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depravity-n-savagery · 2 years ago

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Sunshine's Sinners

Ch 3 - Pity Party

[ Ch 2 ]

🥨Pairings: Billy Hargrove x (fem)Reader / Eddie Munson x (fem)Reader / Mungrove x (fem)Reader

🥨Summary: You spend some time with Eddie, avoiding Billy after what happened outside your house the other night.

🥨CW: Mild bullying, sibling arguments

🛑 18+ MINORS DNI 🛑

🥨Word Count: 2k

🥨A/N: We're back!! ♡ I'm coming out the sickness AND my writer's block 🤣 So I'm feeling good ♡

Nope. No way. Not touching that today. Mothers could really be clueless sometimes. Or maybe it was a ruse, and they were actually pushing you towards something. Your mother was the 'pushing' type. She pushed you into several different hobbies as a child. She pushed you into social situations, like the night you walked Billy and Max back to their house. Now she was suggesting an option that had you burning with embarrassment.

"He seems like a sweet boy." Billy's charm really won her over, if that was her image of him. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving you a ride to school. I mean, you go to the same school anyway. It makes sense."

"Not happening, mom."

She knew that tone of voice was a brick wall going up, shutting out any further arguments. Her hands went up in passive acceptance. Leaving the subject alone for now. "Well, be careful on your way to school. I'm gonna try to catch up on sleep." Just saying the word 'sleep' made her yawn. "I finally have a day off today."

No amount of sleeping in during the day was going to fix her body's clock. All these overnight shifts made her basically nocturnal. Wouldn't be surprised if she was secretly a vampire or something.

A cheek kiss and a sideways hug later, you were turning the knob of your front door. Happy to see that the lock was still secure and hadn't been tampered with. "Will do. Catch you later."

After the events of last night, you were more careful than you've ever been. Especially as a teenager. A span of life experience practically made for reckless behavior. Like the idiotic way you walked up to a grown stranger and questioned him as if you had any chance of defending yourself against him. God, and to make it even worse, Billy was a witness to the whole thing. Your family's dirty laundry strewn across the lawn for his eyes to see. So much for being a perfect princess. He made a term of endearment sound like an insult, but it somehow still made your insides fluttery.

Walking the halls felt like tip-toeing your way into a guarded facility. Every careful step held the risk of setting off an alarm. Alerting a certain head of curls that you were stupid to think you could avoid for long. Any amount of time would have to do. A day. A few hours. Or… ten seconds. The ten seconds it took for you to reach your locker, and look in the direction of the gymnasium's big double doors.

As if his stare put a bright spotlight over your head, his teammates followed his line of sight. Busted. You couldn't see pity or annoyance in his eyes. No matter how deeply you searched the ocean for it. The waters were calm. Unusually void of life for something so vibrantly colored. Like his pink lips mouthing something at you, too fast for you to read. Too far away for you to hear. All you could make out was your name, and it pissed you off how quickly your mind conjured up a fantasy of him moaning it. The more you tried to wish it away, the more detailed it became. Filling in the spaces with his warm breath and the smell of cigarettes and mint gum. His sticky sweet cherry chapstick.

By the time the bell rang, you took the long way to class. One tardy wouldn't harm your grades. Walking past Billy would. "Hey!" You heard his booming voice shoot over the crowd and kept walking. Doing what you did best in a mass of hurried students. Becoming just another face in the crowd. A privilege that your next target would probably never have.

Eddie always stood out like a priest in a whorehouse.

That just made it easier to find him once lunchtime came around. Follow the rambunctious laughter and wild gesturing; there was always one Eddie Munson at the end of that rainbow. You were one of the first few people to enter the large room. Looking over rows and rows of empty tables until you saw the tell-tale shag and denim vest. He was quiet without his usual group of club members surrounding him. Elbow propped up on the table so he could rest his face in the palm of his hand and slowly stuff pretzels into his mouth from a small ziplock bag. Pretzels? Everyone else had a tray. You had one. Wasn't he hungry?

With a little extra motivation in your step, you approached Eddie's table and put your tray down beside him. He lazily shifted his focus up towards you. "You uh…lost?"

"Nope." To emphasize that point, you plopped down into the seat. "Just wanted to sit here." Eddie was hard to read, but he was probably thinking the same about you. He watched the doors, looking for either one of his friends or someone that could be in on a set-up. "I wanted to thank you. Gave me some quality shit." An honest-to-goodness smile formed, and even Eddie was no match for it. He gave you a smaller (and confused) smile in return, turning in his seat to face you. His fingertips ran over the salty ridges of a small pretzel and you wondered if the skin there was rough.

"So you risk social suicide to thank little old me?" Eddie fluttered his eyelashes like a Disney princess. Comedic intentions aside, he was pretty. Unexpectedly. A wildflower in a cemetery. "I don't usually get a review from my customers, so thanks." He leaned in, like it was a secret. As if everyone didn't already know that he deals.

Then the silence came. He looked you over quizzically, hiding it less with every minute that passed. "Hungry?" Just to ease the tension, and quiet the nagging voice in the back of your head, you slid your tray closer to him. "Think Jeanette has the hots for me or somethin'. She always loads my tray with fries." You pluck a few from the pile and nibble on them, hoping he'd feel more open to sharing instead of feeling pressured to eat it all himself.

Hesitantly, he dipped his hand into the warm pile and ate one fry. Somehow finding the one with the most salt sprinkled over it. His stomach gurgled loud enough for you to hear, demanding to be fed more than his ziplock bag would've given it. You kept on as if you heard nothing. Don't know what's the situation with his eating, but he clearly needs it more than I do. It was enough to share food in comfortable silence. That is, until the usual suspects started coming in.

"Check it out, The Freak's got a new little friend!"

Freak. You've heard them harass him in the hallways over the years, and it sort of faded into the background. All part of the high school ambience. Now you noticed how ugly it felt, and you weren't even on the receiving end. Eddie dropped the fry he almost put into his mouth, instead using his salt-dusted fingertips to give a dainty wave towards the couple of jocks that stood beside the table. "Awe, Andy what's wrong? Feel replaced?"

Two jocks became five, and you were starting to feel a bit nervous. Where the basketball team was, there was usually their newest star Billy. So far he was nowhere to be seen. Just 'Andy' and the anger he spewed towards you after Eddie's teasing comment. "Fuck off, Freak! Don't get bold because you've got some bitch giving you the time of day."

