your butt, caressing the pocked of your jeans softly and as you calmed down from your shock, you pulled him back to you, pressing another, much shorter kiss to his lips to quiet down his laughing.

“As much as I want to stay here with you, I’m hungry and I want one of the burgers that I made.” You told him against his lips as you repeatedly pressed small kisses to them. “And if we don’t get back out there soon, they’re going to be gone.”

He hummed against your lips, stealing another kiss when you moved to pull away. But this time he settled with that, letting his head fall back against the pillow again after that last one.

“Come on, get up.” You told him with a chuckle and nudged his arm, drawing a sigh from his nose.

He rolled over to his back and put his hands over his face, rubbing his tired eyes. But nonetheless, he then brought one of his hands to the edge of the blanket covering his body, throwing it off and putting his toned chest on full display for your eyes to feast on.

“You go back out there, I’ll be right out.” His voice still groggy as he kept rubbing his eyes and a part of you feared that he was going to go right back to sleep if you walked out.

But in the end, you took his word for it and kissed him one last time before heading out of the bedroom again, this time leaving the door open to let in some light.

When you came back outside to the backyard, you discovered that the boys had now moved the sofas that had previously been scattered over the backyard to crowd around one single table, on which they had now moved all of the food that had been standing by the grill when you left them.

They were all happily eating away at the burgers you’d made, chatting loudly in Spanish over the sound of the music that had now been cranked up even further.

But you didn’t mind the volume. As long as you got some food in you, you were happy, and luckily, Sad Eyes looked to have lived up to his promise and saved you and Oscar some, a plate with a few patties laying off to the side away from the rest of the food.

And he also seemed to have saved a spot for you, his legs manspreading over pretty much the entire sofa he was sitting in the middle of, only scooting over to the side when his eyes looked up to catch you approaching.

The Santos all nodded in greeting when you came up to them, but neither their eating nor their enthusiastic chatting ceased even a little bit.

You slid into the seat beside Sad Eyes and he wasted no time in handing you a separate paper plate holding a finished burger just waiting to be devoured, all while devouring one of his own in generous bites.

“Thank you.” You thanked him as you took the plate from him and he nodded, too busy chewing to speak.

You took the burger in your hands and didn’t waste another second before lifting it to your mouth, taking a bite and almost moaning at how good it felt to finally get something to eat.

The first bite was quickly devoured and before taking another one, you reached out to the table to take a can of coke, managing to open it with just one hand and taking a small sip before putting it back down on the table.

Taking another bite, you turned to look at Sad Eyes, your attitude now perked up significantly. “You didn’t make one for Oscar?” You asked and he glanced at you from the side as he finished his burger, shaking his head.

“Nah, I’m not about to get into that.” He replied, taking a gulp from whatever alcoholic beverage he was drinking from the suspicious-looking bottle in his hand.

You chuckled, turning your attention back to the burger in your hands. “Probably for the best.” You agreed. “He gets fuzzy if the toppings are put on in the wrong order.”

Raising the burger to your mouth, you went in for your third bite but instantly pulled back when the nasty, bitter juice spread over your taste buds.

You had to resist the urge to spit it out on your plate right then and there, instead carefully chewing around it until it was safe to pull the red onion out of your mouth.

Your nose automatically scrunched up at the sight of it and your first instinct was to throw it to the grass, but before you could, a hand shot out from behind you to grab it.

You looked up just in time to see Oscar, now wearing a gray tank top and a pair of sunglasses, putting it into his mouth and eating it with no struggle whatsoever, whereas you would have thrown up, quite literally, had you even attempted to swallow it.

Your disgusted expression only turned even more disgusted at that, but you said nothing as he rounded the back of the couch and slid into the seat next to you and wasted no time in grabbing a beer from the table.

“Food’s looking good, mamas.” He told you as he opened the sharp cap of the bottle with just his fingers, leaning back and throwing an arm around you while he used the other to take a sip.

“Yeah?” You questioned. “I hope it tastes as good.”

While he got comfortable beside you, you took another bite out of your burger before putting it down on your plate and starting to prepare one for him.

He watched with no protests nor complaints as you put the toppings on in the exact order he wanted, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear to be able to see your face.

“Your cooking is always good.” He replied, taking another sip from his beer while watching you intently.

Sad Eyes shook his head where he sat beside you, now eating his- God knows how many burgers he’d had by now. “This shit’s not cooking.” He denied, licking some dressing off of his lips and taking another eager bite. “It’s sorcery.”

“You’re a lucky man, Spooky.” Another Santo agreed from across the table, and while you smiled to yourself, Oscar gave him a challenging look.

“I know I am.” He replied, holding his gaze for another moment before looking back to you with an amused smile now playing on his lips, and you didn’t need to see his eyes behind his glasses to know that they were squinted. “You keep spoiling them like this and they’ll never leave.”

“Hell, I’m already about ready to move in.” Sad Eyes joked from beside you, and Oscar instantly reached his arm over you to shove his shoulder playfully.

“En tus sueños. I’m not sharing.”

You chuckled at their playful banter, finishing the burger up, putting it on a clear plate and handing it to your boyfriend before anyone could say anything else.

”Gracias, amor.” He thanked you gratefully and you smiled back, watching him take a bite and nod his head in approval.

“Of course.” You replied, reaching your hand up to his face to wipe some ketchup off his lip. “You boys deserve it for working so hard.”

He watched your every move, catching your hand as you were about to pull it away and wasting no time in beginning to inspect your thumb.

“What did you do now?” He asked, brushing his own thumb over the burn on yours, causing you to flinch slightly.

“I just burned myself on the grill, I’m fine.”

He let out a ‘tssk’, kissing his teeth and shaking his head. “Torpe.”

“Hey, watch it, or you’re not getting any tonight.” You warned, giving him a light glare.

But he wasn’t affected in the slightest, simply kissing the burn on your thumb and lighting up in a smug, playful smirk. “You know I always do, mama.” He teased you, kissing the burn again before taking another bite of the burger.

“Yeah, yeah. Eat your burger.” You rolled your eyes, but chuckled as you brought your hand back to pick up your plate.

Your happiness was shortlived, however, your face instantly pulling up into one of disgust again when you laid eyes on the burger. “And take this nasty ass onion, too.”

You pulled said onion out of the burger and dumped it on his plate without waiting for him to reply, then turning to look at Sad Eyes who was now contemptibly sipping on his alcohol.

“I thought you’d learn by now that I don’t eat onions, Jose.” You scolded him with a distasteful look, and he chuckled.

“I know you don’t. That’s why I put it in.” He answered and while Oscar and the others started laughing, you shook your head, cursing under your breath.

“Fucker.”

Sad Eyes ignored your anger and bumped his fist with Oscar’s in front of you, the two compadres taking equal pleasure in your misfortune.

Luckily, you weren’t really angry, the short-lasting annoyance melting right off as Oscar pulled you into his side and from then on kept an eye out for any sign of onions in your burger.

Said burgers were gone not long later, but the good mood that the pleasant breakfast had left them all in lasted the entire day, all of them just staying in your backyard, drinking and belting out the lyrics of the Spanish songs playing on the boombox until later that afternoon when they were needed elsewhere.

It wasn’t a very eventful day but it was where you felt most at home and content and just how you liked it; just an ordinary day in the life of a Santo.

Translations (I’m not a native Spanish speaker so this might not be a hundred percent accurate):

Lo mejor – The best

Gracias – Thank you

Beso – Kiss

Ahora – Now

En tus sueños – In your dreams

Amor – Baby

Torpe – Clumsy

Compadre - Friend

Tagged: @babienay @firebenderwolf @chaneajoyyy @moanlightbaby @dolanackles @marvelously-flawed @jazzwhitlockhale @joyrivh @socialistavocado @turn-diamonds-into-snow @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @ugh-jalynn @spookysnena @shadow-of-wonder @bxmaaa

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detectiveidiotboy · 4 years ago

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His Time In The Commonwealth IV: Danse

so as my beloved fanfiction, The Black Widow’s Waltz, comes to an end, i’ve decided that i am going to re-release the backstory chapters as their own stand-alone fic, since they read well as their own story. before that, i thought i might do a fun little thing where i release each of the companions backstories as their own post here on tumblr under the tag #his time in the commonwealth.

i had to take a break from posting for mental health and to deal with some things in my home life, but i'm back now! and with me comes the continuation of this mini-series. now, on to part 4!!! Danse's story.

The walk from Listening Post Bravo to Nordhagen Beach took three days. Had Danse been in top shape and traveling in his power armor, he was certain he could have made the trip in less than two, but speed wasn’t a priority in this mission; this was a pilgrimage.

It had been twelve weeks since his banishment, eighteen days since he’d last had contact with Nate, and seven since the Prydwen had been destroyed.

Danse had only learned about the attack the day before his journey began as he was attempting to trade with a nearby settlement. Nate had been his only source of supplies since he’d begun his self-imposed isolation, and since Nate had stopped showing up to visit, Danse had been left to ration his dwindling supplies until there wasn’t anything left to eat. He had considered allowing himself to starve to death down beneath the earth - continuing his existence was a waste of resources now that he wasn’t even able to serve Nate or the Brotherhood - but that plan only lasted two days after his last meal.

Nate had told Danse to stay alive. Nate had given him orders to care for himself until he returned because Danse was special to him. Danse understood what he was: he was a tool, a synth, a man-made creation meant to serve and obey humankind. If he could not be of use to the Brotherhood directly, then the next best thing he could do was dedicate himself to serving one of their best. Really, if he were honest, the idea of being Nate's personal synth wasn't unappealing to Danse. If anything, it wasn't fair to Nate that Danse be kept around to tempt him into violating Brotherhood rules. Sexual relations with machines was strictly prohibited, as was homosexuality, but Nate carelessly disregard both rules when it came to Danse, and Danse couldn't be more grateful. He was an abomination, therefore it wasn't his place to question a human such as Nate; Nate wanted him alive, and in good health, and because of that Danse had packed a bag with the few things he had to trade and walked to Tenpines Bluff.

As soon as Danse arrived, he was met with guns and suspicion.

“Stay back,” The settler warned, warding Danse back with the barrel of a rifle. “We don’t want nothin’ to do with you or your freak of a friend.”

Danse had been aware that Nate had a… reputation around the Commonwealth. He’d been a witness to several violent (bordering on psychotic) outbursts from the man. However, he had accompanied Nate several times to this particular settlement, and the people there had never been hostile before.

“I… am sorry for any confusion,” Danse said, licking his lips. He was severely out of practice after two weeks of near-total solitude, “Paladin Nate is not accompanying me at this time.”

The settler narrowed their eyes at Danse. “You… don’t know where he is, do you?”

“I have not had contact with Nate in weeks,” He confirmed. The sights came down after a moment of deliberation and the settler sighed.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” They stretched their head with a hand. “Look. You just missed your buddies, but you should probably keep clear of them - they seemed to think you might have teamed up with Nate when the ship was attacked.”

“Ship? Which ship?” Danse felt his stomach drop, the pieces of the puzzle having presented themselves yet he dare not assemble them.

“The big one you lot got up by Nordhagen,” They said, expression turning from tired to something almost pitying. “You really don’t know what happened? The whole ship was blasted out of the sky. Damn near everyone in Boston had to have seen it - what, have you been livin’ under a rock for the past week?”

“There was an attack on the Prydwen?” Danse asked, taking a panicked step forward. The settler adjusted their grip on the rifle and Danse reminded himself that even without power armor, he was a large and unfamiliar man to these people. “When? Who?”

“About five days ago, I think,” The settler said. “We just heard about it when the survivors came through and raided our supplies - grilled me and my wife for hours about everything we knew about Nate.”

Danse’s heart stopped beating, he was certain of it. Why would the remaining Brotherhood want to know about Nate? The answer was obvious, blindingly so, but Danse couldn’t bring himself to even think it. Nate was Brotherhood, through and through - it was not the place of an Institute machine to question the loyalty of a flesh-and-blood human dedicated to the betterment of humanity.

Swallowing, Danse forced himself to put on a brave face and ask his question. “Was Paladin Nate there at the time of the attack?”

The settler actually laughed, though the question wasn’t funny and neither was his answer. “Was he there? I’m sorry but if what your pals said was true, he was the one that blew the damn thing up.”

Danse had ended up leaving his supplies with the settlers. There was at least 250 caps worth of ammo and scrap in the sack, but it would just weigh him down on his journey. The settlers insisted that he at least stay for dinner and leave in the morning, but Danse saw the state of their garden after the Brotherhood had been through and politely declined. It would be a waste to force humans to part with anything valuable to sustain the functionality of an obsolete machine. He had completely forgotten his hunger anyways; all that mattered to Danse was finding out if what he’d been told was true.

By the time he was close enough to see the empty spot in the sky where the Prydwen should be, he had his answer. Travelers, settlers and raiders alike had confirmed the story with identical depictions of events. According to the few witnesses left, Nate had walked onto the bridge of the ship with a gun and, without speaking to anyone, began assassinating high-ranking members of the Brotherhood, starting with Elder Maxson. The bloody massacre ended with Nate walking into the engine room and detonating an explosion - one that most likely came from the very mini-nukes that Danse had helped Nate secure.

Danse had tried to withhold judgment - he should wait to hear what Nate had to say. The descriptions all came second hand, after all. The Brotherhood survivors had all either retreated or were being treated in what was left of the major settlements. And the description of Nate that he was being given didn’t sound like his friend, his trainee, his partner one bit.

Except…

When Paladin Danse first met Nate, he had been backed against the wall by several hundred feral ghouls threatening the lives of his scouting team. While he would likely be fine so long as the fusion core in his armor held, Hayen and Rhys were vulnerable. He’d already watched the ghouls descend on Keane, tackling the knight in waves. Danse had shot them down, but it was too late. Keane never came back up.

So when Nate walked into the scene, rocket launcher in hand, and blew half of the mob to dust before Danse could finish warning his team to check their fire, he had been inclined to ignore the sinister, psychotic look of glee that Nate wore as he ripped apart the ghouls. Hell, Danse had delighted in it, feeling his men had been avenged. The moment the battle was over and those steel-blue eyes locked onto his, Danse knew he had found someone special.

Nate’s reputation hadn’t quite formed yet, but from the handful of missions that Danse accompanied him on it was clear to tell he would make a fine soldier. He was resilient and a fast shot; anything that stood in his way he took down. It was as if the man was made for the Brotherhood.

Danse offered Nate knight-ship several times before he was taken up on his offer. Nate rarely came to visit when he was in Cambridge, and when he did it was almost always to trade or ask for spare jobs to make a few extra caps. It was only when the Prydwen came rolling through that Nate seemed to seriously consider Danse’s offer. It was strange - Danse feeling honored for Nate to join his ranks rather than the other way around.

Nate made him feel a certain way, something he hadn’t felt since Cutler. Danse could watch Nate fight for hours, muscles flexed under his vaultsuit as he clubbed in the head of a ghoul or gunning down a cluster of synths. His nights were often spent imagining exactly what it would look like if it was his neck that Nate was crushing between those smooth hands and not some random raider. It was foolish, and wildly inappropriate behavior as Nate’s sponsor.

Maybe that was what made him overlook some of the man’s more obvious flaws.

By the time Nate was inducted into the Brotherhood, his reputation as a ruthless and cunning man had become fairly well known. Maxson was willing to overlook Nate’s violent past thanks to a combination of Danse’s vouching and the fact that most of Nate’s targets were shared with the Brotherhood. He had infiltrated and collapsed the Railroad, dismantled the Institute's hold over Diamond City, and struck down the mayor of a mostly-ghoul city in east Boston. His methods were harsh, but they were necessary - at least, that’s what Danse told the Elder.

“Still,” Elder Maxson had said. “It’s best we keep an eye on him. I’m not sure if our new recruit’s heart is in the right place.”

“Believe me, sir,” Danse had told him, “I would trust Knight Nate with my life.”

“That may be so…” Maxson said, “but I still have my doubts. It’s best not to take the word of a known liar at face value, and Nate has quite the reputation of betrayal.”

The truth had been there the entire time. Danse recalled the first time he had met someone who knew Nate outside of the Brotherhood, a young woman by the name of Curie. It had been shortly after the destruction of the Railroad and just before his induction into the Brotherhood. She had seemed nervous around Nate, agreeing a little too quickly to what he said and keeping her eyes on him the entire time. Haylen had taken to her rather quickly, both girls having bonded over shared medical knowledge, and Danse remembered well what she had to say when asked if she liked traveling with Nate.

“Oh- o-oui… I mean…” Her fingers tightened around the cup of tea she had been sipping at. “Monsieur is… complicated, in his motives. I am sure he has good reasons for what he is doing… I simply must trust him. He has done so much for me already.”

Danse had felt her words were foolish. She was lucky to have so much of the man’s attention, and it seemed strange that she didn’t recognize that. Less than a week later Danse watched as Nate dragged her into an abandoned shack, barred the door, and set the house on fire. Later, Nate informed Danse that the girl had been a synth and that he was only doing as the Brotherhood instructed of him. Danse had been forced to agree - despite the vast wealth of knowledge that Curie held, her existence was far too dangerous to be tolerated.

The screams that came from the house as the woman burned alive haunted Danse no matter how many times he reminded himself they were from an artificial being. For a while he wondered if synths could simulate humanity so closely as to feel pain; he had his answer now, he supposed. That girl had died in agony.

The Nate described to Danse during his expedition to the beach was far closer to the Nate in those memories than the idealized soldier that Danse had stuck in his head. The Nate who had eyes like Cutlers and spoke to him as if he were human, even after his synthetic nature was revealed. The Nate who had kissed him in the center of the old radio station on their first official mission into the Commonwealth. The Nate who would disappear for months at a time and then reappear at a moment’s notice, ready to drag Danse along on whatever new quest had taken his fancy. The Nate who never slept in the same bed as Danse after he came around for a quick fuck. The Nate who was rumored to have murdered his girlfriend a year prior. The Nate who had set his previous partner on fire when he was done with her, then walked across the field to press a loving kiss to Danse’s lips as she died. The Nate who had promised Danse to be there for him after his exile only to leave him to waste away in solitude. The Nate who had destroyed the Prydwen.

They were all the same Nate.

When Danse finally made it to the airport, he was surprised by just how familiar it seemed. The carnage had been mostly scraped away by local settlers, leaving behind only the hollowed out remains of training camps and supply stations. The opportunity for a new settlement hadn't been lost on the local population; by the time Danse arrived there were already the makings of several homes under construction. Upon arrival Danse was recognized by his uniform and a handful of the new settlers offered him their condolences. He was shown the way to the resting place for those who had been recovered - little more than a mass grave dug behind the airport marked with scattered crosses and hung holo-tags. It was more than Danse had been expecting. The locals he had met in this area before had despised the Brotherhood with a passion - the fact that they hadn’t just left the bodies to rot while looting everything they could hold from the abandoned stores was a genuine surprise. He walked along the grave sights, checking the tags for names he recognized. He found several, but Haylen and Rhys weren't among them. Whether that meant they were still alive or among the hundreds of nameless casualties, Danse would never know.

Danse turned away gifts of food and offers for a place to rest. His body was at its limit, exhausted and starving, but anything put into it now would be a waste. All of this destruction and death was because of him; he was not the victim, but rather the perpetrator. Danse intended to answer for his sins against humanity.

After politely asking for a moment alone from the concerned settlers, Danse left to walk through the empty airport. He had hoped that there would be something left of the Prydwen on land for him to do this in, but the majestic ship was resting with many of her inhabitants at the bottom of the bay. So Danse found the next best place - the first-story storage area that had been cleared out. He retrieved his pistol from his jacket pocket and knelt down before pressing the end of the barrel to the hollow of his temple.

“I am asking for you to do the human thing here, Knight,” Danse pleaded, knees on the cold, damp ground of the listening post.

“And I’m telling you I don’t want to,” Nate had argued, stubborn as ever. “I like you, Danse, synth or not. I’m not ready to give you up just yet. I need you to stay alive.”

The words had felt so kind at the time. Danse, who was nothing more than a machine lamenting the loss of what it had never really owned, had leaned into those words. They became his anchor, his world, his reason- no- his excuse to keep on living. Looking back on them after seeing the graves of his fellow soldiers - some hung with the hats of squires who were too young to have been given tags yet - he saw those words for what they were: selfishness. Nate acted for his own sake. He served no one but himself, and he had used Danse in every conceivable way. What else should Danse have expected? It was the nature of a machine to be useful to those who took advantage of it.

Danse was a foolish, treacherous, malfunctioning thing, but the very last act he would commit would be a human one. If reincarnation was something that existed for synths, he hoped he would get a chance someday to be more than just a cheap imitation of humanity.

“You know, I’m not an expert with pistols or anything, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to put that end there.”

The gun dropped from Danse’s forehead. He unclenched his eyes and turned to face the newcomer.

“Mind your own business, Scavver,” Danse said wearily, though still managing to push through some of his commanding tone from a previous life, if only so he didn’t prolong this longer than necessary. He could already feel his resolve wavering.

“Aw, come on, man,” The person in the doorway stepped into the room, arms stretched out behind his head in a relaxed pose. A pair of mirrored sunglasses reflected Danse’s haggard appearance back at him. “Haven’t the guys around here had to bury enough bodies this week? Why add to the trauma?”

Danse’s eyes narrowed, but he did stand up and put this pistol back in his pocket. “You make an excellent point,” He said, headed for the door. “I will relocate myself to a more remote location as not to disturb the population.”

“Thaaaat’s not quite what I meant,” The man blocked the exit with an arm and refused to stand down, even as Danse towered over him. “Actually, I have a proposition for you - nothing weird - I promise-” He said, holding out his hands in a show of good faith. Danse used the opportunity to sidestep the stranger and walk out of the old hanger and into the hallway. The man scurried behind him. “So, I can imagine what is going through your mind right now - who is this guy? How did he get to be so handsome? Why doesn’t he want me to blow my brains out in an old-world aircraft hangar?”

Danse ignored the man, which did nothing to stop his ranting.

“In order - My name is Deacon, I moisturize daily, and I want you to join my super awesome resistance movement to take down the rat bastard known as the Sole Survivor of Vault 111-” Danse stopped dead in his tracks. “-though I suppose you were close enough to know him as Nate, right?”

Danse turned to look over the man - Deacon, as he claimed to be. He was bald, as evidenced by his ill-fitting wig sagging just enough to show his absent hairline. He was dressed like a civilian, but up close Danse could see the ballistic armor plates hidden under his flannel shirt. There was a look about him that Danse recognized from some of the scribes, specifically the ones who had been tasked with recon. His eyes twitched at Danse's every movement, and the slight tremor in Deacon's fingers pointed him in the direction of a pistol tucked into the stranger's pants line. In short - Danse’s summary of the man was that there was more to him than just a scavenger with delusions of grandeur.

Still, he turned back around.

“Even if what you are saying is true, I cannot in good conscience accept your offer,” Danse said, continuing his long walk. Deacon kept up pace beside him.

“Really? You’re still loyal to him even after he turned half of your buddies into flaming corpses?”

Danse felt rage hit him in a wave, but years of emotional control stayed his hand. Still, he faltered in his gait. “Nate is dead to me," He said with all the contempt he had left in him. "Should I have the opportunity I would gladly put that monster down myself. My issue is not with your cause, but rather with myself. I am a synth. Taking me into your organization would be too great of a security risk.

“Oh, right, that. Yeah, I already know about that, don’t worry,” Deacon said flippantly. Danse pushed open the double doors leading to the exterior of the airport, and despite letting the doors fall back on Deacon, the man kept following. “I asked a whole bunch of the Brotherhood guys if they wanted to join up, but most of them turned tail and headed back to the capital. But there was always this one guy who they kept mentioning, yeah? A pal of Nate's who turned out to be a synth. The guy was supposedly still running around in the Commonwealth, one M7-97.” Danse took a deep breath, hating every second he spent listening to this man speak. “That’s you right? See, I figured if I hung around here long enough I’d see you. Nate isn’t exactly… good to his friends when he’s done with them. And I’d say blowing up the Prydwen was about as done as done gets.”

“As stated, I am no longer affiliated with him,” Danse said, pausing at the water’s edge when he realized there was no shaking the persistent little pest. “If you are looking for intel on his current location, I have nothing to offer you. Last contact was precisely eighteen days ago at Listening Point Bravo.”

“Oh nah, I didn’t expect anything like that,” Deacon said, coming up beside Danse. He reached down for a rock in the sand and skipped it along the bay. “I just figured joining up with us might be a decent enough alternative to suicide.”

“It is not suicide, it is turning off a broken machine,” Danse clarified. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but he was almost certain that Deacon rolled them behind his glasses.

“Well, when that machine is sentient, we call it suicide,” He said with a sigh. “Look, man, I know what you’re going through, believe me.”

Danse’s eyes narrowed, no longer able to keep his contempt from his face. “How could you possibly know that? The Brotherhood was humanity’s best hope for a better future, and because of my malfunction its ranks have been compromised, possibly irreparably.”

Deacon fell down onto his ass, stretching out so his bare feet were caught by the waves as they lapped the shore. “I know 'cause you’re not the only one he’s stabbed in the back,” Deacon said, looking out across the water. “I was part of the Railroad.”

Danse’s neck snapped to the side, looking down at the man. His mouth opened in a prepared lecture about the folly of mistaking synths for human beings and the role of the Railroad in humanity’s doom, but he saw Deacon remove the sunglasses from his face and for the first time he was looking into the other man’s eyes.

“Nate took us out in the dead of night. No one saw it coming,” Deacon continued. “He was a new agent, but the higher-ups put a lot of faith in him, because someone they trusted had recommended him - me.” Deacon looked back towards the waves, propped up with his hands behind him. “Look, I’m not gonna sit around and babysit you. If you want out, there isn’t much I can do to stop you. But right now, I’ll be honest, the only thing keeping me going is revenge, and that’s a hell of a lot better than being dead.”

Silence fell between them. Danse had no idea what to say to all that. On the one hand, he was perfectly happy with the destruction of a dangerous underground movement such as the Railroad, and on the other, the parallels between his and Deacon’s story were not lost on him. Danse knew that the right thing to do was to decline Deacon’s offer - possibly even take the synth sympathizer down with him before he caused any more harm - and continue with his plan to terminate his existence.

But Danse didn’t want to die, or whatever one would call it when a synth ceased to be. And more than that, he didn’t want Nate to keep on living. There were hundreds of people on that ship - men, women, children . Not all of them were good, Danse was well aware of the unsavory types that were often attracted to the military lifestyle, but none of them deserved to die the way they did only to end up buried hundreds of miles from home in a mass grave.

Maybe it was selfishness, maybe it was revenge, maybe it was raw, human (or at least human-like) emotion, but Danse finally came to his decision with a decisive nod of his head.

“Okay.” He said. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

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mylittlerambledmusings · 4 years ago

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The Road-Trip Part Five

Part Four | Masterlist | Part Six

Rating: T +

Pairing: Frankie Catfish Morales x Reader

Notes: First off, Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, Happy Holidays if you celebrate something else, or just Happy Friday if you don’t! I never really expected this to go on for this long, if I’m being honest. I’m thinking maybe one more part and an epilogue if all goes as planned. Thank you again for all of your support, comments, and reblogs. They’re better than presents under the tree! ❤

Warnings: Mentions of death (briefly), cursing, and a bit (okay, still a quite a bit) of fluff, excessive drinking, throwing up, and a very comforting Frankie.

Summary: This was an idea from another prompt. The list is “Whump Prompts which are close to my heart. (If this is from your list, please let me know, it didn’t have a username to go with it.)

Prompt: Hey, hey, hey. I’ve got you, I’ve got you

The following morning you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you sat on the counter watching Frankie make breakfast as you drank your coffee. Marvin was leaning against his leg whenever he stopped moving for more than thirty seconds and Flex was letting you use him as footstool. You chuckled into your cup when Marvin tripped up Frankie for the tenth time this morning. He never got mad about it, just huffed a little and stepped around the big dog and then narrowed his eyes at you. “Something funny, hermosa?”

You bit your lip in an attempt to hold back your smile and shook your head. “Nope,” you responded, stealing a piece of bacon and taking a bite all while holding his eyes.

He grabbed up a piece and broke it in two, then threw them to the floor, using the distraction to slip between your legs. He pressed a kiss to your lips and then turned his head to steal a bite of your bacon with a smirk. You held out your cup to him and he took a sip and then narrowed his eyes again. “Are you trying to distract me from the fact you were laughing at me?” he asked, placing the cup he’d taken from you off to the side on the counter.

“I would nev-” you cut yourself off with a laugh as Frankie pressed his face into the crook of your neck nipping at the bare skin, his mustache tickling you as his fingers did the same to your sides. “Okay. Okay! Yes.”

“Yes what?” Frankie asked, nipping once more, chuckling against your neck when you jumped.

“I was laughing at you!”

“Was that so hard, hermosa?” He lifted his head and before you could react, he stole the rest of your bacon with his teeth, winked and backed away. You made a face at him and threw your leg out trying to kick him, which he dodged expertly, laughing as he went back to the stove. "Is this what I have to look forward to every morning?” You asked, grabbing another piece of bacon.

“You telling me you’re only moving in for the food?”

You laughed and reached out, grabbed his arm and pulled him back to you. You pressed your lips to his, gently running your nose along his when you broke off the kiss. “The food is just a bonus.” Your voice was quiet and more serious than either of you had expected. He leaned back a bit so he could see your face, the worry in his eyes fading away when he took in the look on your face. You licked your lips as your eyes dropped to his chest, a sudden shyness you hadn’t felt since the beginning of your relationship coming over you.

Frankie tilted your chin up with two fingers and smiled softly at you. He slipped that hand from under your chin, to cup the back of your neck, his eyes bouncing back and forth between yours. “Whatever you want, hermosa, it’s yours. You know that, right?”

You dropped the uneaten piece of bacon onto the counter and cupped Frankie’s cheeks, pulling him back to you. Your lips pressing together in a kiss that deepened the moment he opened his mouth. His grip on you tightened and he pulled you to the edge of the counter as your kiss got more and more heated. That was until there was a knock at the door, and then another, and another.

You broke apart like you were high schoolers that had just been caught by your parents, you stared at each other for a moment before you both started laughing. The serious moment broken by Benny who was now yelling and banging on the door.

Frankie moved back in for another kiss, this one sweeter, less frantic than before, only breaking it when his smile got too big. When he met your eyes he winked, straightened, and yelled something out in Spanish as he went to answer the door.

You took that moment to compose yourself and quiet down the dogs who had started barking while Frankie let in the guys. You slid down off the counter, meeting Pope for a hug as you took in the four of them. They all looked a little bruised but seemed to be moving as smoothly as Frankie had been, considering what had happened the night before.

You made everyone coffee and the five of you moved to the back porch with Benny sitting on the floor, forgoing a chair so he could play with Flex. Frankie pulled you down to sit on his lap as the others sat in the deck chairs, Marvin sitting beside him and leaned against his leg. The conversation flowed just as easily as the day before, this time the questions were directed at you and Frankie. How the two of you met -which only Pope had heard- how long you’d been together, and of course when were you two tying the knot, as Benny put it.

Frankie had huffed, tossing the tennis ball at the other man as he said. “Damn, Benjamin, don’t scare her away, I just got her to agree to move in with me.”

You’d smiled down at him and him at you, which, of course, had started the mixture of jabs and obligatory congratulations. Pope had gotten up, pulling you and then Frankie into a hug, telling the man it was ‘about damn time’.

The morning continued on this way until Pope spoke up and said that he and the guys had talked about it and they’d decided they’d rather spend the evening here. They’d go to town and buy up everything they’d need for a cookout and then they’d bring it back and set up the fire pit and grill. His reasoning was that it was easier and less of a chance of someone getting arrested tonight.

You’d all gotten a good laugh at that, but you knew that none of them regretted one moment of last night. They’d done it to protect someone and honestly, you were glad they had. It just proved that they were the men that Frankie had told you they were.

~*~

Frankie had taken the dogs and went with everyone else to town to get ready for the night ahead, which had left you blissfully and completely alone. You’d taken your time in the shower, gotten dressed in your most comfortable jeans, and had even let your hair in the messy bun you’d been sporting that morning.

By the time you’d come out of the bathroom the guys were back and setting everything up outside. You went out and asked if there was anything you could do to help, which resulted with you and Frankie in the kitchen, while the other three tried to figure out how the grill worked.

The two of you worked side by side, seasoning the steaks and burgers that the men had picked up and placed them on trays to make it easier to carry outside. You could feel his eyes on you and instead of asking what he was staring at, you just hip checked him as you took one of the finished trays to the fridge. The moment you’d set the tray down he reached out, caught you around the waist, and pulled you back to him. You gave a surprised yelp but went willingly. He pulled your hair back so he could press a kiss to your neck and then your cheek. “Thanks for being alright with us staying here tonight,” he said softly.

“Hey,” you whispered and turned in his arms. “You know I don’t mind… Plus, I like them. And you’re not going to hear me complain when I get to spend more time with you.”

“Let’s see if you’re still saying that three months from now once you’re stuck with me all the time.”

You shook your head as you pinched his side. “It’s not going to be all the time,” you pointed out. “We’ve still got our jobs. We’ll just be able to come home to each other and I really like the sound of that.” He smiled down at you and pressed your lips together. You broke off the kiss almost as soon as it started and frowned up at him. “But who’s to say you won’t get tired of me after three months?”

He scoffed and shook his head and instead of verbally answering he just kissed you again.

You’d just started to melt into his arms when you thought you heard the door open, but you weren’t really paying any attention to it until you heard Benny say, “If you two lovebirds are done in here, we might need some help with that grill.”

~*~

With the four of them, they’d finally got the grill to work and Will had started cooking, filling the grill up with more food than you thought they could possibly eat. Frankie and Pope had gone to collect some wood for the fire pit while you watched Benny throw the tennis ball for Flex. Marvin on the other hand, was leaning into your legs as you rubbed his head. You figured he still wasn’t sure about the younger Miller brother, and that was why he was sticking to you and Frankie like glue until he was.

Frankie and Pope got back just in time to get the firepit started before it started getting dark and after they’d got that going, the five of you sat around it just eating and sharing stories. You’d gotten to hear about Tom, their old captain and friend that they’d lost on the last trip that they’d taken together. When the mood got to be more than a little melancholy, you changed the subject to lighter things and in no time the men were back to themselves and laughing and joking with each other. Frankie had held you a little tighter, whispering a thank you in your ear as he pressed a kiss to your temple while the other men were distracted.

It went on like that for a little while longer until Benny pulled a deck of cards out of his back pocket. You couldn’t have known that that meant trouble, but when he’d suggested you all play the game Kings none of you all had any better ideas and it had seemed innocent enough, so you all had agreed. He had laid out his phone with the rules and placed the deck face down on the middle of the table set up outside. It had started off simple, Pope drew a six, which meant all the girls -you- drank. You drew a five, which meant all the guys drank. Each card stood for something like questions or tasks and it felt like every time a card was flipped you were having to drink for some reason or another. Before long the majority of the bottle Pope had brought was over halfway gone and you were more than a little tipsy.

While you didn’t want to be the first to drop out of the game, even your normally competitive side was waving a white flag of defeat. You were sitting on Frankie’s lap when you announced you were done, which was quickly followed by Will, Frankie, and Pope. It was more than you’d drank in a long time and you were definitely feeling it. That wasn’t exactly a good thing either.

Frankie rubbed your back as he leaned forward to look at you. “You good, hermosa?” he asked and you could almost swear you heard concern in his tone.

You nodded, which was a mistake because all that did was make the space around you start to spin. You closed your eyes, fighting off the nausea, your hand going to Frankie’s shoulder for balance. When you’d finally got yourself under what you considered control, you slid your hand up from his shoulder to pat his cheek. “Yeah, baby, I j-just need some water.” After taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes and gave him a lazy smile.

It took you a few tries but you finally stood, swaying slightly until Frankie’s hands gripped your sides. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said, standing up behind you, his firm grip keeping you vertical. “I think it might be time for bed. You guys are more than welcome to crash here.” You heard some sounds of agreement but before you could chime in, letting them know you were good with it too, Frankie was steering you towards the house.

About five steps away from the door was where your stomach revolted with the amount of alcohol you’d consumed and you doubled over, emptying the contents of your stomach on the ground. Your knees had almost given out but a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and held you up.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Frankie said, comforting you as you threw up everything you’d eaten for the past twenty-four hours. You hadn’t gotten this drunk since college and now you were kind of remembering why.

The rest of the night was pretty much a blur, only a few things sticking out that you actually remembered. Frankie holding your hair back as you threw up again in the bathroom -at least making it to the toilet this time-, Frankie carrying you back to bed and helping you change into one of his t-shirts, and then Frankie telling you if you felt sick all you had to do was lean over the side of the bed because the trashcan was right there. You vaguely remembered apologizing for ruining the night but couldn’t remember what he’d said in return, only that he’d gotten you to drink a little bit of water before you passed out completely.

~*~

You woke with a groan, on your stomach facing away from the warm body behind you. The bed shifted slightly as Frankie tucked your hair behind your ear then ran the backs of his fingers down your cheek. You didn’t dare try to move yet, you already felt like death and you’d barely opened your eyes. “Oh, God…”

“Are you alright, love?” Frankie asked, gently rubbing your back.