A loud, masculine voice parted the gathering cluster of team jerseys and basketball shorts. "Hey! Cool it, Andy." Despite your mission to avoid him, you wanted to catch a glimpse of him. Sunny curls coming to your rescue once again. Sadly, the closer he got, the more you saw that it wasn't your neighbor. It was Steve Harrington. "Leave em'. Got a game coming up, and we don't need you getting into any more trouble."

You hadn't spoken to Steve since Barbra was still around. Since Nancy still considered you someone worth entertaining a friendship with, instead of an ugly scar leftover from having Barb ripped away too soon. There was a soft thanks on your lips for him that died when you saw the way he looked at you. Shaking his head like a disapproving parent before leading his teammates away to their table.

Right after they cleared, a familiar bunch entered from the door farthest away from you. Three boys wearing shirts just like Eddie's. He cleared his throat, saying your name just above a whisper. "You don't have to pity me, y'know. Most of the people who buy from me either act like I don't exist or throw me into a locker when they get the chance. I know the way it works."

"I don't pity you, Eddie." You try to brighten his spirits with another smile, but he wilts. "I wanted to sit and chat with you. You're cool to hang with." As his friends get closer you see him tense, so you stand. Leaving the tray behind.

"I'll save you a seat tomorrow. If- if you want."

"Thanks." You throw him a wink for good measure. That puts the color back in his cheeks. "See you then."

"Y/n! Over here!"

There he was. You had made it through the day without seeing him, it was a shock to hear him call you directly. Standing there beside his Camaro as Max came over on her skateboard. He must've been waiting for her. And you.

"Get in the car. I'm taking you home." He said plainly, turning to open the driver's seat door once you were a couple feet away. Even Max looked at him in shock, but kept her questions to herself. "Backseat, Shitbird. You know the drill." I guess it wasn't the first time he had a girl along for the ride. Already? He's only been in Hawkins for like, five seconds.

Long enough to have you swapping spit with him in the middle of the night. Maybe you weren't as special as you stupidly let yourself believe. Whatever. Special or not, you regretted your stubborn insistence on walking to school this morning. If he was offering a free ride, then who were you to turn it down? It's not like he'd bring up the situation in front of Max.

Instead, he'll argue with her. From the moment he pulled out of the parking lot. Bickering about whose turn it was to do whatever chore, when to be back home from the arcade, and most of all… how much he hated moving here. "Watch that fucking tone with me. You don't like it, then you shouldn't have done what you did. Whose fault is it that we had to move here?"

"Yours…" Max grumbled, folding in on herself with a hope that he didn't hear her. The snap in his neck as he turned to her made her curl up even tighter.

"What was that?" Billy was full-blown yelling, lurching the car forward with increased speed. "WHOSE FAULT, YOU LITTLE SHIT?!"

The trees along the road were becoming a blur. Zooming by so fast you were starting to feel sick. "If I say it was my fault will you calm down?? You're gonna kill us!"

"Mind your goddamn business." He lowered the volume, but all the ice remained. Being on the receiving end of Billy's anger was starting to be one of your least favorite occurrences. "You don't even know what she did.."

Home in one piece, you leaped up from your seat and exited the Camaro before he came to a complete stop. The grass did look greener, when you feared that you'd never see it again. "Thanks." A ride is a ride. Deadly or not. Maybe you should walk more often.

Somewhere in his grumbles were sounds that resembled 'your welcome'. Heavy-footed, he charged on toward his front door and slammed it behind him.

"Thanks.. for helping with Billy." Max said, spinning the wheel on her skateboard. She hurried after Billy to avoid another altercation. You couldn't blame her. It was scary being yelled at like that, but Billy had a point. Whatever issue he's so upset about was in the making before they even moved here. There had to be something stirring up all that rage.

Masterlist , Series Masterlist , Ao3 ☆

Taglist: @sidthedollface2 , @bontensbabygirl , @killing-gremlin

#stranger things #billy hargrove #billy hargove x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #mungrove

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shootybangbang · 3 years ago

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The Upsides of Property Damage [Part 2/5]

Authored by @verai-marcel and @shootybangbang

[Ao3 Link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Mature

[Content Advisory]: light D/S undertones

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

———

July rolls in and tears your resolution to shreds. The month introduces itself with one of the worst heat waves in recent history. The few weeds growing in the empty lots have withered to yellow clumps of dead vegetation. Neighbors have stopped walking their dogs. The delinquents that loiter by the curb have clustered to the alleyways instead, in desperate search of shade. Miniature mirages shimmer over the cracked asphalt roads.

During the day, the relentless sun burns like the magnifying glass of a cruel god over a glorified anthill. Night brings little relief. The absence of light somehow serves only to emphasize the choking, oppressive humidity. Every breath feels as though it’s being drawn through a wet blanket. Truly, this is Purgatory.

And Hell is your apartment. Because your air conditioning is broken.

Opening the window does nothing; the dead air gives no breeze. Arranging box fans around your desk and bed offers some measure of relief, but not enough. God, not nearly enough. Your brain might actually be melting.

Three days of living in Dante’s Inferno have worn your resolve thin. As your AC sputters feebly in its frame, you sigh and dial the number for maintenance.

***

“Got another one for room 502,” John says from his desk. “Says broken AC unit.”

“Shit, she’s a goddamn hurricane,” Arthur mumbles, getting up from his seat. He had just finished entering in the report for his last repair and was hoping that the last hour of the day would go by peacefully.

“I could go—”

“I’ll go,” Arthur interrupts, already picking up his toolbox. “She probably put somethin’ on top of the vent.”

John spins in his chair and leans forward, eyeing his coworker. “Sounds like you know her well.”

Arthur shrugs. He doesn’t like where John’s train of conversation is going and wants to derail it quickly. “Every new tenant does it.”

John is not easily deterred. He follows the perceived vulnerability like a hound to the scent of blood. “You ain’t let anyone else take a ticket for room 502, ever since that new girl moved in.”

Arthur lets out a noncommittal grunt.

Sitting back in his chair, John puts his hands behind his head and grins. “Looks like someone’s got a crush.”

Finally tired of this shit, but also acutely aware of how correct John is, Arthur resolutely ignores him and heads out the door.

***

I am not interested in 502. I am not interested in 502. I am NOT interested in 502.

Arthur repeats the sentence over and over, willing himself to believe it. But the mere act of denial is enough to conjure up the image of her: colorful boy shorts and a tank top, with a sardonic smile on her lips that he’d like to—

Nope. Not goin’ there.

He doesn’t need John teasing him. He doesn’t need overwhelming sexual tension with the worst tenant in the world. There’s enough shit going on in his life that at the end of the day, all he wants is to go home and have a beer.

Shaking his head to recenter himself, he grips the handle of his toolbox tight. Enough of this bullshit. He’s going to walk in there, ignore her, then leave as quickly as he can. Stifle this absurd little rush of sentimentality before it has the chance to grow.

The rational thing to do would have been to ask either John or Micah to pick up her tickets in his stead. But the thought of anyone else entering her apartment, especially Micah, makes his blood boil with hostility.

***

The look on Morgan’s face suggests that he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “It’s like a goddamn sauna in here,” he says, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “You said you been without AC for three days now?”

“Yes, and I’m about to lose my mind.” A bead of sweat runs down your neck and soaks into your camisole. The garment is damp enough that its thin cloth clings like a second skin. Indecent? Probably. You no longer care. Propriety is for people with reliable temperature control. “If you can’t fix this today, I’m gonna get a bag of ice from the gas station, fill my tub with it, and lie in it like an organ theft victim.”

“You always this overdramatic?”

“I don’t know,” you snap. The heat has burnt away the last of your civility. “Does your boss always get his appliances from the dump?”

He lets out an annoyed tch. “Might as well have, considerin’ the number of calls I get to come over here every week. Whole place seems to be held together with just spit and rust.”

Morgan glances at your tank top. His eyes widen, and he darts his gaze towards your stove instead. Then to your ceiling fan. Then to your microwave. Then to the kitchen cabinets. Faultfinding, no doubt. A spike of irritation flares hot in your chest. “I didn’t break anything else, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you grouse.

He shifts his gaze upwards and stares intently at the ceiling.“Didn’t say you did.”

“Then why’re you looking around everywhere?”

“You looked in a mirror recently?”

You’re about to let loose a verbal barrage, but his apparent discomfort makes you pause. You look down and see your white camisole, nearly transparent with sweat. A moment passes before you realize that you’re not wearing a bra.

You swallow your embarrassment and hastily cross your arms over your chest. Jutting out your chin, you quickly deflect responsibility. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be dressed like this if my AC weren’t busted.”

As if in agreement, your AC lets out a pathetic whir and rattles against its window mount. Morgan glances at it, then heaves an exasperated sigh. He shakes his head as he approaches the unit, grumbling. “Dunno how many times I gotta tell people not to leave their shit on these things. Blocks off the vents and– huh.” He picks up the battered paperback perched on the machine’s lid. “What’s this?”

Oh god. Oh fuck. NO.

You lunge for the book, but he easily lifts it out of your arm’s reach. He scans the title page with marked interest and raises his eyebrows. “Punished by Her Blue Collar Dom, huh?”

The cover features a muscular mechanic holding a swooning blonde in an extremely compromised position. With rapidly diminishing hope, you try to salvage the situation as best as you can. “My friend left that here,” you say quickly.

“That so?” He looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. Morgan cracks the book open and thumbs through a few dog-eared pages. He quickly locates the worn crease in the spine where the book has been opened the most. “He drove his manhood deep inside of her as he spanked her lovely cheeks to a bright rosy hue,” he reads out loud, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Mentally, you can hear a loud gurgling noise playing in the background. It’s the last of your self respect, spiraling down the drain.

Morgan shuts the book and passes it back to you. “Tell yer ‘friend’ they got interestin’ taste.”

Is it possible for a human to spontaneously combust if they channel every ounce of intention in their body into doing so? The answer, it seems, is “no”.

***

When he pulls his phone out from beneath his pillow and switches it back on, the time displayed on the Nokia’s green-tinted screen reads 2:38AM.

Three hours. He’s been unable to sleep for three goddamn hours now, because every time he closes his eyes, all he sees is you, standing in front of him and clutching your BDSM erotica to your chest.

After he’d handed you your book back, you’d pressed your mouth into a flat line and squeezed your eyes shut. Then, after a few seconds of silent concentration, you’d opened them again with an expression of immense disappointment.

When he’d asked what you were doing, you’d glared at the floorboards. Trying to spontaneously combust, you replied. And barring that, trying to give myself an aneurysm. But it seems I’ve failed on both counts.

It was easily the most insane thing anyone had said to him in a long while. He’d actually laughed out loud.

He’s actually begun to look forward to your tickets, he realizes with a helpless wave of dismay. The last one you’d submitted had merely read: “sorry to bother you but i have created a new fire hazard”. The one before that, you’d gestured to your bathroom with absurd solemnity and informed him that your showerhead had “the water pressure of an old man with prostatitis.” And of course, that fatal first ticket– when you’d rubbed at the bruise on your jaw and said “the sink hit me”.

All of it dumb as hell. And all of it underhandedly, insidiously charming.

So much for nipping this in the bud.Now he has the image of your wet camisole to dwell on, too. The curve of your breast, the peaks of your nipples— you’d practically been standing half naked in front of him, and it had made him so hard that it hurt. He’d wanted nothing more than to push you against the wall and–

Goddammit. Might as well get it out of my system, he supposes. That’s probably all it is, anyway. Just misplaced sexual frustration.

Arthur pulls down his boxers and wraps his hand around his cock. He pictures you knelt on the floor, looking up at him with remorse. Submissive. Eager. I’m so sorry for breaking my AC, Mr Morgan, your imaginary counterpart simpers. How can I make it up to you?

For one, you can make this trip actually worth my while, he’d reply. And you’d nod immediately. Unzip his fly and–

Abruptly, he stops stroking his cock. No, that’s not how it’d go at all, is it? You’d probably say something sarcastic, like I’m so sorry I’m asking you to do your actual job, then cross your arms. You want an apology? You’re gonna have to wring it out of me. Go ahead. Try.