Instead of using your words, you just groaned again and risked turning your face toward him, then pressed your face into his hip effectively blocking out the sun that had started coming through the windows. He huffed a short laugh as he ran his fingers through your hair. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Did you sleep?” you rasped after a blissful ten minutes of silence. He didn’t answer you but you knew he was awake because he was still rubbing your back. You chanced leaning back just enough to crack an eye open to look at him.

When he just gave you a sheepish look, you made a noise of and pressed your face back against his warm hip. “Frankie…”

“I’d apologize, but we’d both know I was lying.” Your eyes weren’t even open but you could hear the shrug in his voice. You lifted your hand to pat his chest and smiled against his hip when he threaded your fingers together. “I didn’t want to risk you rolling on to your back or me getting trapped in a…”

He trailed off when you squeezed his fingers and nodded against him. “I know, baby.”

“I’ll sleep tonight, hell, maybe I’ll even take a nap today.”

“Nap sounds good,” you agreed, smiling when he chuckled, until it started shaking the bed and you groaned.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry,” he said, quickly getting himself under control.

~*~

When you woke again, the bed was empty and you were feeling marginally better than roadkill. You cracked an eye open just in time to see a shirtless Frankie walk through the bedroom door.

“Alright, hermosa, time to get up,” he said, carefully sitting on the bed. You blinked up at him and frowned, but he was there and helping you up before you could even object.

With his help he led you to the bathroom where you saw the clawfoot tub over halfway full of steaming water. You turned your head to raise a questioning eyebrow at him and he smiled...No, smirked at you.

“The guys are gone.” His hands turned you again towards the sink where your toothbrush and toothpaste were waiting for you. The man was an absolute godsend, because your mouth? Yeah, you weren’t going to think about that. “And I just want to take care of you. So a bath, then maybe some toast, water, ibuprofen, and then you’re going to relax until you feel better.” He gathered your hair so he could place a gentle kiss right where your jaw met your neck. You shuddered as you watched him in the mirror and smiled when all he did was meet your eyes in the mirror and winked.

Once your teeth were brushed and you’d stripped down, you tested the water with your fingers and then climbed inside the tub. You couldn’t help the moan as you lowered yourself to sit. The water was hot and relaxing as hell. How had you managed to get so lucky finding the man in front of you? You couldn’t answer that, but you sure as hell weren’t going to take it for granted either.

You reached out to run your wet fingers down Frankie’s stubbled cheek as he kneeled beside the tub and smiled when he pressed a kiss to your palm. He took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you, Frankie,” you said softly.

“I told you, mi sol, anything for you.”

Tag List: @cxnnxrmar

#Triple Frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #The Road-Trip #Frankie Morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #pope garcia #santiago pope garcia #benny miller #ben miller #will miller #william miller #drinking #fluff

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joshslater · 4 years ago

Text

Durag

A little rewrite of The Durag by bodilychanges.

“Ella! Where the fuck is today’s mail?” David shouted before even having sat down at the breakfast table. He was firm in his view that vigilant scrutiny and immediate punishment was the source of his wealth, allowing him to have a maid in the first place. David had many other firm views. “Homosexuals are all gay” he often joked, but he was an equal target offender. Homosexuals, Muslims, people of color. Although he would call them “the blacks” and the gays “people of color”. It often got a laugh at the club or at parties. In truth it didn’t really matter how poorly made his jokes were, people would laugh anyway. That’s the thing with money.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Cohen, but this just arrived.” Ella came rushing as quickly as she could, without running, from the front part of the mansion with a few small letter envelops and a larger DHL plastic envelope.

“What is it?” “It must be from one of your secret admirers, sir.” Ella suggested. “Good save.”

David snatched the bunch of envelopes from her hand, and she left almost as quickly as she entered, knowing David hated seeing any service personnel around. It had to be a secret admirer as no one would ever admit to like you, she mused on her way out.

David downed his ginger-lemon-honey booster shot and looked at the DHL envelope. It was more of a plastic pouch than a real envelope, big as a pocketbook and with something soft inside. There was no corporate sender on the address sticker, but just said DHL dropoff service point and “Tristan″ as sender. Sounded to him like some of the new ad companies with their hip names. Perhaps it was some T-shirt or something someone wanted him to have. He started to pull the plastic, which only stretched from his efforts. “Fuck!” he exclaimed and reached for a fruit knife from the bowl of exotic fruits, cut open the envelope and reached inside.

The shock was far worse than a normal static electricity shock. He dropped the knife on the floor and involuntary sent the envelope with its content across the room. All of his right arm hurt, and he could feel tingles as if the arm had fallen asleep and was waking up. “Motherfucking what the hell!” he shouted, and stood up. He walked a few steps to the envelope on the marble floor, grabbed one corner of it, and shook out its contents. Something black and glossy landed on the floor. The arm didn’t hurt as much, but the tingling sensation was spreading and he started to feel hot.

Carefully he gave the piece of cloth a quick pat with his hand. Nothing. He grabbed it and twisted it around in his hands, working out what it was. It took him a while to recognize it as a durag, though he had never heard that name. He was boiling with rage. Who the fuck would send black paraphernalia as some kind of sick joke, he thought. Was the electrocution also intentional?

He didn’t want to drop it back on the floor for Ella to pick up, or throw it in the trash himself. He wanted to incinerate the shit out of it, right now. The outdoor grill, or fire pit, or the ballroom fireplace, or the kitchen burner, all good options. He decided for the gas burner in his study, where he got rid of documents and USB sticks he didn’t just want to shred.

Somewhere in the stairs though he did something that he wouldn’t be able to explain. It was like an involuntary reflex, or a compulsion. Almost without knowing it himself he put the cloth on his head over his grey hair, put one of the smaller bands in his mouth, and pulled the other one flat around the front of his head. Then he took the first one out of his mouth, pulled it the other way around, and quickly tied them both behind his back. Finally he pulled everything tight, twisted the neckcloth, and tied it into a knot in the back.

As he entered the study he was almost surprised his hands were empty. He was breathing heavy, sweating profusely, and feeling like he had gotten a fever. He stepped over to the art deco mirror from 1922 he bought at an auction. He looked different, tanned like he had been out sailing all of last week, but somehow different in other ways. For a brief moment the thought “Why is there a fucking rag on my head?” caught his attention, until just a moment later he was more concerned about what was happening with his body.

He lifted the front of his black tank top and stared aghast. He had tried to take care of his body, it’s simply a matter of discipline after all, but there is only so much you can do to prevent skin from aging. But the skin, his skin, looked nothing like it did mere minutes ago. Glistening from sweat, the now hairless, young skin was slowly turning darker and darker, as if someone was pouring coffee into milk. He didn’t care if it so made him immortal. If it made him look this filthy it wasn’t a trade he wanted. Without noticing he lifted the front of the tank top over his head and placed it behind his neck.

His lean body was visibly gaining weight. His pecs grew and he could see abdominal muscles filling out his midriff. His arms and legs were also stacking up pounds. The tingling sensation in his arms didn’t diminish at all, and he did a few muscle flexes, which made the veins pop and sent a wave of relief through his body, along with a massive dose of testosterone. The low key itching that had been growing in his groin and armpits crescendoed into feeling like a rash, as wet hair visibly grew out under his arms.

All his senses were bombarded with an onslaught he couldn’t cope with. There was too much information to sort through. He scratched his armpit and looked at disbelief at his wet fingers as the testosterone boosted armpit stench reached his nose. He was confused, revolted, scared, and just wanted all of this to stop, whatever was going on. Something inside of him cracked and he moved his hand up to his nose and took a deep whiff of his armpit sweat. It was like his brain decided to like what was happening as a coping mechanism. Right there and then David believed the scent from his pits to be the most arousing thing he had ever experienced in his 54 years on earth. He took another deep breath and felt his dick stir.

He unbuttoned his Eddie Bauer shorts and started to climb out of them. It was a struggle to get out of both them and his briefs, and looking at his lower body it wasn’t a surprise why they were getting tight. His legs and feet had undergone the same transformation as the rest of him and were slowly settling in its new shapes and sizes. His ass was a pair of round basketballs of a bubble butt. Massive athletic thighs led down to hard calves, which ended in a set of size 16 feet.

His dick and balls were however of the same size as before, but now the same dark color as the rest of him. He let his left hand fingers run through the wet pubic hairs. He started to masturbate with his right hand while inhaling deeply from his sweaty fingers. It was good, but not as good as the armpits. He coated the back of his left hand in the sweaty right armpit. How he wished he could stick his nose in there, or lick it. He moved his gaze up in the mirror and saw a young, muscled man who looked anything but David. Alluring dick sucking lips, the strong bone structure of African descent, strong, muscled, sweaty. He could not think of anything he wanted more than to be fucked hard by the man in the mirror.

He let a moan slip from his lips. It was the deep rumble of an African American bull in heat. The sound he made made himself even hornier. What if the hot man in the mirror was a sex-addicted jock who wanted nothing but fucking him as deep and as hard and as long as he could as often as he could. But he wanted him to have a monster of a cock. To his delight he could see that every stroke made the cock in the mirror a little bit longer and a little bit thicker, but it also became more and more difficult to resist to climax. He wanted both to enjoy it more and enjoy it for longer. He shut his eyes and tried to think of something else, but all he could think of was dark, sweaty skin from different parts of the body.

The first thing he felt was a sharp tug on his nutsack as his balls suddenly exploded in size and mass. It didn’t hurt, but it surprised him, and made him unprepared for wave after wave of pleasure as he shot load after load of cum on the mirror, screaming in ecstasy as he did so. Exhausted but euphoric he just stood there with his eyes shut, trying to not think of anything but just savor the moment when a shriek knocked him out of his trance.

In the mirror he saw Ella by the door, her face completely drained of color. She was in by the desk, pressed the panic button, and out again before Darius had time to react. It felt like syrup to think. What was the response time for the police again? He couldn’t remember. He should go, but where? Away. He should bring something. He looked at the too small shorts below him he was dripping cum on. He had cash in the safe. No, you can’t open it when the panic alarm is active. What was the response time for the police again? He couldn’t remember. Was his name even Darius?

“FUCK!” he shouted and almost in panic ran down the stairs, out the patio, passed the pool, rounded the pool house, went past the BBQ area, around the smaller pond, rounded the hedge, came around the tool shed, down the access road, and ran to the garden entrance.

“Perhaps he split the front.” Malcolm thought out load. “Relax man. He’s still David inside. He just can’t get enough black cock, that’s all. He knows he can’t come runnin out the white folk side.” Tristan was sitting in the driver’s seat in the City Gardening truck they’d lent as a favor. They hadn’t seen any security driving up the access road, but they came prepared with excuses. “Perhaps cops shot him” “You just jumpy, man. We talked all this before. Police wont shoot nobody out here. Goes on public records and fucks with the value of the hood. Besides, we’d hear if... There!”

Stumbling out through the gate was an athletic man wearing nothing but a durag and a tank top pulled over his head. His eyes were wild and he was staring at the car like a deer in oncoming traffic and his mind was a jumble of contradictions. Why the fuck did those black fuckers park here, he thought. The police will have to deal with them. I want to suck them off, both of them. I want one to fuck me while I blow the other, and then have them swap places. No, why the fuck would I even touch them. The police is on their way. I wonder what they smell like. It looks hot in that truck.

“Remember, we need to get it on him before he clears up.” Tristan told Malcolm. “On it.” he lowered the window, waved and shouted. “Hey borther! Hurry! Come here before anyone sees you. There are clothes in the back!”

Darius was shaken into action and quickly ran and entered the truck.

5 months later.

Darius looked at the purple stud. It would look so good on him. Perhaps he could ask Tristan to buy it for him, since he didn’t have any money himself. Every time he raised the question with Malcolm and Tristan they just brushed it off, saying it was too early. He needed to take care of himself and focus on remembering anything from before his memory loss. Besides, if he worked he wouldn’t have time to have sex around the clock. They did have a point there. There probably wasn’t a black dick above 5″ in town that he hadn’t had inside of him. All of the squad, and Malcolm in particular were regulars, but Tristan had a way to get almost anyone, straight or gay, to fuck him. He once asked Tristan what he tells people to have sex with him, but he just smiled and said it was a secret.

Jammal was one of them. He wasn’t gay, but something Tristan told him made him make an exception for Darius. Jammal worked in the docks, and every time they fucked he made sure to show up sweaty. Darius loved nothing more than to inhale deeply from Jammal’s armpits, lick them, suck his dick, and finally have him ride his ass for as long as possible. He would like to get the purple stud and wear it next time they met. It was just a piece of glass on a needle, but he would love to wear it for Jammal.

“Hi. Can I help you?” the girl in the store asked. “Yo. I want to... I can’t...” “You want to try it on? It’s no problem. I have disinfectant.”

With a bit of hesitation Darius started to unscrew his stud from its plate. He’d had it in place for as long as he could remember. Just as the needle left the hole of the pierced ear lobe his mind was assaulted.

Everything from before the car ride came rushing in. How he put on the underwear and sweat pants. How he had been sniffing the clothes and Tristan complained that they should have used clean ones. How he had been running from the mansion. How he had transformed from racist, bigoted, multi-millionaire into the hot, dark meat he was now. The old memories mixed with the new ones, how he had lived together with Tristan and Malcolm in their trashy place. How he had spent every hour over the past months sucking, fucking, and working out with anyone willing. He was filled with nauseating disgust for them, what he’d done with them, who he was. At the same time he could feel his large dick getting hard, and it wasn’t despite what he was thinking of, but because of it he realized.

“Are you alright?” the girl said with a concerned look. “I think I... I know what is wrong.” he said and carefully put the needle of the stud back in.

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the-headbop-wraith · 4 years ago

Text

3 _ 44 _ Not the Best News

The light flashed green, but Arthur wasn’t paying attention. The action didn’t quite ignite in his mind, though he was looking right at it. Lost in his thoughts, searching for guidance to connect the now to a future he didn’t understand. Did Lewis not trust him? He didn’t get it.

A crackle of static burbled through the radio.

“Lights green.”

Arthur shivered. “Yeah. Just checking for traffic.” There was no rebuke on that, though the intersection was bare of vehicles aside from one car creeping forward. The town shut down pretty fast following six PM.

Streetlamps flashed through the windshield at off intervals, flooding black through the van interior. The rose tinge of Lewis eyes glittered, his shape near insubstantial within the periodic dips of flare bursts. Sometimes, Arthur thought he saw the death suit and skull, despite knowing Lewis would not drop his living guise unless his focus broke. It must suck, maintaining that sort of concentration.

“Y’know, you don’t have to look that way around me,” Arthur admitted. “I actually don’t mind Sir Bones Esquire.” Lewis generated a sound, but he couldn’t place if it was a hiss or static.

“I prefer to look not like I crawled out of a grave,” he muttered. The face didn’t move, but the shimmering ember shifted to check Arthur. “Thanks for the offer.”

Arthur shrugged his shoulder. “I try and keep the board clear. Whatever works for you, I’m game.” It wasn’t resentment, it was something else seeping off of Lewis.

“You too,” Lewis uttered. He leaned back a little in the seat and crossed his arms. “You got a lot on your mind. You wanna, I dunno, talk?”

Arthur sniffled. “Not really. It’s, well….” He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe later, I gotta tell you some things. Not bad or anything, but it’s pretty heavy. I might… y’know, never mind. That pizza was heckin’ good. How many times did you burn ‘em.” The radio sputtered.

“Five, I think….”

“Awesome.” Arthur pulled into the carport for Kingsman Mechanics. The lights were all out, the parking lot empty; the space barren, but for the vehicles dropped. He climbed out of the driver side and shut the door. On the other side, Lewis swept through the grill of the van in a swell of light and embers.

“Dude, c’mon,” he uttered. “Don’t risk the gas tank.”

“It’s ethereal fire,” Lewis rasped. “Absolutely harmless.” He walked with Arthur to the front doors, the keys already twinkling.

“Hard to tell with you.” Arthur slotted one key, then the next. Until, Lewis brought his hand close, sparking a smoldering ember at his palm. Arthur jolted. “Shit! Warning, next time.”

“Siento.” At the entrance Lewis waited, while Arthur popped inside and gave the building a brief exploration. Within seconds, Arthur returned and beckoned.

When exiting out the entrance corridor, Arthur flicked a switched on the panel and activated the lights throughout the main work floor. “Okay, the boxes are upstairs by the door of my work room. Stacked. I meant to grab them, it didn’t happen. You can’t miss them.” The details dropped, he skittered out of Lewis company, sprinting across the work floor.

“Where are you going?”

“Need parts for my arm. I was kinda in a hurry, excited I was gonna get out of here before Viv started texting me. I didn’t want her to worry.” He spun around, throwing a finger gun Lewis’ way. “I’ll be up in a sec.”

“What else did you forget?” Lewis departed on his alternate route to the dark corridor, leading to the stairway. “Should I grab the kitchen sink, too?”

After a beat, Arthur called back in a sharp whisper, “It couldn’t hurt.”

The worktable was as he left it, which was what he liked. He pulled open the drawer where he kept a sturdy case for the tools he routinely transported in or out, depending on his schedule. There was a specific method for undoing the clasps without the aid of a second arm, it was a little awkward to do since it required the use of his knee. It mostly kept the case stationary while he pried up the latch, but his movement was so practiced it took a mere five seconds. In a smaller drawer beneath the table surface, he kept the soldering wands for minute detail work. If he could, he wanted to get the remedial delicate stuff. It was simple enough, but tedious—

Crack!

Arthur jolted and whipped around, instincts on high alert. His eyes flashed around the room, studying the vehicles left prepared for tomorrow’s shift, the rotary lifts and supply carts spaced throughout the work floor. What was that? It was loud, the clamor reverberated through the hollow garage, emphasizing isolation and a prowling threat.

“Um… Uncle?” he called. No response. Not good. Arthur reached behind him and clenched a wrench. “Who’s there?” He didn’t risk calling the name of the one that should be, but the fact an answer was NOT forthcoming was worst of all. It was okay. It would be okay. He took a breath and crept forward, moving behind a small car and checking through the windows – searching through the tinted glass for an amateur hasting to relocate amidst his momentary ‘distraction’. The silence peeled apart his senses, he should pick up someone breathing or even their deepest thoughts. Was anything missing? He couldn’t tell, and it wouldn’t matter. Someone was here, he was certain.

After taking a short trip around the work floor, he scurried to a far wall and set the wrench down on a table, then jammed a fist into his vest pocket. Before his fingers could grasp at his phone, the hair on his nape prickled, spurring him to whip about. With a yelp, he backpedaled from the hulking shape. His yelp was more of a ‘YEEE!’ and his retreat sent him staggering, when he brushed against the corner of the desk.