And he’d have no choice then, but to press you up against the wall and shove his hand down your pants, roughly pushing a finger inside of you. You’d be willing but confused, not understanding exactly how getting fingerfucked would be in any way a punishment, but then he’d drive you right up to the edge of orgasm– and stop. And that’s when you’d get it. That’s when you’d start apologizing in earnest. I’m sorry, you’d whimper. I won’t do it again, so please, Mr Morgan, please…

His eyes roll back in his head as he comes, his own seed streaking hot and sudden against his stomach. Arthur lies there dazed for a moment, panting hard. Then the recognition of his own stupidity settles in, and he lets out an anguished groan. This little exercise has done nothing but make him want to fuck you more. He’s made it worse. Idiot.

#verai-marcel #arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #rdr2 #red dead redemption #fic #smut #my work #modern AU #upsides of property damage

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behindyourbarrette · 3 years ago

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Star Light, Star Bright

summary: The team goes camping on a long weekend. Turns out, it’s really easy to tell someone how you feel when you’re under a starry night sky.

pairing: spencer reid/reader

category: fluff, start to finish

warnings/includes: mention of food, a mild burn

work count: 4.1k

a/n: this is my fav thing i’ve written in a HOT SECOND. enjoy! pls reblog if you feel inclined, it helps me out a ton!

check it out on ao3

---

You’ve never found chicken pox to be more of a miracle.

In truth, you are a little saddened that Jack’s Boy Scout troop all got sick and their camping trip had to be postponed. This does not change the fact that you’re elated at the opportunity to nab Hotch’s campsite reservation. The team jumped at the chance for a vacation, the promised long weekend only truly promised in places without cell service.

You pick Spencer up early, the first of many people you’ve offered to drive out to the mountains. After tossing a very heavy-sounding duffel bag into your trunk, he clambers into the passenger seat. He strikes you as a little nervous—he won’t quite look at you as you wind your way out of D.C and towards the countryside.

“I’ve never been camping before, actually.” He says it quietly, mid-conversation about Boy Scouts and the safety of camping with children. There’s a 5-mile radius around Quantico where work is the only thing you can really think about. As you turn onto the highway, hands flexing against the wheel, you’re glad to be free of the office.

“Really? Never?”

It makes sense, the longer his sentence sits on your tongue. Vegas isn’t the most hospitable environment to camp in. You make a mental note to thank your parents for raising you on the East Coast, where the forests are frequent and the soil is actually fertile.

“Yeah. I’m not sure, I’m, uh, really suited for it.” You look at him now, the slight sadness in his eyes, and there are a thousand things you’d like to say. Instead, you reach across the center console, squeezing his hand in yours. Before he can say anything, you’ve returned your hand to the wheel, eyes fixed on the horizon.

---

You’ve lived in Virginia for a few years, but somehow you’ve never found it this breathtaking. You have no idea how you got roped into driving, given that Derek and Emily usually take the wheel, but you’re far from complaining. As you wind through the forest, the canopy of leaves casting a filter of sunshine over the ground, you’re left speechless. The trees part in favor of the dirt road, and you find yourself absorbed in the surplus of green and foliage as you drive.

“There’s over 15,000 acres of this. It’s the largest protected land preserve in the tri-state area.”

You turn your head to watch Spencer murmur, still absorbed in a book. For the first time, you notice that he’s wearing a polo shirt and a beanie that Penelope knit him for Christmas. The whole sight is so...un-Spencer like that you’re torn between finding it endearing and concerning. You gulp down everything you want to tell him, swallowing all of the unidentifiable feelings in your throat.

“I’m excited. I love camping. My dad used to take me here all the time.” He perks up at this, and closes his book. You nod, pursing your lips into a smile. You steal a quick glance at the backseat, where Penelope and Derek have fallen asleep.

“Can you keep a secret?”

You have Spencer’s attention now. He nods so vehemently you laugh, tearing your eyes away from his in favor of focusing on the road.

“I wanted to be a park ranger when I was younger.” You’re only a little embarrassed of this; the jump from environmentalist to federal agent is just laughable enough to warm your cheeks. Spencer’s eyes widen.

“Really? How did you—I mean, when did you decide to be a—actually, I take it back. Hugging trees is beneficial for your health, after all.” He smirks, and you reach out to punch him on the arm. He rubs the spot absently, a grin forming on his face as your blush deepens. You try to portray yourself to the team as someone who’s a little tougher than the little girl who cried when she found out that people litter in National Parks. With Spencer, it’s different. Still, you can’t bank on what he will or won’t tell Derek.

“If you tell anyone, I will kick your ass. Forget it.” You get the sense that you are not going to live this down. To your advantage, it’s Spencer who blushes this time, his cheeks warming a delicate pink.

“I can’t forget it, actually. I have an eidetic—ow!”

---

The campsite is glorious.

Or, as Penelope would put it, rustic. It’s the perfect happy medium between the forest and the lake nearby, with a trail leading to the beach just a few feet from the site. The trees filter out just enough sun so that it’s pleasantly warm out. There’s ample space for a few tents, and a bear locker. You’re seated at a picnic bench with the girls, unloading the food and cooking supplies as the boys attempt to put together tents. From what you can see and hear, it sounds like Derek is muscling his way through it, much to Spencer and Hotch’s chagrin.

“You’re glowing. What’s got you in such a good mood?” Emily nudges you in the side, a sly smile on her face as she screws the propane line into the campstove. You flush, and shrug your shoulders.

“I love camping. I’m just excited to be here with you guys.”

Penelope reaches across the table to hug you. She’s dressed perfectly for the occasion: you don’t think you’ve ever seen bedazzled hiking boots before, but there’s a first time for everything.

“You know, I’m surprised Spence came. He normally skips out on these kinds of things.” JJ looks back at you from the bear locker, where she’s stacking cans of soup and Hotch’s cooler. Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, but you look towards Spencer before she can say anything else. He’s managing to put up his tent surprisingly well; he’s only struggling with the final few posts as he stumbles around the uneven ground. You turn back to JJ, shrugging.

“I mean, I think he can appreciate the outdoors. He’s probably read Walden.”

Emily laughs, and you feel as though the conversation has finally let up. JJ has a point, but as soon as you had asked Spencer if he was coming, he had agreed. He doesn’t look particularly out of place, either. Over the course of the past hour, he’s somehow inherited a pair of sunglasses and a red flannel. You look away, pursing your lips.