“Who the fack?! Hey—” He tumbled to the floor, as the shape snatched at the wrench abandoned upon the table. He rolled until his arm was situated under him, and sprung onto his feet. “Who the—” His voice sputtered, the wrench gave a menacing CLANG! upon skipping across the concrete floor.

At first, he did believe in his heart that this was Lewis. In the dark and sinister parts of his memories, Arthur believed that the spirit had crept down to invoke some cruel ploy to torment him. But as the shape swept through the dull glow of light, he could cleanly distinguish that this was a grunting, breathing, agitated man in a mask. The intruder person kept weaving in and swiping for his arm, intent on incapacitating him through crude means. A shame that Arthur was much too spry and hardwired for evasion, the vandal didn’t expect such resistance either.

The irony of everything, that a masked person would intrude in the shop and assault him. What the hell? He got enough of this crap on rando assignments, this was break from that drama. So much for that fantasy.

Did something crash, elsewhere? Oh boy, oh shit!

“Man, you don’t wanna do this!” Arthur vaulted over the hood of a van and zipped around the side. The big guy was quick too, though not as agile. He huffed and puffed, pursuing like a bear on honey. “You really don’t wanna! I’m warning you! Yikes!” With a lunge he crashed to the floor - he cleared the table, but got snagged by an impact drill and its cord. “YOU! You’re getting into some bad shit!” He screamed bloody murder and scrambled to his feet. The intruder hauled up a whole muffle and swung it down – cracked the concrete and missed his foot by an inch.

Arthur sprang one way, then the other around a small convertible. Intruder followed, swishing the muffler like a damn katana. In a risky slide, he dove by and scrambled to one of the rotary lifts with a jeep suspended. He shimmied up one tower and clambered through the vacant side door, scarcely hauling his legs out of the way before Intruder with muffler could swing and knock his knees off.

“I’m tellin’ you! You gotta leave,” Arthur went on, speech breaking. A fleeting glance surveyed the room, but established no sign of eyes or fury. Still time before this guy got cooked. “For your own—” The muffler collided with the arch of the jeep and the jointed pipe glanced his shoulder. The world twisted as he toppled backwards, and off the hood of the jeep. It was oddly reminiscent of those dreams, the nightmares. He knew what came next.

Unexpectantly, his body collided with a stack of empty boxes.

The masked intruder gulped down cold air, more excited than winded through the exertion. They glanced around, where was it? In all the ruckus, their mind blanked on where they dumped it. Turning, they spied something that made them abandoned the search cold turkey. This was entirely due to the large hand snagging their shoulder, and flinging them like a doll. Heat and an overwhelming scent of char clouded their senses, dissipating only when they descended from the short flight.

The trajectory sent them on a collision course for a flatbed cart, which they tumbled off and skidded across the floor. They didn’t stop, barely checking that their legs remained connected to their spine before retreating from the scene. Exit! Escape! Where was the way out! As they fled, they patted at their sleeve and mask, embers scored their clothing – The hell? The intruder was unable to make sense of where they went, and crashed into a work bench. With admirable grace, they recovered, a pronounced limp following; metal parts and tools clanged in a cacophony of symphony across the floor. They kept going, not chancing a look back and barely examining the area through the sparks dazzling their eyes.

Posed from throwing whoever that was, skull and death suit, eyes blazing, and fire still crackling at his ribs. Lewis would have given chase and done some real damage; there might’ve been something like self-control, perhaps even a capture if he was feeling generous. However, he couldn’t detect Arthur, and the figure buried under boxes was unresponsive to all the horrendous business afoot. He was not playing possum; Arthur couldn’t fool him.

“Arthur?” his tone withered, and became distorted. He glided closer to the comatose figure and towered, gazing down. With hesitance and some second thoughts, he reached down slowly—

Right through the heart he’s shot! A full slug punched directly through his facade and tore the locket clear off his coat front. WOW. What a mistake that was. Lewis twitched, fists clenched tightly at his sides. The last time he felt a sensation like that, it was after falling a considerable amount and choking on his last breath. He could almost feel the heavy tempo of a heartbeat fade out a second time.

DID

NOT

THAT

Directly behind Lewis at a two-meter pace, Uncle Lance stood with a rifle, barrel smoking. It was a good and clean hit, the gray wall on the other side visible through the incision torn through. He waited, uncertain what should happen next. The thing in front of him, how could it be described? It looked vaguely man-like, it had the shape of a person. Except for the ‘head’, and the gap above the open collar where a neck should occupy.

Lewis cocked his head and let his skull swivel, peering back. Another igniting thunderclap, and the spirit snapped around fully, cowering. Fist trembling beside his hip.

“Yu step back from m’boy, ya reject Hall-oh-ween Deck-ARATION!” Lance gave the rifle a crank and took aim. As he watched, the vacant hole in the torso filled in with a strange, glossy light. The chunk in the shoulder sizzled, and what looked like fire crackled over the rich color of the suit. A skull and suit; a very malevolent and pissed looking skull. “YA HEAR!”

Terrible and antagonistic ruminations boiled through Lewis’ consciousness. An endless fall, the impact – mind fractured and every piece of his body dislocated. Shadows sweeping in, swirling around that bent figure high-high above, and the jewel glittering at the center of its sneer. Wild, unruly cackles clattered across the walls of the abyss, mocking his pain. Drinking up the agony spilling across the sharpened stalagmites, as every ounce of care and thought drained away.

He glided toward the attacker, taking another bullet seamlessly in the abdomen. Ribs next, splintering – each patch of destruction inflicted, vanished in a swell of heat conjured by his blazing soul. The pieces and sharp fragments of Lewis fitted back, reworking a bizarre pattern of that day many-many moons ago. Rising, the bitter aversion for this betrayal. Abandoned, isolation and pitiless grief that followed. The loneliness, and sense of loss saturating his very essence. Corrupting, robbing him of warmth and tenderness, replacing everything with whispers and fire. Another piercing bolt, to his lower arm – a wild shot. Panic infused.

Someone was very deserving of all this pain. It would feel better to share it, cleave a sliver loose. Release a portion of that fury threatening to boil over like a raging, scalding tsunami. Let them feel a taste of the bitterness that plagued him.

As the thing approached ominously – clear malevolence burned in the pits of the skulls eye sockets – Lance became steadily more alarmed. There had to be a way to stop it. Someway, he had to put an end to it. But it was apparent brute force wouldn’t do it in. He backed away, nearly colliding with a supply cart.

“Stop!” he snarled. “You can’t do that! No! S’not possible! I won’t believe it!” The next projectile tore through the apparition’s center, but before the echo faded the gaping breach vanished. Lance buckled backwards, gun dry. “ARGH! What are yu made of!”

The rifle swept from his grip and the spirit hosted him up by the front of his vest, yanking him clear off his feet. It glared into him with those intense, blazing embers bristling deep within the cavernous eye sockets. “The souls of the innocent….” Lewis wound back an arm, fingers twitching—

“A bagel?”

Lewis froze. “Artie!” He dumped Lance and whipped around, shooting to the cluster of busted boxes. Before he could lean down, he hesitated – the lights about the work station flashed. “What… happened? I, uh… you’re hurt.” Arthur was sitting up, holding his neck and quivering under the drill of pain in his head. It was vibrant, he could almost feel it in his own skull.

“Honest, I don’t… remember. Oof.” His hand reached over and touched the empty spot of his shoulder.

The confusion was apparent, as well. Lewis needed to wait and see what Arthur came forward with. It might confuse Arthur if he bombarded him with questions, or prompts; he didn’t get a good view of the whole scene. Aside from the flush of rage that compelled his reaction. This couldn’t be rushed, and the other needed time to adjust and come around. Especially since Arthur appeared uncertain of what happened, despite his poor negotiations.

“Did you… try to dump me off somewhere? High?” Now, Arthur peered up at the looming shadow. He couldn’t gather much of Lewis’ features, aside from a towering silhouette and the heated fuchsia orbs peering down. It was super unnerving. “That seems like somethin’ you’d do. Fuk… m’back.”

Lewis smashed a fist into his palm. “That person! This guy!” A puff of flame sparked at his collar, and the embers in his skull snapped into hostile pinpoints. “I don’t know what happened, but he threw something. And then, you FELL! It – uh, I thought….” His speech sputtered into harsh screeches, staccato and hard to distinguish.

“I’ll go ahead and take your word on— No, wait. I don’t remember some guy.” Arthur flinched, his head ached too. “I remember running, and I know I was scared shitless.” Lewis gawked down at him, for once it was endearing and mortified despite circumstances. “Some… guy?”

“In a mask?” Lewis cocked his skullish brow.

Arthur nodded. Ooh. Hurt. “That I remember, I think. Fuck… damn. You didn’t go after him?”

“You. FELL.”

Arthur pinched his brow. “Okay. Shut up. You… I can barely understand you. What? I’m the one that—” He withered, trapped in place by the barrier of boxes bent around him. The barbaric cry could terrify morally questionable crocodiles.

The wild and furious snarl was Lance’s doing. He crept in closer to the spirit with his arms outstretched and two fingers locked together forming a significant and easy to recognize T. Or X. No, it was a definitely a T. A crucifix, like in the movies.

“Evil… BOO! I banish yu!” Lance scooted in closer, edging out around at an imaginary tether which directed him toward Arthur. Determination in his eyes and sweat on his brow, his beard frazzled, that glare did not loosen from the invading spirit. “I don’t believe in this spook fun house nan-sense, but I’ll not have yur sort here terrorizing my kid!”

A touch annoyed Lewis drooped. He debated straight up punching Lance’s lights out or stuffing him in a car trunk. Anything to get him out of the way, if only for a couple minutes. They didn’t need this.

Arthur groaned. Everything was loud and annoying, it wasn’t just Lewis. His grumbling kicked up into a theatrical scream, “A g-g-ghost! Here! You’d better leave, disgruntled… apparition? Fuk, I don’t have the pharmacy enough for this bullshit.” He leaned to the side, moaning. “I mean, eeek! Argh! Spirit! You had better leave, before… I dunno, you’re banished by my dear Uncle’s very clear, um… exorcism. Or whatever he’s doing. OOoooOOooOOOOOoooohhhh….” Under his breath, he spat, “For fuk’s sake, you’re compelled to obey!”

Lewis crossed his arms and leaned a little away from Lance. “Yeaaahhhh, gunna hit that up with a hard no. Not really in the mood, capiche?” He glowered directly down on Lance, right at his face with gloved hands outstretched with that ridiculous T. “Stop that or I’ll give you something to bitch about.”

Arthur took a sharp breath. “Why do you hafta be so pissy?” Everything. HURT.

“Stop with the language, and I might consider an attitude adjustment.”

Arthur screwed his eyes shut. “Uncle Lance, that’s not gunna work.”

Lance fizzled out. “Ehh.” He gawked at the skull, and the skull glared back. For the life of him, he could not begin to figure how it was suspended there. “Then… what will work?” He shuffled the remainder of the way to Arthur and crouched down, protectively. His gaze never wavered from the hostile… it was a ghost, wasn’t it? “What d’we do? How d’yu get rid of it?”

“We don’t get rid of HIM,” Lewis huffed, pointing at Lance. “HE gets an ice pack for Arthur. Keep an eye on him.” In a flash of sparks, Lewis vanished – the extinguished cinder formed an outline before the ash hit the floor.

The unexpected flare forced Lance to recoil, more from the vibrancy than any anticipated retribution. Once the haze faded, he searched around. No sound, no evidence of the spirits presence – aside from that familiar burning. That wasn’t important, what was important was Arthur.

“Yu’re the expert. Is there… a pesteecide? Tell me, and I’ll get it done.”

Arthur struggled to get up. “It’s a….” He flopped back, it was worse than a ballpit, made worse by the throbbing in his head and shoulders. He could remember up to the jeep, then it all got somewhat fuzzy. Lance assisted in easing him off the crumpled mold of his shape, nice and easy, careful not to rush. “He’s like a thorn bur, you try plucking it off and you’ll get third-degree burns.”

Lance blinked. “WHAT?! Is that whut happened to your neck?!”

This was not needed right now. And the guy, their mysterious assailant. Where was he now? Arthur couldn’t debate it out too hard, though some of the ache was fading, subsiding into a monotonous drum. He groaned in his throat.

Then, on the floor. He noticed it beside one of the crushed boxes, snowed in by packing peanuts. The cracked locket. Despite dislocation, it persisted to pulse in time with the throbbing in his ears.

“Shit-shit!” He scrambled out of Lance’s grip and snatched the thing up; it took a beating by the looks. The hinge creaked and unexpectantly the door swung open, threatening to pop off. Cursing, he struggled to hold it one handed without the whole thing coming apart. Without meaning too, he saw within. There was a photograph. He inched down, squinting at the textures and shapes, trying to make sense of what was there. He didn’t know there was—

A dark hand snapped the locket from Arthur’s grasp and shut it. He bristled. Lewis had returned. The spirit looked downright sinister, as he set the ashen artifact back to his chest.

“I didn’t—” Lance grabbed Arthur and heaved him back. Lance’s valiant efforts halted, when Lewis unceremoniously shoved him off. An icebag settled on Arthur’s head.

Lewis knelt on one knee, one hand loaded with supplies. “I’ll invoke my deeply nefarious plot for revenge at a later time. When you’re fixed and patched, and likely better apt to outrun me.” He adjusted the last few items in his hand, by tucking a water bottle into the crook of his arm and twisting open a pill bottle. “You get one of these.” He set aside the pill bottle and popped the cap on the water bottle, enough to break the seal.

Sprawled on his back, Lance observed with a perplexity beyond known rational. “Okay. What is goin’ on ‘ere?” He moved upright and jabbed out a hand toward the spirit. “What is this thing, really?”

Lewis glared. “Rude.”

Arthur swallowed the pill and took the water bottle. “It’s not the strong stuff.” Rather sip, he pressed the chilled bottle to his neck.

“The strong stuff will put you in a coma, and as much as I’d prefer that, I need you awake for awhile. It’s a concussion, not a concession.”

“Mmm, I’m lovin’ the bedside manner. You’re such a dish.” He took a sip and let the water warm before he swallowed. “Oof.”

“Thank you for noticing, I’ve been wor—”

“What in blazes is goin’ on!” Lance exploded, figuratively. “Arthur Kingsman! Explain! Should I call a priest, a medic! Or… what! What m’I suppose to do? Yu’n Viv-vi dealt with this’n supernatural mischief! Professionally! I can’t have these….” He jabbed a hand the spirits way, grasping for words, “…these critters, creeping into my shop! I need somethin’!”

Arthur hung his head and sipped more water. On the sideline stood Lance tapping his foot, veins popped on his face. This was such a mess he wasn’t sure what to say or do, where to begin. “I need another pill.”

“No,” Lewis grated.

“Arthur,” Lance grumbled, tone stern but considerably nerfed since the eruption. “Tell me somethin’. What am I supposed to do here? I wan tu help.”

“It’s me, Uncle Lance. Lewis Pepper.” Arthur choked on the water he was sipping. “You shot me, by the way.” Arthur made a sound, but if it was human or not was the riddle. “Maybe don’t inhale….”

Lance stiffened; teeth clenched. For a full minute he didn’t say a word, but his sturdy outline quaked. “No!”

“Well,” Lewis chattered, “You didn’t… kill me, I’ll give you that. Don’t worry. But you did shoot me, like, twenty times.”

“It was four!”

“Whatever.” The Lewis spirit fixed Lance with his scalding ember eyes, not looking pleased. And there was some familiarity in that expression, despite how feral and agitated it was now. Despite it being a bleached skull, lacking traditional and easily mapped expression. “It didn’t feel nice.”

“Impossible! Yu can’t be Lewis!” Lance stamped a foot. “Yu are not Lewis! That dusn’t work!”

Arthur exhaled, catching the attention of both. “Can you not shout?” He pinched the water bottle in his arm crook and adjusted the ice bag on his neck, before it slid off. “He’s Lewis, okay? He’s not alive, but he is Lewis. We sort of… Viv-vi and I, ran across him awhile back.” How to explain THAT mess! “He was there, and we had car trouble….”

“Funny story,” Lewis broke in. “Thrilling in a lot of ways. Quite the adventure.”

“No! No-no-no-no-no- no-no-no-no! And NO!” Lance swung his arms out, declaring, “Lewis Pepper is dead, gone! He’s never coming back! You said so yuserlf! Yu and Viv-vi, you kids gotta let that go.”

Arthur face palmed against the water bottle. Oh boy.

Lewis rose to his full height, was it possible he made himself taller? He became a looming, malevolent shadow with piercing eyes. “And maybe I don’t want to let them go. Have ya ever thought of that? Uncle Lance?”

Arthur dumped everything and leapt up. He caught Lewis by the tie. “That’s it! I’m calling time out!” To Lance, “Uncle, this is Lewis! He’s dead, it’s a long story, and it is my— ”

“A bitch!”

“You! Lew? What’s gotten into you?”

Lewis hunched over placing his skull inches from Arthur’s face. “He. SHOT. Me!”

“And? You can’t feel it!”

“It hit me right in the feels! Nineteen times!”

Lance hooted, “It was four, ya dumb spook!” He flinched when Lewis looked his way, eye sockets flooded thick with flames flickering. “I don’t BELIEVE in this bogus heebie-jeevies! Why d’I hafta look at it, when I don’t believe in it? This ain’t right!”

“That’s offensive,” Lewis shrieked, “I don’t appreciate your tone!”

A ringing chimed loud and brilliant in the momentary calm amid the fury of the storm. Arthur staggered away, first jamming a hand into his pocket and realized his phone wasn’t there. Of course she would call. They were super fucking late, they should’ve been back days ago.

Arthur pushed through the office doorway and fumbled for the light. In his alarm, he forgot it was on the side of his left arm. He gave up, and went straight to the buzzing receiver on the desk.

“Lords, I hope they don’t kill each other….” He shifted around and checked out the doorway. “Or, I hope Lewis doesn’t— Viv-vi! HEY!” The icepack was sorely missed. “No, everything’s fine. What, uh… gave you that idea? What about my voice?”

Lance squeezed into the office, rifle in hand. “It doesn’t belong ‘ere. End of discussion.”

Lewis hung in the doorway, eyes flashing and flames swelling off his shoulders. He was going to ignite something. The whole shop would implode, just like the mansion. “I’ll tell you what doesn’t belong here! We need to exorcise that nasty attitude! See how you like it!”

Arthur pulled the phone from his ear and fitted the mouthpiece into his palm. “WHY! Did you two follow me.” He shoved the phone to his shoulder. “No! We, er… yu see what happened here, we’ll— I really can’t explain. I need an adult.”

Lance reached for the phone. “Lemme talk to her!”

Arthur sprang back, holding the phone high above his head. “No!”

“Te satisfaría? If I show you? Arthur, I need a mirror.”

Arthur climbed onto the desk, screeching into the phone, “Vivi, for the love of holy doughnuts, please come here, asap! I don’t care if someone sees Mystery! You! Here! NOW!” He slammed the phone down and scrambled off the desk, completely losing his footing in the process and nearly faceplanting. “Can you both NOT SCREAM bloody murder for two minutes! Five minutes? S’all I’m asking!”

After that outburst, both Lance and Lewis clamped up. Arthur shoved his way out the door past Lewis, and crossed the floor back to where he abandoned the ice bag and water. He plopped down on the ground with his back to them, his lone hand fastened to his springy hair, and wilted.

“Fuck.” Lewis swayed, drawing a hand up to the front of his suit. He eased a ways out beyond the portal but paused, once more fiddling with his tie. To the side, Lance was inching out.

The look on Arthur’s face, he’d never seen an expression on his nephew quite like it. Except when…. Lance’s first instinct was get to him, the lad was distraught – the intuition an understatement – Arthur needed… a word. Support. But an arm slashed through his path, stalling the reflexive drive. He nearly refuted the action, the protest was on the tip of his tongue. But something snatched the words away, his throat became dry. For the first time in a long time, he was at a loss.

Given the chance to observe the spirit – as it were – a moment to examine the features, it’s strangeness; a sense of familiarity soaked into him. When it wasn’t glaring or coiled up, he could get the feel for something else. Like a shadow stamped into the world he understood, a vivid memory of someone he could easily recognize from a distance. An unmistakable figure, distinct from a crowd. This… thing, it looked nothing like Lewis Pepper, but the gait it carried, the movement of its arms, it was unmistakable. Somehow, he knew this… thing, but dissension saturated the connection, and its presence was disjointed. It wasn’t alive, yet it was here. Most important of all, it wasn’t going away.

“You, uh… I think he’ll be fine.” When Lance spoke, the smoldering returned. It did NOT like him. So, what was it? What, not who. It couldn’t be…. “I’m… gunna sit down, fer a bit.”

Lance left for the breakroom and made himself a pot of coffee. When he returned from the recess, pot in hand and a stack of Styrofoam cups; Arthur was still seated far from the office, but updated to a stack of boxes that bore his weight. He gave a brief nonintrusive examination, only to confirm he was still breathing and not in any sort of apparent pain. From there, he went to the office to clear his thoughts and keep an eye on the area.

The lights hadn’t been turned on at all, and he almost forgot about the… thing. In the shroud, he nearly missed it seated at one of the chairs facing the desk, eyes aglow, the faint shimmer of its stylish hair. It sat arms crossed tightly, one leg slanted over the other. It didn’t respond when Lance entered.

“I think you have a story to share.” Lance sat one cup in front of the spirit and poured some coffee. The spirit refused to acknowledge his presence, and almost appeared photographic in its uncanny stillness; it wouldn’t even look at him. He reached over the side of his desk and pried open a drawer, and from the drawer, pulled up a small tray with containers of sweetener and nondairy creamers. “You a lil sour? What’s up?” He poured a cup for himself and blew at the harsh steam. “Not doin’ nothin’ but broodin’.”

There was a change in the spirit. The gleaming eyes were now locked on the white cup steaming in front of it.

“I don’t understand how this works,” Lance admitted. He plucked up the dislocated phone from the desk and set it back to the receiver. “Am I supposed t’say a special codeword? Is there a ritual, an uh… Ouiguh board.” The lamp on his desk flickered, came on, and then the bulb popped in a firework splash. Lance winced, sharply withdrawing his hand. Okay, what the FUCK. “Did yu do that?”

“Not on purpose.” Praise the stars, it spoke. “Check on Arthur.”

He wasn’t certain if that was a hint, or a direct command. “Juz did. He’s fine. This is mah office, by the way.” He managed to get a sip of his coffee. “I won’t harass him with this, not now. And I won’t wait for Vivi-vi. Before we get tu this…. Yu say a person….”

“Guy in a mask.”

“All right.” Lance nodded. “Before we pop that can of worms, before any of that. You’re here. I’ll go so far as admit that. But,” he gestured vaguely. “How did this happen?” Those vibrant eyes flicked up to him.

“It’s complicated.”

“Hmm. Don’t like t’way you said that.”

“Funny. I could care less what you think.”

Lance took another sip, and set his cup down. “Listen. Ghost Lewis.”

“Just Lewis,” the spirit had a wispy, sometimes airy way of speaking. The voice didn’t come from it, which made sense, because it didn’t have a mouth. “I’m still Lewis. The only difference, I lost custody of the body.” He huffed, and a bright flame flashed from its neck collar. Lance leaned back in his chair, uncertain what to make of… everything.

“Lewis, then.” He moved his line of sight out of the office, once more checking on Arthur. “Y’know Arthur’s m’boy, and I won’t have yu tormentin’ him.”

For a few minutes Lance sat, mulling through a history he thought was sheltered away in the deep parts of his memories where he preferred not to dwell. His fingers pressed tighter around the defenseless cup in his grasp, the warmth seeped through the insulated material and into the thick gloves he wore. The white of the cup cut through the bleak patterns of the gloom, reminding him of the brightest sheets he’d ever seen – specks of crimson and brown, where the bandages couldn’t stifle the work to recreate a shoulder. Arthur delirious and agonized, unaware that he was maimed as badly as he was. The details were unattainable, shattered and cast out a window. Nothing helped, no amount of medication.

Something happened. Vivi lost her memory. It was awful. Mystery was gone, vanished entirely like a… well. Arthur was beyond consoling, overrun by trauma, nearly splint in two. There was no way to construct a complete narrative, aside from it being a terrible Accident. Irreversible. Lewis never came back, and Arthur insisted that would never change. And they had to accept that.

If he held the Styrofoam cup any tighter, it would spill all over his desk. Lance rubbed at his face, trying to quell his thoughts. Those nightmares kept him up some nights, but he was a master of not showing on the worst days. Arthur had enough to deal with, and apparently more so these days. He sighed, still refusing to raise his gaze to the thing seated across from him, trying to dwell on the mystery of how it could be so devoid of warmth despite what looked like an ember wavering near its shoulder. He tried once more:

“He’s said some things I don’t fully grasp, admitted stuff I don’t have a full spectrum or insight intu.” He rubbed a thumb over the rim of the cup, gazing into the dark depths of the liquid within. “‘E’s been through enough, he’s regretted t’things that happen’. Losin’ you… I don’t even think he realized ‘iz arm was gone, not until—”

“Uncle Lance.” It was almost heartening, the way the spirit – Ghost Lewis. Just Lewis – persisted to refer to him as Uncle, same as his friends. The same way he did when alive. “I lost my life, and all of that had a negative effect on me, on my… prospect for living, and being.” The spirit moved, uncoiling his arms and gently caressed the vibrating heart at its chest. “It’s a topic we try not to touch on. I tend to stray far away from it all.”

How easy it touched upon the subject of its demise, as if it was all a matter of inconvenience. Was it meant to comfort him? Lance took a sip. “Juz curious, but… was there plans to… accept and reconcile, or something?” The eyes narrowed at him and the bristling embers constricted into a needle point dot.

“What are you getting at, now?”

Lance blew at the steam in his cup. The eyes of the spirit flashed, agitated by something, some unknown insult. “I’m not getting’ why your still ‘round. Aren’t spooks supposed to do’n the, is it the crop circle thing?”

Lewis cocked a rigid eyebrow. “Cross… over? No. Nope, it’s not a requirement for certain cases.”

“I have a suspicion that there’s more tu it than—” Without warning, Lewis bolted up from the seat – the flash of movement shocked Lance, in that it was vacuum less and silent. Only the light dousing out, as Lewis’ wide shoulders zipped out the doorway. The embers once swirling his space extinguished altogether, plunging the room into total darkness.

The catalyst must’ve been the racketing dog yaps, which entered onto the work floor. Soon after there was Vivi, racing over to the middle of the room and dashing her eyes around. Mystery was her guide, leading directly to the side wall where Arthur had remained hunched over. Arthur gave her the barest attention when she reached his side and leaned low. An exchange of words followed. Then, Vivi raised her sight to the office doorway.

Without a word, Lewis approached the group, arms clasped behind his back. When Lance emerged from his quarters fully and the light ensnared him, Vivi set her eyes upon him, and they became saucers. In retrospect, it did explain some things, though not nearly enough if Lance was honest. Something about all this didn’t settle right, and at the core of this drama was his boy, Arthur. If he couldn’t enlist Vivi’s aid in this, he might have to pursue other drastic means. But it wouldn’t work to be reckless. Being reckless is what nearly got him socked in the face, by something that claimed to be Lewis Pepper.

#mystery skulls fanfic #mystery skulls #msa #fanfic #fanfiction #mystery skulls fanfiction #msa fanfic #msa fanfiction #mystery skulls ghost #mystery skulls animated #msa lewis #mew arthur #msa vivi #msa lance #msa mystery

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jjba-hell · 3 years ago

Text

Revoked

Still late for day 2 but I am enjoying the hell out of these prompts. (Today’s prompt was sci-fi)

Trigger warnings for the death of the ice cream gays but lemme know if I missed anything else.

Summary: a weird mismatched team of busted up aliens and half-blood humans just dealing with some shit.

For the lovely: @lasquadraweek2021

“You should really just transfer to a new body Pros. Humans aren’t supposed to live this long, babe.”

You grumble probably more to yourself than to the man whose forearm you were tinkering in. Well... maybe tinkering wasn’t the word either. He needed another repair and honestly you can’t help but feel like Risotto only offered you the air-mattress in the ship because so many of these psychos have bio-tech they can’t afford to upkeep.

“Sure, I can’t afford a rewire but I can surely afford getting my brain transplanted in a new body.”

“Human bodies are so easy to grow though.” You peer up at him over your magnify glasses with a wriggle of eyebrows. “Fully grown in a quarter rotation? Come on I still have to wait another half rotation to buy a swimsuit let alone grow a body.”

Prosciutto flexed the hand you were working on to spite you but all you did was strap the wrist down and switch off the impulse circuit before getting up and walking toward the exit of the ship where the others were sprawled out in the soft baby blue grass of the planet you were hiding out at.

Melone’s gaze shot from laptop up as you kicked your untied boots from your feet and slid into the grass, barely hearing him as he asked “Any luck with Pros’s arm?”

“I can’t keep mending the same two wires that keep popping off. Its best we find a place that can handle Babyface’s software and get a new one.”

“Still not budging for just replacing the whole thing?” Formaggio asked from somewhere across the clearing.

Like he was one to talk- Akils like him grew back heads and limbs, there wasn’t exactly a need to know anything about biotech.

“Nope. Are all humans this stubborn?”

“I think its the half Megnu in him.” Illuso was the one to chirp in this time.

“That’s still not confirmed.” You sat back on your feet to try and spot your teammates.

“Well he won’t let me analyze.” Melone sighed- continuing to worry away at the clear glass screen that held all his designs.

Melone truly was a bit of a madman to you- he designed the entirety of his body on that simple glass tablet and yet couldn’t finish his face in time before the feds were on him for unethical medical practice- ironic considering he was only putting himself through the strain of fitting his brain into a piece of machinery. What his official titles were in his old field were beyond you.

“Pesci’s not all Scud and he’s not half as stubborn.” You commented and with a soft hum the team fell back into silence.

“Where’s Ris?”

“He’s in bed- that last jump took a toll on him.” Illuso finally rose up from the grass himself heading a bit further away from the clearing, probably wandering after Ghiacchio who was asked to take a lap after he froze off Formaggio’s finger.

You clambered up a few steps to find your captain with the old-fashioned two-way radio in his hand as he lay passed out on couch of the shared living room.

Risotto would rather be caught dead than caught like this so, with intent, you stepped up to take the radio out of his hand. He seemed to gently wake at your fingers prying the piece or equipment from his hand.

“Shit.” He grumbled. “How long-?”

“Ghiacchio’s not even back from his lap- don’t worry. Just head off before they catch you.”

And with a slight groan he rolled up and disappeared down the hallways to his bunk which sounded with an ungraceful “clunk” as he fell into the bed.

Your name got hollered with the slightest tone of desperation from Prosciutto and with that you were back doing your part in the team behind the scene.

“You’re a purebred?” Prosciutto had eventually asked after a few minutes of boredom at watching you weld wires back to the motherboard.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “What am I? A dog?”

He seemed to swallow his words.

“Where do you think I’m from?” You tried to smooth it over.

“Caestea- at least your appearance would have you look like that.”

Another laugh. “I’m from Earth, Pros.”

His eyes widened. “Impossible.”

“Oh yeah. My parents weren’t exactly refugees but they are most certainly not human. Fuck knows what my genetic makeup looks like but thankfully I certainly age like a Caestean. You are all human, huh?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Not that there are many of us left.”

In a sense you felt bad for him. You’d seen photos of Earth long before it started to mimic its brother planet Mars but you rarely thought of how wickedly the planet must have lost its life before intergalactic intervention. Humans were strangely scared and selfish creatures but no one deserved to die because there was no clean water to drink.

You shook off the macabre though before closing up Pros’s arm and putting away the tools. “That should do for now but we really do need to think of a replacement in the near future.”

“Thanks.”

It was a half-assed thank you but it surely caught your attention. Pros was a little too prideful to give just anyone a thanks but nonetheless you returned the sentiment. “No problem.”

Outside the boys were fighting again- or rather Ghiacchio was arguing as Formaggio was pushing his buttons while Pesci grilled a rather obscenely colorful fish over the fire-in-tin.

“Oh just the person we needed to see.”

Getting clasped with two arms over the neck was bad enough but from Sorbet and Gelato, now that was trouble waiting to start.

“Oh gods, what do I have to offer this time.”

“Don’t be so serious!” Sorbet cooed darkly.

“We were just hoping you could help us out with the next target.” His boyfriend added.

If you could just roll your eyes back far enough.

“Wandering off from our captain’s orders doesn’t sound like something I’d want to get myself involved in.”

“Not even for a bionic manufacturer?”

“Or a healing bay, for the ship? Surely you could install those things no problem.”

Honestly it was hard not to fall for the stereotype that all Makzi’s do is play dirty and haggle like merchants but here you were, stuck between them and being tempted into breaking formation with them.

“And what would I have to lose?”

“Nothing much-“

“Maybe some face with Risotto.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “You want me to convince him?”

“Exactly- he might actually consider something if it came out of your pretty mouth.”

“Or rather, if he could come in it.”

You took one step back and bowed out of the hold between the two of them. “Fucking sleezes. Your shit’s gonna get you killed, mark my words.”

“So its a no?”

“Its a fuck no, Sorbet. Vile comments aside, that shit is expensive, even dent-jobs sell for millions... that kind of money is too big a job for us to handle right now and stealing one even more. Get your heads out of your asses before you come up to me with more dumb shit, next time.”

And with that you slipped back beside Illuso as Pesci was grilling up the third fish for the night. Looking back at what you had said was not untrue. That night you were restless in your bunker above Formaggio- Illuso peering behind the sliding divider across the little hallway that ran between the bed bunks.

“Something on your conscience?”

“No.”

“You sure?” You nearly leapt out of skin as Formaggio’s forehead popped up just below your chin outside your divider. “You’ve turned and kicked like 10 times, babe.”

“Please don’t babe me.” You frown at him but you answered the gnawing feeling by asking. “Where are Sorbet and Gelato?”

“Probably in their bed.” Illuso answered as if there wasn’t a more logical answer.

“Wanna put money on it?” Your eyebrow raised.

“And catch them in the act? Daaamn you’re dirtier than I thought.”

“Come on then, 10 drinks at the next stop they’re not in their bunk.”

“Shit, I can’t miss on that opportunity.” Formaggio’s divider slid open all the way to allow him to plop with bare feet to the double bunks at the end of the hallway.” You and Illuso watched in trepidation as he knelt down and knocked. There was no answer save for Risotto’s stern frown behind the top divider making an appearance. “What do you want?”

“Are Sorbet and Gelato in there?” You piped up first.

The angry frown turned into concern as he slid out of his bunk to replace where Formaggio was. He slid the door open to reveal one big empty bed.

What you’d have given to be wrong. But instead the panic bit you all and soon you were messily slipping on boots and running around the ship to find the missing lovers.

Pesci checked the engine compartments he might have accidentally left open, Pros checked the storage while Risotto was seeing if he could track them on the radar. It was only when you were hoisted onto the roof by Formaggio that the dread set into your bones.

“Tell Ris to switch on the overhead console lights.”

You called back down below you. Part of you wished you didn’t... since all it did was put them on display.

It was a vile thing that made Risotto’s eyes grow darker than they already were and once dawn broke, you and Melone quietly put the bodies into the best makeshift body bags you could manage. The lake a few paces away was where you last saw those body bags.

After you left that pit stop you sat in silence in the communal meeting area, your legs flung over one of the armrests in your seat- staring blankly at the coffee table you’d nipped from a market not too long ago.

“So... what’s the plan?”

You asked at anyone who would listen.

“Do we go on as usual? Find their families?”

“Revenge?”

Your head turned to Prosciutto as he was enjoying one last drag of his cigarette.

“You’re brave.” You huffed a bit of laughter at the thought. The big boss and his cronies- the only real reason none of you strayed from Risotto’s orders was way up on a station so far up the intergalactic alliance ladder that you’d have a better shot at killing the king of Gnomia B908 and getting away with it.

“Why not?” Illuso was the one to back it. “Surely we could track the sick fucks that did it.”

“You’re thinking too simply.” Risotto grumbled over his fist. “They didn’t get themselves killed by accident. This was deliberate- a display not to challenge the higher ups.”

“Any idea what they were planning?” You sat up, propping your elbows onto your knees.

Risotto kindly pulled up their hidden plans- your name encircled in red a few times. They seemed to have had their eye on a biotech printer and medbay that was once used by the Boss himself.

“What’s the relevance of an old medbay?” Pros posed the question to you- Melone was up front with Formaggio.

“Medbays need to keep track of any irregularities in DNA to avoid any incompatibility issues. Its one of the few things that can’t be wiped because its burned into the drive. They were trying to expose the Boss’s identity.”

“And they were planning on risking us all in the process?”

You pointed at a little arrow shooting off your name once more. “They figured I could remove and replace the hard drive before anyone noticed.”

Your throat felt dry as you realized what that meant. Whoever this person was... if they could follow something as irrelevant as a used medbay to keep their tracks clean... chances are you were all, at best, being watched.