“Okay, I think we’re done.” Derek calls, waving his arm to catch your attention. There are now five small tents, only a little crinkled and trampled over. Emily nods in approval, nudging one of them with the tip of her boot. It only shakes a little.

“Good job, guys. They look...structurally sound.” Hands on your hips, you bend to inspect the guys’ handiwork. Spencer winces as you tug on a tent’s zipper, and it whines in protest. You shrug, smiling as you straighten.

“We should check out the lake.” Derek gestures to the blue expanse of water in the distance, and Penelope squeals. You hear the sound of metal clinking together, and turn.

It’s Hotch, holding what you assume to be a fishing pole. While this should be very surprising, you can’t come up with anything funny to say. Emily makes a joke about the catch of the day, and Hotch doesn’t laugh.

“Are there canoes involved? I didn’t bring a suit.” JJ asks, arms crossed over her chest. You nod, pointing to the rental shack on the eastern side of the lake.

“You guys ready to get some sun?”

---

“You look cute in hiking boots, princess.” You should not find this as funny as you do. Maybe it’s the fact that Derek definitely had Penelope apply some sort of oil to his biceps while they were in a tent; there’s no way that he just naturally glistens like that. You squint up at him, shrugging your shoulders. While your outfit is a little unorthodox—you remembered to bring a bikini, but forgot water shoes—it’ll work just fine. Spencer enters your peripheral vision, wrinkling his nose in Derek’s direction. You resist the urge to smile at this.

“Spence.”

You get his attention, catching up to him in just a few steps. The beach is pretty, lacking in sand but perfectly cool and sunny. He’s wearing too-big sunglasses and, surprisingly, Bermuda shorts. You trudge along the rocky path, handing him a bottle of sunscreen.

“Come on, I need your help. Sunscreen me.”

He seems shocked, fiddling with the bottle. You turn your back to him, raising your arms as you walk backwards, waiting to hit him before you stop.

“Is sunscreen a verb?” His voice is a little hoarse, and you smirk.

“Would you prefer lotion? Massage?” You tease, and you can practically feel him tense up.

“N-no, I wouldn’t. Hold your hair up.”

You oblige, and it takes everything in you not to sigh as he rubs the cool sunscreen into your back. He has really, really big hands and nimble fingers. Biting your lip, you conjure a mental image of them. You feel a little silly for imagining his hands when he’s right there, but you don’t want him to stop touching you. He coats your skin, movements deft and purposeful. You turn, reaching for the bottle.

“Take off your glasses. Your turn.” You like being a little bossy; he flushes as you reach up to spread the lotion across his cheeks, dabbing gently. He exhales slowly, relaxing into your touch.

“Let’s go. You’re my canoe buddy.”

His mouth falls open in surprise, and an evil part of your brain wonders how it would feel to kiss it. The thought is gone before you can act on it, though, and you wave him towards the shore. He stands still, lingering by the campsite.

“I was going to read on the beach, actually—”

“Nope. Come on! I need a partner.”

—-

The lake is cool, and you make yourself busy by being a very unhelpful canoeing partner. Spencer is rowing surprisingly well, scooping water from below and propelling the boat forward. You, on the other hand, are focused on stretching out in the boat. The sun is deliciously warm on your skin, and the occasional splash of water is heaven to the touch.

“You know, there are two sets of oars. We’d get the most momentum if you rowed, too.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll row. I’m not any good at it, though. That’s why I needed a partner.” You pat him on the shoulder affectionately, reaching for the other oar. The motion tips the canoe forward a little, and panic flashes across Spencer’s face.

“Don’t do that again. I do not want to end up in this lake. Do you know how many bacteria are in most man made lakes? You don’t want to know.”

You are many things, but you are not a quitter. Testing the waters, you lean forward again as you row, a little out of sync with Spencer’s strokes.

“Please don’t capsize,”

Hotch calls out from the shore, and Spencer shoots you a look as if to say listen. You shrug, continuing to row and occasionally shifting your weight. The look on his face is worth it.

“You know how to swim, right?”

You ask, voice low and as inconspicuous as you can manage. This backfires—Spencer turns around to shake his head, unbalancing the boat. He lets go of his oar, tightening the strap on his life vest. You cling to the sides, laughing as you try to steady the canoe.

“Not funny. You know, boating related accidents are incredibly common.”

His voice drifts off as Derek and Emily’s boat passes by. Their sportsmanship is admirable; they’re working as a perfect unit, quickly propelling their canoe forward with quick rowing and a lot of effort.

Spencer is scolding you half-heartedly when you get caught in their wake. You couldn’t have steadied the boat if you tried; and before you can react the canoe is upside down and you’re cast into the cool blue.

“I’m going to contract a brain-eating amoeba.”

Spencer coughs, bobbing to the surface. You emerge a few moments later, laughing, and reach for him.

“Worth it. You have plenty of brains to be eaten, genius.”

You watch him try to contain his smile the entire way to the shore.

---

You’re drying off as the sun sets, splashes of pink and purple coating the sky. It’s incredible; over the lake you can see the entire expanse of fields and forest, laid out like a painting.

“You guys brought food, right?”

Emily calls out from the picnic bench. She’s toweling off, sunglasses in her hair as she jokes with Morgan. You nod, turning back to Spencer.

He’s thoroughly drenched. You feel a little guilty for tipping the boat over; he’s spent a decent amount of time wringing out his clothes, and as night falls a chill builds in the air. After pulling a jacket on, you toss him a towel.

“That was fun.”

Your eyes widen a little, genuine surprise lodging itself in your throat. He takes in the look on your face, smiling lightly.

“Better than reading on the beach?” You offer, but this is too good to be true.

“Marginally.”

You frown, suppressing a smirk as you catch the scent of propane drifting through the air. You both head in the direction of the camp stove, where Hotch is fiddling with the gas tank.

“That looks...unsafe.” Spencer mutters, brow furrowed.

Hotch shoots him a look, and you both back off in favor of finding Morgan and Garcia, who are attempting to start a bonfire.

You don’t expect this to happen.

Spencer is arguably your best friend. He’s been there for you through thick and thin. For better or for worse, you’ve had each other. This trip was supposed to be unifying, and a small part of you had even hoped that maybe, just maybe, it’d give you the bravery to say what you’ve been thinking for a while.

“I cannot believe you intentionally burn your marshmallows.”