The thought must have been shared as Risotto didn’t breathe a word as he moved to the front of the ship and changed course to an unaffiliated vector you know damn well you’d probably be searched and cleansed for.

To no one’s surprise the pristine white towers blinded and no sooner than two seconds of coming into orbit of one of the bigger planets you were requested to land.

You stood beside you captain as the ship docked and you waited with your hands behind your head to greet the haz-mat team. “You must be pretty serious about this if you’re willing to get sit in their prison.”

He gazed down at you and with a deadpan tone simply said: “You’ve escaped, I’m certain you could do it again.”

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #la squadra #jojo part 5 #risotto nero #prosciutto #illuso #formaggio #ghiaccio #whole gang’s here... more or less #lasquadraweek2021

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

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Unless...? Ch.4

Part One | Two | Three

Billy replied every time Steve texted, unless he was working, or asleep, and Steve tried to ration it out—waiting until after practice, or making himself finish his meal, so he didn’t return to work to find out Billy’d been sighing heavily every time his phone chimed.

he’s as glued to his phone as u are, sent Robin, and Steve tried not to grin too widely in triumph.

Don’t know who you’re talking about, he sent back, and she sent an eyeroll emoticon.

“Y’know,” she said later, over video chat, while Steve folded his laundry. She had a straw dangling out of her mouth like a cigarette. “—the last time I saw you texting this much,” she said, pausing so he’d look up, and then slurping at her soda, “—you were dating.” She stared him dead in the eyes.

“What is your problem,” Steve hissed at her, his face flushing. “Quit this Steve and Billy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G shit, it’s getting old.”

Steve couldn’t help it, he wandered into Victoria’s Secret the next day, and got surrounded by sales associates. “What size,” he got asked, and they seemed unsurprised when he said “I’m not sure.” He finally just grabbed like five pairs of lace panties, his face probably steaming, and ran back out, because Billy had probably—definitely—been kidding.

Steve was feeling more and more sure, the feeling leaden in his stomach, that if he brought the lace thongs up again, he’d get the hardest “No homo” of his life. He got back to the motel and threw the packages in his backpack, stuffing them down to the bottom, and curled up on the bed, remembering how fast things had gone south with Tommy. Tommy’d wanted to jack each other off—as bros, he said, as pals—and Steve had gone along, only to hit weeks of unanswered calls.

Robin had been decidedly unsympathetic—she’d never liked Tommy—but Steve had never really stopped thinking about where he should have drawn the line, before he scared off his best friend. Maybe he could tell I was wondering what it would be like to kiss him, he thought, staring at the ceiling. Maybe I leaned in too close, and grossed him out.

He imagined Billy blanking him at work, as Steve tried to explain he’d just...thought he was doing it right, this time, coloring in the lines. He was always too dumb to know where the lines were, was the problem. He rubbed his eyes, taking a long, shaky breath, and rolled to bury his face in his pillow.

He reminded himself of Billy’s flinch when Steve called him husband, as a joke, and groaned. Slumber party, he told himself. Like kids.

Steve didn’t text Billy for a few days, after that. He didn’t think about the lace thongs, either, and he didn’t order grilled sandwiches anywhere, or doodle butterflies in his notebooks, thinking about Billy’s tattoo flexing just a little as he breathed in his sleep.

Rehearsals were distracting, and Steve practiced hard. In the afternoons, he finished up two separate songs—about loneliness, but in a vague kind of way—and started another one that would never see the light of day, about how it would feel to have just one person on earth as excited about him as he was about half the people he knew. He tried not to even imagine that person as Billy Hargrove, because how weird was that, picturing him wanting to road trip together, or go camping, and lean into each other by the fire. Steve reminded himself, grimly, of what friends did—he’d learned it with Robin, and he could learn it before he creeped Billy out, too.

He was pretty sure one thing friends didn’t do was fantasize. He threw the thongs in the trash, and then fished them out the next morning, and stared at the pile of them, tissue-wrapped and perfumed on his bed. He opened the package, and considered them—one black, one red, one pink—he didn’t know why he’d said yes to white, because white panties weren’t even date night panties, according to Nancy. White and beige were for lounging.

White was for weddings, though, Steve thought, feeling ridiculous, and stuffing them back in the bag. He tried not to think about taking the joke way too far, and buying rings.

respond to yr boy, he keeps checking his phone like a lovesick goon, Robin sent the next day, and Steve clicked over to Billy’s messages and sent a string of hearts without even checking what Billy had said.

Once he actually checked, it was you forget about me, harrington? and Steve wanted to spin around in place, he realized, alone in his hotel room, because Billy Hargrove missed him, and so he did. He shuffled around to the tune in his head with his arms up like his phone was Billy himself, spinning and swaying his hips because nobody was looking, and then he let himself fall face-first on the bed like a Disney character, giggling. He dialed Billy, and curled up on his side, grinning.

“...I guess you do remember who I am, huh,” Billy grouched.

“I miss you,” Steve told him, confident for once, because Billy Hargrove, cool bartender sounded pouty, like a little kid. “Like I’d forget my best guy. My most favorite—”

“Oh my god, stop,” Billy laughed.

“Coolest person I know,” Steve told him, honestly, and Billy snickered harder, his voice going muffled.

“I’m at work, jesus,” he hissed, but he sounded fond.

“I wish I was there,” Steve told him. “I’d just dedicate you a song. Right in the middle of a set, just switch songs. Sorry, y’all, my bartender’s lonely.”

“Jesus,” Billy groaned, but Steve could tell he was smiling. “You say that, but it’d—it’d be something dumb, you’d sing me the Barney Song—”

“‘I love you, you love me,’” Steve sang cheerfully, as Billy said, “Do not. Do not sing it. Steve—”

Steve’s heart pounded, singing love words to Billy, but Billy’d suggested it, so it wasn’t weird, it was a joke. “We’re gonna have a huge weddiiiing,” he crooned, “—with a lacy thong, and kiss from me to you—”

Billy cackled, breathless. “Shut up!” he panted. “Stop, you dipshit, quit it—”

“Won’t you say you love me tooooo?” Steve held the note like a broadway star, and Billy must have died laughing, because all Steve could hear was wheezing.

“Shut up,” he gasped. “Holy shit, fuck you, Harrington—”

“Hey, you thought I wouldn’t do it, practically a dare, Hargrove—”

“Oh my god,” Billy groaned, still giggling, and Steve wished he was there, Billy next to him on the bed, so he could hear it better.

Billy needed to giggle more, Steve thought, trying not to think of Billy’s weight in his arms, warm and solid. He wanted Billy laughing helplessly into his shoulder, he realized, sharply, like a hunger pang. “I don’t think you’ve gotten enough love songs,” Steve told him, his voice a little husky with the stupid surge of emotion over Billy laughing.

“...most people don’t write songs,” he whispered back. “Most people aren’t you, Steve Harrington.”

“I think you need to hear it more,” Steve insisted, stubbornly. “I mean, I know I’m not supposed to talk about—Drunk Night—but—” Billy took a sharp breath, but didn’t say anything, and Steve winced. “I won’t, I won’t, I promise, but—but anybody who doesn’t tell you that—that they—they’re shitty. You’re amazing.”

“I’m really not,” Billy laughed, like Steve was being ridiculous.

“You are, you’re so smart—”

“I’m what now,” Billy interrupted, snorting a laugh that didn’t sound nearly as happy as his giggles while Steve had sung.

“You can remember all that drink stuff, it’s so complicated, and people make these bullshit crazy orders—”

“...that’s just memorizing, Harrington,” Billy sighed.

“I couldn’t do it,” Steve told him, honestly. “You were telling that lady all about, like, the history of France when she ordered something—”

“I told her where cognac was made,” Billy told him, laughing. “I’m not a history professor, jesus—”

“It was really interesting! I fall asleep when most people talk about history,” Steve admitted, grimacing. “I actually went home and looked some of it up! And then I pretended it was in your voice so I could stay awake.”

“Oh my god,” Billy groaned.

“I always find the smart people! I’m like a smartness-sniffer, like a drug sniffer dog,” Steve told him, trying to support his case, as Billy started laughing his ass off again. “I’m serious, like, I dated the smartest girl in highschool, and I ended up friends with the smartest kid in her little brother’s friend group, and look how smart Robin is—”

“Jesus Hobgoblin Christ,” Billy mumbled.

“I’m telling you, you’re smart, don’t mess with me on this, I’ll get Robin and Jonathan backing me up.” Billy made a weird gulping noise, like glugging faucet, and Steve frowned at his phone. “I mean it,” he insisted. “Who the hell told you you weren’t? Bull shit, man.”

“Sure wish I actually was who you think I am,” Billy said softly, and Steve couldn’t take it, he stuck his tongue out and made a loud PTHBBBBBT noise into the phone.

“You’re perfect, shut up,” Steve told him. “You’re great. I—I have receipts, okay, I can—I can present evidence to the court—”

“You’re so fucking weird,” Billy told him, his laughter soft again. “How come you’re way the hell away, I wanna see you, you freak of nature.”

“You’re still coming Friday, right,” Steve asked, again, and Billy laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Can’t believe you want to drive all the way out here to see me,” Steve told him, rolling onto his back to beam at the ceiling. “Gonna hug you so hard.”

“Can’t believe you miss me so much you want me to,” Billy said, laughing. “We still doing this motel sleepover thing? You didn’t, uh, you don’t have a better offer?”

“What the hell better offer could there be,” Steve whispered, trying to imagine, and Billy laughed.

“Oh, shit, somebody actually wants a drink,” he said, and Steve laughed.

“See you Friday,” he said, and didn’t hang up.

“...yeah, yeah, see you Friday, Harrington,” Billy said, before the line went dead, and Steve could hear his smile.

He called Robin Thursday, determined not to tell her about the thongs. He’d tried one on, in a panic at two-fifteen in the morning, when he suddenly woke, his heart pounding, to a dream where Billy was willing to marry him if he only wore a thong, but the damn thing didn’t fit.

He yanked it over his feet—it felt like a stretchy, fancy rubber band—and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, feeling like a moron with the tip of his dick sticking up over the band, the red mark around his waist from his briefs, and his hairy legs. The cheap motel toilet seat lid creaked alarmingly as he sat on it, groaning into his arms, the image of his dream-self chasing around the courthouse naked because his stupid lace thong didn’t fit still stuck in his head.

It was hard not to further imagine the way Tommy’s lip would have curled. Steve had thought—they’d practised kissing on each other, before dates, and after, a couple times, when the dates had been shitty. Tommy’d been the one to undo Steve’s jeans, the day before he stopped returning calls.

The idea of Billy grimacing at the damn thongs had Steve yanking it off again. He actually threw it in the toilet, and stomped out, chanting ‘fuck,’ over and over, before he remembered it’d clog the damn plumbing and some poor motel lady did not get paid enough to fish a thong out of the pipes with Steve’s dick hair still on it. He turned on his heel and ran back in, splashing around in the toilet with his bare hand, glad at least that he hadn’t flushed it down.

He wrapped it in toilet paper, and threw it in the trash, but it soaked through, red and black lace and soggy toilet paper, and he yanked it out again, hissing furiously through his teeth, and disentangled it from the previous night’s dental floss.

When he called Robin, later that morning, with pants on, he considered asking her how the hell to get toilet paper off a wet lacy thong. Would she even know, he wondered, flopping back on the bed. Did she even like that stuff? Maybe only men did, on women, he thought. He suddenly wanted to ask, but Robin was talking about her custom Xena-themed guitar case strap, and he couldn't really think of a way to ask. When she paused, he sighed. “Sounds rad."

"You're barely listening," she told him. "What's up?"

"Remind me not to fuck this up like I did with Tommy,” he told her, dully, staring at the ceiling, and she snorted a laugh.

“Nah,” she said, thoughtfully, “—Tommy was a fuckface. Good job on that one.”

Steve bit his lips, remembering waking after their mutual jaerk-off session, kind of excited to get Tommy over again and see where things went, and Tommy never picking up his calls again. Tommy still called, occasionally, and said things like “I have a fiance now,” before hanging up. Steve still wondered, sometimes, whether he could have been less himself, and still had a best friend. “...yeah, I guess,” he said, sighing.

“Billy’s better,” she told him, and Steve opened his mouth to brag, but she cut him off with “—he actually likes you,” and he deflated. “You gonna get him to the courthouse while he’s in town?” she asked, teasing, and Steve pthbbbbbt’d her.

Steve buzzed around all day Friday, grinning at everyone like Billy was coming from another country, and Steve hadn’t seen him in years. Dalton asked if they were about to meet his new girlfriend, and Steve had to tear himself away from his phone, blushing, to explain Billy was the bartender at work. “He is not my girlfriend,” he emphasized, sighing. “We’re just—”

“...boyfriends?” Dalton asked, and Steve glared at him, wondering how Robin had gotten to his Kool-aid.

“We’re friends!” Steve told him, feeling his cheeks heat further. “Everybody keeps asking me that!” Dalton raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Best friends,” Steve bragged, and Dalton’s eyebrows rose impossibly higher. “Look, I know it’s dumb, I just really like him—”

“Oh, I can see that,” Dalton said, nodding slowly as he tuned his bass. “...everybody can see that.”

The door banged, and Steve was on his feet so fast he almost dropped his coffee, but it was just Javi and Wesley, the guitarist and drummer.

“Oh, hey,” said Steve, sitting back down, and tapping his foot.

“...no need to get so excited to see us,” Wesley said.

“...you’re not his bartender,” Dalton told them, with the significant glance Steve had begun to associate with anyone around he and Billy, and he groaned.

He’d almost forgotten he was waiting for Billy, a couple hours in, when he looked up and saw him standing awkwardly off to the side. Steve sprang up mid-song to jump down off the stage, run over, and throw his arms around him. Billy grunted with shock as Steve lifted him a little off the ground in a hug, and then hugged him back, slowly, tucking his hot face in Steve’s shoulder.

Steve leaned back and swung him a little, relishing his weight, then let go and stepped back. He couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re here,” he said, and Billy laughed, glancing behind Steve.

“You stopped mid-song,” Dalton said—and he didn’t even sound mad, just bewildered.

“Sorry,” Billy told him, grimacing.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Steve told him, throwing his arm around Billy’s shoulders, and dragging him over to introduce him to the guys. “This is Billy Hargrove!”

“....hi,” Billy said, sounding a little strangled, and side-eyeing Steve.

“He’s my best friend. We’re gonna get friend-married,” Steve announced, and Javi played a weird discordant chord on his guitar. Billy smacked his face with his hand.

“—as soon as he says yes,” Steve amended, and everyone looked even more disbelieving.

“I’m...gonna go sit down,” Billy said, extricating himself and wandering a few feet away to sit on the floor. “Go rehearse,” he muttered. His ears were bright red, and Steve wanted to touch them, but he cleared his throat, and jumped back up on the stage, giddy with the contact high of putting his arms around Billy Hargrove.

“Lemme get this, uh,” Wesley cleared his throat, “—straight,” he muttered. “They’re friends?”

“Friends,” Steve said, nodding. He waggled his eyebrows at Billy and played just enough of the riff from Owner of a Lonely Heart that Billy burst out snickering, and a chorus of ‘Whaaaat’s and ‘Oh my god’ s went up around him.

When they breaked, Steve was off the stage again in a flash. “So, I was thinking,” he told Billy, dropping next to him on the boards to slide an arm around him, and tug him close enough that Steve got a whiff of Billy’s shampoo, and felt his cheeks heat. He cleared his throat, relaxing a little so they weren’t as tightly pressed together, but he forgot what he was gonna say, watching the flush spread across Billy’s freckled cheeks. Steve reached up and pressed his fingers to the tip of Billy’s reddened ear, feeling the warmth, and snickered.

“What were you thinking?” Billy growled, batting his hand away. “Stop poking me, Harrington—”

“Mmrm,” Steve said, squeezing him close again in a tight side-hug. “God, what’s it been, like, days? I need my Billy fix.” He leaned his head on Billy’s shoulder, sighing contentedly, and Billy groaned, sliding his arm around Steve, and letting his head thump against Steve’s hair.

“You’re so weird,” he whispered.

“You’re weird,” Steve fired back, at lightning speed, like a genius, and Billy started giggling, relaxing against him. Steve remembered how soft Billy’s hair had been on his pillow, when Steve had reached over and drunkenly patted it like a cat. He wished it wouldn’t be totally weird to run his fingers through it. “...we’re playing a set tonight, but there are other bands. I thought we could leave, get dinner, come back and listen?”

“You asking me to the dance, Harrington?” Billy asked, laughing, and Steve nodded.

“Yes, absolutely, we should dance,” he laughed, glad Billy had brought it up first, but Billy stiffened against him in the way he did when Steve was a little too much. Steve winced, and rolled it back. “I-I mean, if you want to. There—there are a couple bands you might like. We don’t have to. You’re probably tired.”

“...I am pretty tired,” Billy admitted, quietly, and Steve lifted his head off Billy’s shoulder, and pulled his arm back, inwardly cursing himself, but Billy squeezed him. “I wanna go. Though. We should go.”

“Okay,” Steve laughed, nodding with relief. “Sorry. I know I can be kind of...a lot.”

“No, don’t—” Billy sighed, slumping against him, and Steve laughed, putting an arm around him again, as Billy’s weight threatened to knock them both sideways. “You’re not—I mean, you—you’re not too much, jesus.”

Steve swallowed back a stinging in his eyes, feeling his cheeks heat further. It felt like a drop of sweat would sizzle away like water in a hot pan, and he laughed into Billy’s hair. “...you can always tell me to back off a little, though. I mean. I won’t get—weird about it, I promise, if you need a break—I was trying to give you a break coming here,” he laughed, grimacing. “—and then I just ended up begging you to come, but I can—I mean, I can hear ‘no’, I promise.”

“...I promise I’ll tell you if you’re ever too much,” Billy said, sighing. “You don’t need to give me breaks.”

“...I kinda wear people out,” Steve told him, grimacing. “I just—I know they don’t…” he paused, trying his words together like puzzle pieces. “Um,” he said finally, “—people try to—to stay, uh, they just get kind of...bored. With me.”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “I literally can’t imagine that happening,” he said, and the unexpected deadpan sarcasm slid into Steve like a really sharp knife, when the cut doesn’t hurt right away, and then wells up red, and drips everywhere.

He swallowed, clenching his jaw, and wondering why Billy had come, if he was already sick of it.

“Hey, hey, I mean that, I’m not gonna get bored,” Billy hissed. “Jesus, you look like a kicked puppy.”

Steve laughed, relaxing a little, because it wasn’t like Billy had known him for all that long. There was probably a while, yet, as long as Steve wasn’t weird about it.