Spencer is looking at you like you’ve committed a crime; you are very familiar with this expression, but being on the receiving end of it is new. Thankfully, you’re ready to defend your stance to near-death. A somewhat maniacal grin on your face, you stab another marshmallow onto a skewer and shove it directly into the fire.

“I’m with Pretty Boy on this one. That’s just cruel. It doesn’t even heat it all the way through.” You scowl in Derek’s direction, turning back to your now on-fire marshmallow. You pull it out of the flame, watching it sear as the group murmurs in distaste. It only took three hours to start a fire, and by that time Emily had managed to heat a can of soup on the campstove. Spirits were relatively high, all things considered.

You watch in wonder as the marshmallow curves, melting just how you like it. Before you can stop it, it falls straight down onto your leg.

“Shit. That’s like, on fire.”

You say, your voice rising in pitch and volume as it becomes increasingly clear that not only is the marshmallow very, very hot but it is not coming off. The group springs into unsure action, voices loud and panicked as you push away from both your chair and the fire. The physics of melting sugar be damned, Derek manages to scrape it off with his skewer, and you’re left with a very attractive hole in your pants and a patch of tender skin.

“How do you love camping?” JJ asks, eyes wide as she watches you brush yourself off. Stabbing another marshmallow onto your skewer, you shrug.

“It’s all part of the fun.”

This time, you don’t set your marshmallow on fire. You mimic Spencer, who is carefully rotating his marshmallow. There has to be a system for what he’s doing; he’s laser-focused on the fire, his entire face lit up by the flickering red and orange light. You lean in, and before long you fall into a rhythm of roasting a marshmallow to golden-brown perfection, then pressing it into a graham cracker. Emily is incredible at assembling s’mores, and by time the fire is just a few crackling embers everyone has a little chocolate smeared over their faces.

“I’m really glad we did this.” JJ’s voice is just above a whisper. She’s leaning against Emily, the two of them sharing a blanket as the fire slowly fades. Hotch nods sagely, a rare smile on his face.

“It’s nice. A break. Some fresh air. Trees.” You gesture to the forest around you, unable to contain a sheepish grin. When you look to your right, Spencer’s smiling too. Penelope squeezes your hand. As you watch the last log burn into ash, you wonder how you got so lucky.

---

Later, everyone is too tired to stargaze.

This fact wounds you deeply. Stargazing is your favorite part of camping; there is absolutely nothing that parallels the experience of driving away from the city and looking up into the constellations. To your dismay, everyone is in their tents by the time it’s dark enough to see the winks of light overhead.

You begrudgingly get ready for bed; stepping around the campsite, it’s clear to see that everyone has mostly turned in for the night. Derek and Penelope’s tent is dark. Emily, Hotch, and JJ are all snoring at varying volumes. Spencer’s light is on; you can see his shadow, leaning over to peer at a book. You brush your teeth, swatting bugs away as you stumble towards your tent.

You manage to spend thirty minutes in your tent before you lose your patience. This entire camping trip has been a dream; no work, no cell service, and the people you care about. You’ll be damned if you let it pass you by without checking absolutely everything off your list. You step, a little wobbly, towards the front of your tent. You tug the zipper open, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

On shaking legs, you tug your hiking boots on, the evening cold nipping at your ankles. Despite your attempts to lessen the noise, you watch Spencer’s shadow waver.

“Spence!” You stage-whisper, praying to every deity you can think of that he’s awake and the rest of the team isn’t. To your immediate relief, you watch him tug the zipper of his tent down and emerge, swatting at a few lingering mosquitoes. He looks a little cold; his cheeks are pink and he’s rubbing at his arms. The sight of him in a hoodie and flannel pajama pants is more endearing than you’d expect, and you exhale to clear your head.

“What’s going on?”

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, and you point to the sky. He takes a cursory glance up, and you watch his jaw fall slack as he takes in the starry skies.

“Come on. We can see better from over there.”

You wave him towards the beach. You know exactly where you’re headed; while you’ve never camped in this specific spot, you know how to reach your favorite place to stargaze. Spencer looks at you with something between curiosity and admiration as you lead the way with a flashlight. The forest is still awake and responsive at this hour, crickets chirping and leaves rustling as you step through the greenery.

You find it quickly; the boardwalk is unmistakable. It’s a field, like the ones you’ve been surrounded by all day. Spencer identifies the leaves as rhubarb plants as you step onto the wooden pathway. While any field would work, this one is ideal; the sky opens up as far as the eye can see, the trees parting to admire the world above.

“Here.” You turn off your flashlight, allowing your eyes to adjust to the low, blue moonlight. Spencer follows you as you crouch, laying with your back to the boardwalk. This is what you came for.

“Oh my God.” Your face splits into a grin once you hear Spencer’s voice, low and gravelly against your ear. The sky above is endless; all you can see is the expanse of the stratosphere, stars bright and darkness vast over your heads. You tear up a little; you always do. It feels like the universe is leaning down to meet you in the middle, pressing its face to yours.

“Tell me what you see. I know that you know what we’re looking at.”

You scoot a little closer, trying to absorb a little of his warmth. Eyes still fixed on the sky, Spencer begins.

“There’s so little light pollution. I...I’ve never seen this many stars at once.” His eyes narrow a little, and you watch as he absorbs the world above him.

“That’s Orion.” He points to a collection of stars to your left, a few brighter than the others.

“Those three in a row, that’s his belt. You might be able to see his bow, too, to the right.

The brightest one is six hundred and forty light years away. Betelgeuse.” His voice has dropped to a whisper, and you follow his every word. You can see the warrior above you, the stars winking at you as Spencer describes them.

You fall quiet after a few minutes, and the only sound is that of your slow, synced breaths. You feel as though Spencer has peeled the sky open and revealed it to you; with him, you can see another world entirely.

“We’re looking into the past right now.”

You turn to look at him, a laugh ready to bubble past your lips. You look back up at the sky, where he’s pointed to the Big Dipper.

“That’s Dubhe. We’re seeing light from before we were born.”

You nod, a tear sliding down your cheek and cooling before it reaches your nose. There is so much you would like to tell him before you are both light, visible in this moment from somewhere far away.

As you stare up into the starscape, you gasp. There’s a shooting star, dragging across the Pleiades and heading towards the western skies.