“Will you get up here,” Dalton called over. “Stop mooning over each other for five minutes, maybe?” When Steve stomped back onstage, Dalton raised his eyebrows. “Hey, tonight,” he said, “—there are other bands, you should come early, bring your…” he trailed off, raising his eyebrows.

“Billy,” Steve supplied, annoyed. “His name’s Billy, he’s the new bartender.”

“Is that what they’re calling it now,” Wesley said, with a drum flourish, and Steve hoped to god Billy couldn’t hear them.

“You should bring him. After you take him to dinner.”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, and then sidled closer. “Where are the good places for dinner, I’ve been getting burgers or whatever,” he whispered, and his old bandmates redeemed themselves, drawing around him to consider the merits of several local restaurants, with ratings for food, atmosphere, and price point.

Part One | Two | Three

#Harringrove #Bi Steve #Gay Billy #Songwriter/bartender #Confusion and heart-eyes

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sad-sweet-cowboah · 4 years ago

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My Little Secret part 11

Summary: Arthur plans a little date for you. A sweet gesture turns out to be an interesting ending.

Warnings: Some smut mention, but otherwise fluff

Faint golden light shimmered down and surrounded you. The sheets below you were silky smooth against your completely nude figure. Your eyes met his, bright blue and intense, staring hungrily at your body beneath him. His touch however was gentle, fingertips leaving goosebumps in his wake along the curves and swells of your torso.

His cool lips met yours in a tender kiss before he dipped down low, sinking further and further down before he was resting between your thighs. His hands pushed them further apart, his eyes once again meeting yours while he dipped his face to your center. The sensation to follow brought a soft moan to grace the air above you. His name curled from your tongue pleasantly as his serviced you. Your fingers carded through his smooth hair, your hips trembling in his grasp.

Your climax washed over you like a wave, enveloping every nerve in your body. He lapped at you, drawing it out until you were twitching and whining from overstimulation. He pulled himself back up to your face, his chin glistening from your fluids. He smiled and kissed you again and you willingly returned it, your essence heavy on his tongue. His hand caressed your chin, your cheek, tangling his fingers in your hair. His heavy body nearly feather-light against you, pressed to your skin. His hard muscles flexed, bringing your attention to the prominence settling between your legs.

He pulled back to meet your eyes, his expression soft and inquiring with silent words. You gave him a small nod, and he shifted oh so carefully to bring himself closer to you. The distance closed as he pushed in so smoothly, filling you up without hesitation. He whispered your name in a sultry tone it brought a flush of blood to your cheeks.

His hips shifted to pull back, readying himself to continue.

And then your eyes opened.

The sun was streaming beautifully through the blinds. You were sprawled out on your bed, though your shirt had ridden up and your hand had somehow found its way into your pajama pants. You blinked the first few seconds of bleariness and confusion away as reality formed around you. You were alone, and the fire that echoed in your core slowly ebbed away.

“Jesus…” you murmured, yanking your hand out. Your face grew hot with embarrassment. Arthur did warn you of the side effects of consuming his blood, and you certainly hoped that dream started when he was long gone. Sitting up slowly, you sighed and climbed out of bed. Last night felt like eons ago, and as strange as the evening turned out, you were glad Arthur was there to help you out.

Though it will be a while before you think about taking a trip to Saint Denis again.

The rest of the week continued on as normal. You met up with Arthur a few days later for another date, casual and straight to the point. He asked how you were feeling, and you made it a point to avoid mentioning your dream. He already knew of course, and you were saving yourself the shame of recounting what soon became a fantasy for you.

With school drawing to a close and finals looming closer, you’d made it a plan to meet with him twice a week in order to keep yourself reigned in for studying. He obliged, though would stop in at the bar a couple of times per week to entertain you on your breaks. More often than not he would wait to pick you up from work on the designated date nights, usually spending more time with you at home or taking a walk in the park.

A few more weeks passed by and you’d learned much more about him, both as an outlaw and as a vampire. You were growing more comfortable and intimate with him, and he to you. You’d always found a sense of hesitation when he showed affection, whether if it was because of what he was or just nervous and out of practice. Recently he’s become more open, not afraid to hold you close or sling an arm around you in public. He would kiss you whenever some fools would even look in your direction. You loved every second of it.

Tonight was yet another date, a Friday night that you were grateful to have it off. Your mind was on the brink of melting from the studying you’ve done over the course of the week and you were dying for a break. The sun set only a little while ago and you had an hour before Arthur would swing by. A few minutes ago he texted you to not eat, which prompted you to ponder why. While you didn’t mind going out to restaurants, it would be awkward to be out in public and the only one eating.

You cleaned yourself up and got dressed, choosing a casual outfit as you were unsure what exactly to expect. You didn’t see him spending money on anything extravagant, at least when it was still fairly early in your relationship.

You were hungry, and thankful you didn’t eat earlier in favor of spending time on more schoolwork. It would have been just a night of leftover Chinese food.

The hour passed by quickly and you were there to greet him just seconds after he knocked on your door. He looked as handsome as ever, greeting you with a smile and a kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist and held you there for a moment before stepping back.

“So, what are you surprising me with tonight?” you asked.

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t be a surprise if I told ya, would it?”

“Hmm, I guess not,” You replied. “Shall we leave now?”

“Ain’t you eager?” he said with amusement.

“I’m hungry. And I’m excited to see what you have planned.” You pointed out.

He smiled warmly, sliding his hand to entwine with yours. “Think you’ll like it, sweetheart. C’mon then.”

Arthur led you from your apartment and outside, where his motorcycle sat waiting. It wasn’t the first time you’d ridden on it, though each time felt like a dream. Sometimes you’d imagine it as a horse and you were riding with him back in his time, heading toward whichever exciting adventure he had planned. That daydream however you kept to yourself.

The engine roared to life and you wrapped your arms around his waist. The iron beast vibrated beneath you, rolling smoothly into the street before gaining speed. The damp air curled around you, tickling your exposed skin with moisture. Houses and buildings became a blur around you the further you traveled.

He took you toward the edge of town, the quaint buildings giving away to fields and stretches of long country roads. He wasn’t driving toward Saint Denis; rather the opposite, taking you North.

“Where are we going?” you asked, nearly shouting over the roar of the motorcycle. You however knew he was capable of hearing your voice just fine with his heightened senses.

“You’ll see.” Was all he said, the clarity in his voice sharp over the metallic growl. He’d fallen silent as the two of you continued further, hardly any other cars passing by in the quiet night. He took a left turn on a smaller street lined with charming houses surrounded by thick woods. Lights dotted the porches and windows, setting a dim golden glow amongst the darkness. Sweeping past like fireflies, blinking out as soon as they were out of your line of vision.

After a few moments, the end of the road appeared underneath a streetlight, leading out to a small parking lot. He slowed and pulled in, the tires crunching the gravel beneath as he came to a stop. The bike ceased its growl as he killed the engine and dismounted, then held his hand out for you.

As you stood up and took his hand to balance yourself from stepping away, you squinted around. You hadn’t been here before. The parking lot was surrounded by thick underbrush and what appeared to be a chain-link fence. There sat an opening that gave away to a clearing, on the far end water gleamed brightly underneath the silver moonlight. It was Flat Iron Lake.

You turned to him. “Where are we?”

His head twitched in a gesture for you to proceed. Turning your attention back toward the clearing, you made your way across the parking lot and past the fence. As the clearing opened up around you, the full picture opened to you. Aside from a couple of trees, the area was somewhat vast. The rolling green grass gave way to a small sandy shore as gentle waves lapped against the land. Further into the water were a few small islands, the trees nearly disappearing into the cobalt sky. Off to the side was a small playground and a couple of benches. A lakeside park.

“Clemens Point,” Arthur said from next to you. “My gang n’ I…we camped here for a while.”

You blinked and looked up at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Never did like Lemoyne, but this place always was nice to look at. Watchin’ the sunset on the lake…sometimes goin’ for a swim. Glad that civilization hadn’t changed this place much.”

A smile touched your lips. “So you wanted to share this place with me?”

His smile mirrored yours, then began to walk forward. You followed him until he stopped at a tree, a large and ancient tree that cast its branches over nearly the entire clearing. He bent down to retrieve what looked like a picnic basket. You watched as he reached in and grabbed a bundle of a blanket, allowing it to unravel before he lay it on the ground. He placed the basket on the blanket, and gestured for you to sit. Moving onto the blanket you knelt down and he dug back into the basket, producing a couple of Tupperware containers and a plate for you.

“Arthur, this is so sweet,” you began. “But it’s not really fair if you can’t eat it with me.”

“Don’t matter to me none,” he responded, popping off one of the lids and you were immediately greeted by a lovely scent. “’Sides, gives me an excuse to bring you out here.”

“You could’ve done that without a picnic.” You pointed out, through your stomach rumbled loudly as he placed a piece of grilled chicken onto the plate.

“I know, but I thought it’d be borin’ jus’ sittin’ here with me.” He answered, scooping some rice and a vegetable medley next to the helping of chicken.

“That’s the opposite of boring,” You quirked an eyebrow at him. “You just told me your gang used this place as a hideout long ago. That’s not something you’d hear in a casual conversation.”

He chuckled lightly and handed the plate to you, along with utensils. “Sometimes I gotta remind myself that you don’t see me as uninterestin’ as I see myself.”

“You’re getting better at it.” You complimented before glancing down at the full plate. The savory smell wafted pleasantly. You took a bite and swallowed, your eyes widening in surprise to how great it tasted. You swallowed and added, “Arthur, did you make this yourself?”

“The kitchen in my house don’t see much use,” he explained. “‘Sit good?”

“Better than good, it’s tasty as hell,” You commented, taking another bite. The chicken was juicy and riddled with different flavors, complementing the sides nicely. “If that bounty hunter thing doesn’t work out, you could always become a chef. Put that kitchen to use.”

Arthur huffed a small laugh. “I ain’t that good, jus’ followin’ a recipe.”

“Still pretty good for someone who hasn’t eaten since 1899.” You remarked, smirking at him.

The conversation quieted down afterward as you focused more on your dinner. Arthur shifted his attention back and forth between you and the lake. He asked a question every once in a while, though polite enough to wait until you’d finished eating. You placed the now empty plate down and leaned into his embrace, watching as the water’s surface gently broke at the shore. A fish in the distance disturbed it, coming up to catch a bug. The melody of crickets and katydids surrounded the both of you.

“Some nights was peaceful, back then,” Arthur quietly mused. “Sat ‘round the campfire, listenin’ to others tells their stories. Whether good or bad, despite the law breathin’ down our necks. Those moments is somethin’ I miss.”

You cast your eyes up to him, noting the glaze of nostalgia painted in his own. “You really miss being an outlaw, huh?”

His chest expanded with a deep sigh. “More than I care to admit. Like I said before, weren’t anything glamorous. But I do miss those I called my family. Sometimes I thought it was a cruel joke that the one with the terminal illness outlived ‘em all.” He chuckled dejectedly, then met your gaze. “Ya know, out of all the questions you’ve asked, you ain’t ever asked why I Turned.”

You tilted your head in curiosity. “There’s a why? I never thought there was a reason…”

“Creatin’ a vampire takes a lot, ain’t a decision that comes lightly. So yes, there is a why,” Arthur began, smoothing his hand up and down your arm, leaving a small trail of goosebumps. “I had Tuberculosis, a death sentence back then. Knowin’ my time was limited, I did everything I could to do right. I told you ‘bout how things was fallin’ apart, how it divided us. I spent my last days makin’ sure those who mattered got out. After I led the Pinkertons away n’ fought Micah, I lay on a mountain, feelin’ my life slip away with each breath I took. Jus’ as the sun began to rise, everything went dark…until…”

He paused for a moment, tilting his head to peer up at the night sky. “Woke up covered in dirt. Thought I somehow didn’t die but got buried alive. Made my way to the surface, where I met my Maker.”

“’Met your Maker’?” you repeated. “Er, what do you mean by that?”

Arthur must’ve realized how that sounded to you, and his body vibrated with amusement. “My Maker, the vampire who Turned me. She was a young thing…barely even 20 years old when she Turned. She’s twice my age n’ three times as powerful. She watched me fight, decided I needed to stay in the world longer. Said it needed more men like me,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Didn’t believe her for a long time. Once a bad man then turned into a monster.”

“But it didn’t end up like that, did it?” you quietly mentioned.

He shook his head and smiled half-heartedly. “No. She taught me how to still be human. How to keep from turnin’ stone cold like others. She wanted me to be the man she saw on that mountaintop.”

“Seemed like it worked. You hunt down the bad guys to help others.” You pointed out, resting your hand on his knee.

“Weren’t always like that,” his smile turned wry. “First 10 years of my new existence I hated bein’ what I was. Ran off on my own a lot, Lucia – my Maker – she let me. She understood. No matter how angry I got, she was patient, but tough. Kept me under her thumb whenever I got too unruly, as fledglings tend to do. After a while I accepted myself. Stayed with her for a long time.”

You nodded in understanding, trying to wrap your head around him as a young vampire. You’d only had that one experience in Saint Denis, the mere memory sending a shiver down your spine that you tried to stifle. You instead directed your thoughts to something else. “Where is Lucia now?” you asked.

“She’s around,” Arthur answered with a cool tone. “Actually…” he shifted to straighten himself, removing his arm from around you. He instead turned to face you completely, his expression serious. “Wanted to mention somethin’ to you.”

You blinked at him. “What is it?”

He reached over and took your hands in his, holding them gently. His eyes never left yours, blue tinged silver in the moonlight. “Lucia’s…kinda my superior. Not jus’ cause she’s my Maker, but she’s also an important person in our world. Vampires may be a secret to humans, but there are some who know of our existence. Since we’re together…they wanna meet you.”

“Meet me? Why on Earth would they want to meet me?” you exasperated with a laugh of disbelief, hoping he was joking.

“To make sure you’re trustworthy with our secret,” Arthur sighed. “Somethin’ they all gotta do.”

“And what if…they don’t deem me trustworthy?” you carefully asked.

“You’ll be glamored to forget our whole existence, even me,” He answered, a touch of grim emotion flashing in his eyes. His fingers interlaced tenderly with yours. “But I ain’t worried ‘bout that. You got a good head on your shoulders.”

You smiled at his words, although your heart began to race at the mere thought of meeting these vampires. Arthur must’ve felt your pulse quicken, he rested his hand against your cheek and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“It’s alright, Y/N,” he murmured against your skin, pulling back to stare at you with earnest. “I know it sounds scary, but I promise you’ll be just fine.”

You were unsure how to respond to him. Your gaze kept even and steady with his. He was silent and waiting patiently for an answer, a sincere smile touching his lips. Anxiety bubbled deep in your stomach the more you muddled over it. Meeting a significant other’s parents was usually a serious and nerve-wracking event, and this was worse. You were to be presented to vampires, one of which was Arthur’s Maker.

In the perturbed sea of emotions, a spark of curiosity formed. It reminded you of the night Arthur revealed his secret for you. Your fear overridden by your strive to learn, and you knew it was a dangerous thought to seek. You trusted Arthur’s word, however the memories of that fledgling from Saint Denis stirred up wary thoughts. He assured you they were not all savages.

Finally, you took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, when will this meeting happen?”

“They wanted it tonight, but I argued with ‘em knowin’ you have your studies. So they’re allowin’ you to choose, as long as it’s soon.” Arthur explained, a touch of bitterness to his tone.

Tonight? Thank heavens for that. “Can we do it after my exams, then? I feel like I’m overwhelmed enough.”

He nodded. “I’ll tell ‘em that.”

You smiled in thanks, though it did nothing to calm your nerves.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan #vampire Arthur #vampire AU

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s1cparvism4gna · 4 years ago

Text

I Like You A Lot

WARNINGS: cursing and violence

Pairings: Chloe Frazer x Nadine Ross x OC

Tags: @desertvvitch, @courtenbae

Author’s Note: this chapter kinda sucks but I swear it’ll get better 😭💕

Chapter 15

Sunny’s POV

A massive armored truck with a turret drifted by our hiding spot in the tall grass. It hadn’t seen us yet. In the corner of my eye, I spotted a bit of movement. It was Nadine creeping up behind two men to take them out with her powerful kicks. I tapped Chloe on the shoulder and pointed in her direction. “Look at this idiot.” I mumbled and she sighed, shaking her head.

“She’s really stepped in it now.” She whispered. The rain was still pouring heavily and showed no signs of easing up. Wind blew, shifting the rain a little and making it harder to see. I ran my hand down my face to rid it of excess water only for me to be soaked again. It was pointless but I kept doing it. “Alright let’s move… Keep it quiet, yeah?” She asked. I nodded and followed her out of the tall grass to take cover behind a massive boulder. That’s when I saw it. Flipped upside down with the front totaled, burning in thick black smoke and licks of flame was the cherry red 4x4. My jaw dropped as I watched it burn.

“That little…..” I knocked my head against the boulder in anger, clenching my fists.

“Not getting that deposit back.” Chloe commented, jokingly.

“Yeah no shit.” I growled, flexing my nostrils as I shook my head. “And my snacks were in there… all my guns…. Fuck….”

“I’m sorry, love.” She said placing a hand on my shoulder as she looked around the corner. Two guards were pacing the area with their Type 95s. I noticed them too. “You take right, I’ll take left?” She whispered and I nodded, pulling my knife from its holster and readying it in my hand.

It was easy. They didn’t hear us coming. Chloe jumped on her guy’s back and just put him to sleep. Me on the other hand, covered my guy’s mouth and sliced his throat. “Jesus, Sunny.” Chloe marveled. I shrugged carelessly as I pulled the gun from the man bleeding out in the grass.

“I know. I’m just angry.” I said, checking my ammo clip. “We gotta take out that truck but we’re gonna need something heavier. These guns aren’t even gonna put a dent in it.”

“If you can cover me, I’ll skim through the crates and see what explosives I can find.” She said.

“Of course, sis!” I sighed. Chloe flashed a smile and we began to move accordingly.

We snuck through any open ruins, taking out men with as much stealth as possible. The fact that it was raining and thundering so hard aided in covering our sound more and nobody ever saw us coming. We found an RPG stock and a few warheads to use. We rounded up at least six heads. In our idiotic greed, we tried to shoot for eight but just as Chloe had partially broken into the next crate, the armored truck stopped right next to us. “Ah, shit—” I exclaimed, reaching out to grab my friend and pushing her down into cover as the truck released a barrage of thick bullets.

“This should be enough!” She yelled to me over the noise. I just nodded and began to screw in a warhead.

“Wait for it!” I shouted, waiting in cover for the bullets to end. The turret had to reset eventually. We kept our heads down for a few more seconds. “Wait for it….” The bullets kept going and going, just about to break through the stone barrier until suddenly it stopped. The turret had run out of bullets. I smirked and immediately sat up to take aim at the grill. “Bitch.” I mumbled before pulling the trigger to blow it up. In the fiery explosion, the truck hopped a little, bouncing on its suspension.