“Make a wish,” You breathe. Before you lose your nerve, you reach out to Spencer, lacing your fingers together. Turning your head, you watch as he grins up at the sky. His features are softer when drenched in moonlight; the slope of his nose, the arch of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw all bathed in a dreamy quality.

After the shooting star winks out, trailing across the dark and blinking into nothing, the silence feels heavier.

“What did you wish for?”

You’re sure that he can hear your heartbeat. The steady thrum of your heart against your ribcage is a drum, urging you forward. You watch his brow knit in consideration, before his gaze finally meets yours. His eyes are more hazel than you’ve ever noticed, each fleck of gold striking you as a star.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

His voice is soft, laced with something solemn beneath the surface. You nod, stealing a glance at the sky before you swallow your fear.

"I wished for you." You say quietly.

You don’t know who moves first, only that there’s a brief shuffle before you’re holding each other. He reaches to cradle your face in his hands, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, before finally reaching your lips. Your hands ghost over his jaw, trailing down his neck as he laces his fingers into your hair. You can’t quite breathe, nor think, only repeat a simple refrain over and over, a prayer passing over your lips and into the dark.

Spencer.

---

The sun rises lazily, pink and orange brushstrokes against a blue sky. You’re awake early—to put it lightly, Spencer’s tent is cramped—and it feels good to breathe in the morning air. The team is still asleep, a few yards away as you stretch and take in the cool dawn.

You think maybe, this is all a dream. You’re not sure how else this would exist, so perfectly and wholly true. The universe is a benevolent thing, after all. There is no other explanation for Spencer Reid, the man the world got right.

“You have pancake batter in your hair,” You say, a little mournfully but still laughing. Still layered in jackets and hats, you feel as though you’re being warmed from the inside out. Spencer’s eyes widen, and he reaches up with a batter-covered hand to feel his hair. You laugh again, a little too loudly this time, and he shushes you between chuckles.

The campstove is quiet, the gas running blue as Spencer flips a pancake over. You neglected to tell him that folding the pancake mix in slowly would prevent...explosions. If you had warned him, you wouldn’t have the chance to kiss the flour off of his face, smiling against his cheeks. With a mittened hand, you brush the powder off of his eyelashes.

“Chocolate chips, right?”

You smile, nodding. He remembers how you like your pancakes. Turning away from him, you rifle through a storage bin for something you packed.

“Are you looking for syrup? It’s over here.” He calls, his voice soft against the hushed sounds of morning. The birds have begun to chirp, calling to each other in alternating duets. You shake your head, and present him with a contraption.

His eyes light up, and he looks at you with something a little wild and entirely resembling devotion. You reveal with your other hand a bag of coffee grounds from the coffee shop near your house, grinning up at him.

“I can’t believe you brought me a French press.”

You grin, turning your face as your cheeks burn. Maybe you had hoped this would happen, in slightly different words. After you both tuck into your pancakes, leaning over a plate on the same side of a picnic bench, you watch the sunrise. A bundle of puffy jackets and intertwined hands, you press your back into Spencer’s embrace.

As you watch the moon recede into the horizon, you hope that your past is standing hand and hand, gazing at you fondly.

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #disco writes #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #fic writing #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds self insert

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oogaboogasphincter · 3 years ago

Text

The 50/10 Method (Agent Whiskey x f!reader)

Summary: Jack makes the most of your 10 minute study break.

Word Count: 2.7k+

Rating: E (explicit) 18+ ONLY! bc this is just cringey smut lmfao

Warnings: smut (oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (obvi use protection irl), very easily and conveniently reached orgasms (this is a fantasy i can do what i want skjfkd), dirty talk, one (1) allusion to thigh riding and one (1) instance of 💙spitting💙, fingering, positions i hope i've given enough detail so y’all can imagine what i was picturing💀), pet names (sweetheart, honey, cowboy *affectionately*, good girl, baby), there’s a sentence about reader having long-ish hair, reader and jack have a dog, swearing, reader is afab and is called things like good girl and the like, just overall trash grammar and structure 😇

Author’s Note: so this is very poorly written and extremely self-indulgent, as i myself use the 50/10 method 🙃. but i had a lot of fun with it, and i think that’s what writing is supposed to be all about! :) also i was heavily inspired to write this after reading “Take a Break” by @mellowswriting and “Study Buddy” by @pascalpanic. please go check those out because they’re absolutely fantastic!!!!! +while you’re at it, i would highly advise you to read anything on their masterlists bc they’re just 💜exquisite💜

gif by @thernandalorian

The lines of text on your computer screen are starting to blend into each other, creating a single run-on sentence that one of your previous English teachers would ridicule the author for. The sharp curves and angles that distinguish each letter from the next are becoming soft and dull, blurring into each other until your brain can only recognize it as a smeared streak of black on white.

It’s 11:00am on a Saturday, a big exam set for the upcoming Monday’s morning. You don’t feel rushed for time, or overloaded with unknown material, and the early hours of the day have been quite productive. Following a shared breakfast of homemade waffles in bed with Jack, your boyfriend, you didn’t complain when setting up your study station on the living room’s large oak table. If anything, you had been excited to begin studying early in the hopes of finishing your review by the end of the day. That way, tomorrow would be free for you and Jack to do whatever you pleased.

However, as the hours went by, your motivation was slowly but surely diminishing. The serene study atmosphere that you usually thrive in is now driving you mad. You yearn for a noise, any noise; a bird to sing a song in the tree outside your window, the smack of your dog’s loose wrinkles against each other as he attempts to shake the sleep out of him, a pencil unable to stop itself from rolling and dropping onto the floor with a tink.

You’re momentarily gifted with the crisp sound of a page turning. You flit your eyes over to gaze upon the source of your granted wish and your heart flutters in reaction to the sight: Jack’s resting on the couch, cowboy hat balanced on the back of it, deeply absorbed in the next installment of his favorite murder-mystery series. You find it curious that his desire for an adrenaline-filled challenge doesn’t stop when he comes home from mission after mission that nearly cost him his life. You’ll ask him about his insatiability one day, but for now you categorize it as fictional research for his Statesman assignments.