“Do it again!” Chloe said hurriedly, holding out another warhead.

“Gimme a minute!” I exclaimed, preparing for the next one. But it was too late. The truck had reloaded. “We gotta find cover again. They’re gonna blow a hole through here.” She nodded as I slipped the heavy RPG over my shoulder and we ran across the field, dodging bullets swiftly.

In our moment of splitting up, I climbed to the top of a ruin and took cover there. My heart was racing and my breathing was shaky. I prepared myself to take aim again and shot off another warhead at the truck. “I HOPE THAT HURT!” I heard Chloe exclaim. When I looked down, she was fighting off a handful of men. She always was a shit talker in a fight. I smirked in pride as I changed the warhead again. I looked around to see if I could see the truck again only to instead find Ms. Ross and her crazy self. Low and behold, she was holding her own, also taking on her share of men. I could see a few more coming towards both women and I figured maybe I’d help them out. I pulled my long gun and began to take aim. ‘Gonna take a bit of ammo from this distance but I think I can get ‘em….’ I thought, biting my lip as I tried to focus. I could feel the recoil as I pulled the trigger, the power behind each shot. I took each of them out then turned to help Nadine. She actually managed to fight them all off. All but one. She didn’t see before but she missed him. And he hid behind a barrier, ready to take his shot. I watched in worry as Nadine turned, startled as she stared down the barrel of this man’s handgun. Nervously, I took aim. I used so much ammo, I was almost sure I was out of bullets. But I pulled the trigger all the same and I put a hole in his head before his finger could even ghost his. His body hit the ground and Nadine turned to see where the shot had come from. When she locked eyes with mine, I shot her a smirk and a swanky salute, tossing the gun off of my post. She stared at me with a pissed off expression before making her way towards the cow statue. On the platform was a crank to turn just like the others. That pesky armored truck followed her over and began to shoot off more bullets. But it was weak. Smoke rose from the grill, sparks flying as the bits of loose metal scraped against each other when it drove along the rocky terrain. It was on its last legs.

“Nadine! Take cover!” I shouted to her and she ran to safety behind a pillar as I readied the RPG again. With that, I squeezed the trigger and watched the final warhead fly to the truck, exploding in a great fire as it collided with the weakened vehicle. And just like that, it was over. I took my grappling hook and managed to get it around a tree branch. “Chloe, to the statue!” I called before swinging across and landing in a puddle with a splash. Nadine appeared from behind the pillar, barely able to look at me as she got ready to push the crank. “Need some assistance?” I asked her. She wasn’t very reactionary. She crinkled her brows and grabbed a bar, ready to push. I sighed and grabbed the other. With a brief count off, the two of us were turning the crank. As Chloe climbed her way up the platform, the bell in front of the cow seemed to slide open on the side like a door, displaying a deep stairwell. I opened my mouth to say something to Nadine but she’d already turned on her heel to go inside and out of the rain.

“You’re welcome!” Chloe sang to her, expecting her to be thankful that we just saved her skin. I groaned and shook my head, stepping out of the way for them as I wiped the continuous streams of rain water from my eyes pointlessly. Nadine turned to look at her with an audacious expression, her face screwed up into a snarl. Chloe chewed on her lip nervously as she approached.

“You lied to my face—” Nadine attacked.

“I didn’t lie! I just left out the part about Sam….” Chloe replied in defense as she headed towards the newly opened doorway. Nadine scoffed and forced a laugh.

“Incredible—”

“Imma need y’all to stop fightin’. Okay- Asav’s got the disc and we need to hurry up n’ catch him—”

“‘We?’” Nadine looked at us incredulously, laughing preposterously. Chloe sighed, throwing her hands up and clenching her fists in frustration as she tried to find the right words. “Spit it out!” She snapped at her.

“Okay!” Chloe cracked under her pressure. “Look, I…. Cards on the table… I need your help.”

“You should’ve thought about that before—”

“And if you want the tusk, you’re going to need mine. You’re going to need Sunny’s.” Chloe said. I crossed my arms and sighed, avoiding Nadine’s gaze as she spoke. She raised her shoulders and opened her arms. “Look, I screwed up, alright?” She said, pushing her bangs out of her face. Nadine placed her hands on her hips and raised a brow.

“This is your idea of an apology?” Nadine scoffed. Chloe just shrugged.

“If it helps keep your head in the game, then sure—”

“Chloe!” I snapped, looking at her. Jesus, this woman had a hard time saying the “S” word. She looked at me in confusion as Nadine pushed by her, annoyed. I gestured to her very obviously and gave her a look. She needed to fix this thing with Nadine. With a sigh, Chloe intercepted her path towards the stairs.

“Look, we both have something to lose here, right? All of us?” Chloe tried to reason but every word that came out of her mouth was the wrong thing. I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. I couldn’t even watch. Nadine stared at her a moment before speaking up.

“Just so we’re clear: My priority is the tusk. Not Sam Drake,” she said looking at me with burning eyes then back to Chloe. “And most certainly not you.” With that, she walked by her, bumping shoulders with me roughly as she pushed by to descend the stairwell. I sighed as lightning cracked across the dark and rainy skies. Much like some pig headed guy, Chloe shrugged it off and tried to wipe some of the dirt from her face.

“What the fuck was that?” I said, raising my voice at her. Chloe shook her head.

“I said sorry—”

“No. No you didn’t, Chloe- you made excuses.” I called her on it, poking her in the chest. She got quiet, placing her hands on her hips and rocking her weight back and forth. She bit her lip to keep from exploding but her attempt failed. She groaned loudly, throwing her hands in the air.

“Well, what the bloody hell do you say to a woman that amazing?” She retorted. There it was. She shook her head at a loss. “How do I patch this up? Everything that comes out is wrong. I don’t just… do this.” I chuckled to myself, amused by the mess the three of us were. Not a single one of us were perfect by any means.

“None of us do apparently. But someone told me somethin’ recently. She said, ‘There’s no point in bein’ closed off. Especially with the life we live.’” I told her looking down the stairwell after Nadine. I locked eyes with her and gave her the most serious expression. She gasped to herself, that same frightened expression Nadine had when she realized her feelings was now on her face. She searched my face for answers I didn’t have and I just blinked at her. “You need to fix it, Chlo.” With that, she gave a deep sigh.

“Alright…. I get it.” She nodded.

“Suck it up, buttercup!” I said, slapping her ass. She gave a soft chuckle and started down the stairs with me at her tail.

As we entered the dark and wet hallway, we watched Nadine pull a crank and the door on the bell slid shut behind us. Even upset, she still didn’t want us followed. What was bad for us was bad for her. As we walked down the dim hall, a bit of smoke seemed to hang in the air. Plants were wild and overgrown, covering the walls and pillars, simply thriving off of the mist in the atmosphere. We walked down several stairways and admired a number of carvings. Then suddenly, a loud explosion echoed through, stopping us in our tracks. Little bits of debris fell from the walls and ceiling as slight pressure pushed at our tired bodies. “What the hell was that?” I asked nervously.

“Exactly what it sounded like.” Nadine answered, curtly.

“Taking shortcuts, eh?” Chloe mumbled to herself in frustration as we began a light jog down the endless flights of stairs towards the light at the end of the hall.

We found ourselves standing at a wall with beautiful stone carved work. This one of the same Nandi statue outside, a line of people in single file entering the bell just as we had. It was all so surreal. We were taking the same journey as the Hoysala to Belur. Chloe flashed her light on it, marveling at it all. “Well I’ll be damned…. The kings led their people through these tunnels… We didn’t find an entrance. This is the back door.” She smirked. I could feel my head nodding as I stared at the work before me. With that, we continued down the stepwell. It was rather quiet in the tunnels. All that could be heard were the light echoes of dripping and running water, a few birds and monkeys. One noise stood out above the rest though. It sounded like a roar. The minute we heard it, we slowed down.

“And that was...?” I asked, raising a shapely brow.

“The hell if I know but it’s close.” Nadine grunted.

“Stay vigilant, ladies.” Chloe said, pushing forward. The stairs led us to a massive room, water flooding the floors and trickling from the ceiling. We heard that roar again and found the culprit in the corner of the room. An Indian Elephant laid trapped beneath a heavy broken pillar. It was in distress and if I didn’t know any better, I thought I could see some tears falling from its eyes. Immediately, the three of us turned soft. In the mixture of coos and whines, we all felt horrible about its situation. Of course we had to save it.

Quickly, we slid down a mudslide into the room and approached it carefully as it struggled against the heavy broken stones. I rounded the side towards its head as it lifted its trunk to let out another cry. “Easy, baby… easy….” I cooed, reaching out to gently pet it’s head as Chloe and Nadine climbed around its back. It let out a soft cry and it almost brought me to tears. “I know, shug. We’re gonna get you outta there.” I sighed, it’s skin rough and patchy beneath my fingers.

“She’s trapped but I don’t think she’s wounded.” Nadine said, running her hand over its back softly.

“Those explosions we heard must’ve triggered the collapse.” Chloe said, also petting the elephant.

“Those assholes….” I hum under my breath as I watched the girls sit on its back with their feet against the pillar, trying to kick it off as I comforted the poor creature. But they struggled.

“Sunny, get up here- we need some help— we’ve almost got it.” Chloe grunted. I nodded, looking at the massive animal in its eyes sadly. I climbed the platform and sat down on the elephant’s back, leaning against the wall to kick my feet up onto the pillar. “On three….” She said. She counted us off and I used all the power left in my legs to push as hard as I could, baring my teeth as I grunted. We pushed and pushed and pushed until the pillar moved and fell on its side off of the animal. Just as I was about to let off a quick sigh of relief, the elephant suddenly stood up, a trill noise erupting from its trunk. “Wait, wait—” Chloe exclaimed as we instinctively threw our legs over its spine. It began to walk down a tunnel, carrying the three of us on its back; and it looked like we were still on the right path to wherever we were going.

“We need to get down.” Nadine suddenly huffed. I scoffed and she turned around to look at me.

“Really, Nadine? We’re literally riding an elephant and your first thought is to get off of it?” I knew she was pissed but come on. This was incredible!

“This isn’t a tourist elephant, Spurrs— this is a wild animal!”

“Will you relax, Nadine?” Chloe groaned. “It doesn’t seem to bother her, does it girl?” She picked off a low hanging branch, sprouting with yellow fruits and held it out for the elephant to eat. She chewed happily and tooted from her trunk; Chloe turned to give her a bright smile but it was to no avail. Nadine gave us both a look and just sat between us sulking. Chloe frowned and looked at me. I gestured to the woman between us and made a face.

“Fuckin’ do it!” I mouthed to her and she winced, biting her lip before turning back around. I couldn’t see her face but I knew she was racking her brain for the right words to say. I sighed as I watched her pull fruit from the branch and place them in the elephant’s grasp. When there were no more fruits left, she tossed the stick aside and the three of us rode in silence. We looked up just as a family of monkeys began to crawl across the branches above us. I looked over Nadine’s shoulder and a soft smile graced her lips as she watched them play and swing about. Chloe turned to look at her, knowing she loved them. But once again, Nadine contorted her face and looked away. Chloe gave a deep sigh and slouched her narrow shoulders.

“Look, um….. I’m not very good at the whole…. people thing….” she said rather nervously, petting the elephant for comfort as she said what she needed to say. Nadine looked at her a moment, her stone cold expression never wavering.

“You’re a selfish dickhead.” She said to her plainly and abruptly. Chloe hung her head for a moment. But she nodded, completely understanding.

“Yeah…. you’re right. I am a selfish dickhead…” She agreed.

“Ja. Long as we’re both clear on that.” She said in a matter-of-fact tone. Chloe giggled a little and a smile slowly crawled onto Nadine’s face. I smirked at how easy Nadine seemed to forgive her. Matters of the heart truly conquered all. I could only hope it’d do the same for Sam and I… Anyway, I was glad they made up. I didn’t know if I could take their fighting much longer. Then Nadine turned to look at me. I cowered under her gaze as she stared into my eyes long and hard before her features softened.

“Sorry about the check to the face…” she said. The moment she referenced it, I felt a sting and an achiness spread across my cheekbone. I shook off the pain and shrugged.

“I’m sure I had it comin’.” I mumbled, shyly. I was never sure anymore. So much bullshit flew out of my mouth, it’s a miracle I haven’t ended up dead somewhere.

“Actually, you didn’t. I panicked. I do trust you. It’s Sam I don’t trust…” She bit her lip and crinkled her brows. I just nodded.

“And I absolutely understand that. You have my full permission to beat his ass if I’m bein’ honest. Especially if I don’t get to him first.” I said, looking off at the misty waterfall in the distance. Nadine let out a pleasant chuckle and I smiled. “I don’t betray my friends, Nadine.”

“Oh, is that what we are now?” She asked with a bit of sarcasm. I giggled and punched her arm playfully.

“Lil’ shit…” I grinned. It seemed things were better between us now. And I could only hope they’d stay that way.

“So you’re an asshole, I’m a little shit, and Chloe’s a dickhead.” Nadine gathered.

“Nice!” Chloe chuckled, pulling her little trinket from her pocket to play with it between her roughed up fingers. “Hear that, dad? Guess I got something from you after all…” she mumbled. I could hear the sadness in her voice. We sat in silence before I finally spoke.

“What happened to your pops, Chloe?” I asked rather innocently, my eyes never leaving her dirt covered, sweaty back. She took a deep sigh and looked up at the scenery passing us by slowly. I always knew it was hard for her to talk about things that weren’t about work or fun. It was just how she operated. But I could understand. It was easier than talking about the things that really hurt; the things that really mattered, the struggles that make us who we are.

“He um….. He was the guy that just couldn’t walk away…” she began. “The Ministry of Culture promised to fund one more of his expeditions. Because this time, he was onto something big.” She scoffed and shook her head a little. “He was always into something big… But, um…. bandits raided his camp… Local authorities found his body two weeks later…. And this stupid thing is all I have left of him.” She said, showing us the little gold piece with a carving of Ganesh on it. My brows raised, crinkling a little as my heart broke for her. I wished she hadn’t lost her father like that.

“I’m sorry…” Nadine sighed. Chloe looked over her shoulder at us with a small smile.

“It’s fine…. He certainly made his choice…” she said, waving it off. The moment she locked eyes with Nadine, I could see hers light up. She looked helpless. I could see her mouth trying to find the right words to address it. “So… I—” Suddenly, just as she began to talk, the animal we rode on growled and let off a strong trill. I’d almost forgotten we were on an elephant for the moment. It kicked up on its hind legs a little, almost causing me to slide off. I wrapped my arms around Nadine’s waist as she grabbed Chloe’s in surprise and it began to charge forward.

“What the fuck, guys?!” I sang, not exactly sure what was about to happen next.

“Tell it to stop!” Nadine exclaimed.

“‘Cause I speak elephant!” Chloe replied sarcastically. Before we could even figure out a plan, the elephant jumped off of a short cliff, cherry bombing into a small body of cool blue waters. I squealed as I fell in, tumbling about the pressure of the ripples, watching the elephant swim away underwater, bubbles dancing about us all as we swam back up to the top. As soon as my face broke the surface, I began gasping for air, the three of us laughing as I pushed my wet curls off of my forehead. We began to swim to shore, only to find a family of elephants. The one that took us on our journey practically ran to be with them.

“Oh no wonder she was so worried to get back! They’ve got a calf with them.” Nadine said, nodding towards the smaller creature as she wiped the excess water from her arms. I watched the momma elephant caress her babies head with her trunk as I wrung out my shirt and cooed.

“Lookit…” I marveled, staring at the sight before me.

“So cute…” Chloe sighed. I watched her turn to Nadine to give a solemn expression. “Look….about the Sam thing—”

“I’ve got my own shit to sort out as well.” Nadine interrupted, waving her off. “Let’s not have that stand in the way anymore, hey? I forgive you. For now.” She smirked. I grinned and opened my arms to the two of them.

“Group hug?” I asked.

“Too much.” Nadine replied immediately and I began to pout, Chloe chuckling as she patted me on the back.

“Next time, China.” She laughed.

We admired them for a little while, each of us taking pictures with the elephants. This was going to be one of those things I’d remember. After trying to drag out the moment as long as we could, we started walking on our path again. Once more, we found ourselves walking up another flight of stairs. I was tired of stairs now. Over them completely. My thighs were beginning to burn and my calves were sore, my feet were beginning to hurt and my back and shoulders were killing me; mosquitoes hadn’t been kind to us this trip and small cuts on my face began to sting from sweat and god knows what else getting into them. To top it all off, I was starving. From the number of supply boxes that began to pop up from time to time, I could tell I was going to have to gear myself up for a fight. And that was all well and good, but really; how was I supposed to kick ass on an empty stomach?

“You think Asav’s guys keep first aid and snacks in their lil’ boxes?” I asked. These were the real questions.

“I thought we had sna— oh… sorry, China.” Nadine piped up, suddenly remembering that she kind of destroyed the car with the snacks inside.

“I’m still….. very upset about that by the way.”

“I’ll buy us all a big pizza after this. Sound good?” Chloe asked as the lid on the box she was picking popped open with a loud click.

“Sounds excellent.” I groaned as the three of us stood over the box, looking around inside. There wasn’t much but a few boxes and clips of ammo, a spare Arrowhead A3c, a Type 95, and a couple of C-4.

“Well, we might be in for a fight. Load up if you need to.” Nadine said, reaching for the 95, letting the weight settle in her small, bruised hands. I sighed and nodded, picking up the Arrowhead.

“I reckon this’ll all be over soon, yeah? I mean in a couple of hours we’ll save Sam, beat Asav— get the disc back, find the Tusk, get outta here n’ get paid, right?” I asked, cocking the gun and admiring the sleekness of it.

“That’s a rather optimistic way of looking at things, love.” Chloe cooed, pinching my cheek lightly.

“Not likely to be that easy.” Nadine said, curtly. I rolled my eyes and made a face. There was no room for The Bright Side with her. She obviously just couldn’t help but to be so brusque. But it wasn’t completely her fault. I figured it had to do with her militant upbringing.

“Way to boost morale, Ross.” I smiled with sarcasm, patting her on the bicep with a wink. With that, we started our way through the ruins again, ready to take on anything that would stand in the way between us and this Tusk.

Read more on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555698/chapters/64735600

#poc #poc oc #sam drake #samuel drake #ao3 author #nadine ross #uncharted #chloe frazer #chloe frazer x nadine ross #uncharted headcanon #uncharted imagine #uncharted oc #uncharted lost legacy #uncharted fanfic #nathan drake #samuel drake x oc

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