Your short glance quickly turns into an entranced stare. Jack looks... divine. Fetching. Luscious. As he’s lying on his back, neck propped up against the arm of the couch, his book balanced on his chest, relaxation radiates off of him in waves and utterly seduces you. You’re surprised that he hasn’t been a greater distraction to you throughout the morning. How have you managed to ignore the denim-wearin’, plaid-shirted, pornstache-sportin’ cowboy of your dreams that is only a few steps away?

Involuntarily, the thigh muscles of your crossed legs contract in an effort to bring some semblance of friction to your now weeping core. Similar to your imaginings of your dog earlier, you shake your head to force these heavy, unwanted feelings to dissipate and turn back to the work in front of you. Of course, Jack does the opposite of what you’d like him to do and takes an interest in your fidgeting. He peeks over the top of his book, “You cold, sweetheart?”

His question is reasonable: you’re purposely wearing a skirt that’s so short it rides up quite high when you sit. You don’t dare to meet his eyes and answer while pulling a textbook close and opening it up, “No, I’m okay.”

Fortunately he returns to his reading. Your attention is able to retain itself for about a paragraph, but then your mind takes a sharp detour back to those pesky, steamy desires. You mentally huff at your inability to remain concentrated on your studies and rifle through the options of what you can do to satiate yourself for the time being.

You could switch texts and force your brain to recognize the change and therefore become distracted. You could pick out some colored writing utensils and bring some fun to active reading. You could say fuck it, go straddle Jack and beg him to use you in whichever way he would like.

Jack interrupts your brainstorming, “Are you sure you don’t need a blanket or sumthin’? I can go get my jacket for ya.”

The attentiveness of your southern lover melts your heart. You turn to him, “No, really, I’m okay, thanks.”

“I wouldn’t count a bathroom break as taking away from your 50 minutes, honey, if that’s what’s makin’ you twitch.”

You had been implementing and strictly adhering to the 50/10 method all morning: study for 50 minutes, take a break for ten. Its effectiveness was never doubted, as it has proven to work for you for years. Only ten minutes into this 50 minute period, the devil of restlessness pokes at you and makes you think could time go by any slower? A hand comes up to cover the blush creeping across your cheek as you dismiss Jack’s suggestion, “No, that’s not it.”

Behind your embarrassed hand, Jack cocks an eyebrow at you. Your simple choice of words has given the Agent a hint, that there is something that’s bothering you, he just hasn’t figured it out yet and you don’t want to admit what it is for some reason. He returns to his book, however lost in thought about what your problem could be, while you task every cell in your body to pay attention to your studies.

35 minutes remain on the clock, and Jack guesses, “Did you have too much coffee?”

You can’t help but grin at his sleuthing, “No, I just had my regular.”

He conjures up another possible solution five minutes later, “Are you itchin’ to get out of the house? We haven’t left in two days.”

He’s getting warmer. Both of you know exactly why you haven’t left the house in two days: you’d been occupied with activities of the sinful variety. You can’t gauge yet whether or not he knows he’s dancing around the answer, “Baby, you’re distracting me. And nope, it’s not that.”

He smiles apologetically, “Sorry,” and uses his book as a partition, blocking your ability to procrastinate and just visually drool all over him.

Silence fills the next 20 minutes. Even though Jack is out of your sight, details from your observations exaggerate themselves in your mind to the point that they’re all encompassing, intoxicating. The way his jeans wrap around his legs ever so perfectly, the worn denim hugging those muscular thighs that he loves for you to grind yourself against when you’re feeling especially desperate (like now). How his plaid flannel slopes over the swell of his belly, stretching tight against his skin as his diaphragm contracts and deflating when he exhales. Even his large feet, strewn about lazily on the couch, his toes pointing in different directions, amuse you.

Ten minutes remain in your study session. Feeling guilty about spending the majority of the last hour envisioning the seductive intricacies of your boyfriend, you actually start to study.

“How many times do you think I can make you cum in ten minutes?”

Your eyes are ripped from your material and land on the menace lazing on the couch. He’s put his book down, one arm behind his head while the other is crooked, allowing himself to palm his cock through his pants. Jack’s wearing a shit-eating grin, bewitching your crossed legs to switch which one is on top; an excuse to apply more pressure to the yearning area between them. You fidget in the chair, shamefully trying to get the seam of your underwear to rub against you in just the right way. You shrug, “I-I’m not sure.”

He gets up and comes over to you, standing behind you and leaning forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. He murmurs in your ear, “I think we should find out during your next break.”

You turn to face him, “I think so too.”

He gives you a quick kiss, “Well, you better be a good girl and study for these last few minutes. Earn that break.” He places his large hands on either side of your head and turns it toward your materials, making you both laugh.

Somehow, you’re able to pay attention. Jack’s impending promise of ravaging you for ten minutes straight quells your jittering nerves and gives you something specific to look forward to. Before you know it, your alarm is beeping, alerting you that your break has commenced. Jack cages you by reaching forward and grabs the clock, programs it to ten minutes and keeps it in his hand. He grips the sides of your swivel chair, pulls it back from the table and spins you around to face him, the speed of the turn making your hair swoosh across your shoulders. Through mutual giggles, Jack lifts you up, winding your legs around his waist, your arms doing the same around his neck. “I want you to count for me how many times you cum.”

Breathlessly, you simply obey, “Okay.”

He practically runs to the bedroom. He sets the clock on the nightstand and turns the face towards the mattress so you don’t lose out on studying time. Tossing you onto the bed, your giggling continues as you bounce from the force. Jack hooks his fingers in your underwear and yanks them down, pulling them out from under your skirt and over your shoes. The way he wastes no time ridding you of any other garment makes blood and heat flood your center and air rush out of your lungs. He pushes your lost air back into your mouth with a kiss and then immediately retreats back to in between your legs.

He flicks the fabric of your skirt up onto your belly, letting himself have complete, unobstructed access to his early lunch. His fingers fondle your folds while his lips place sloppy kisses along the inside of your thighs. After he’s had his fill of that step, he sits back and stares at you: spread out for him, more than willing to take anything he wants to give to you. He blows out a whistle, eyeing your core, and you say, “Hey, you’re on the clock, cowboy. No time for dramatics.”

He nods, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth, “You’re right, sweetheart.”

He spits onto your cunt, forgoing his usual gentle licks to adequately wet your pussy. A quiet fuck escapes your mouth as he plunges his tongue into you. Your fingers wind themselves in his chocolatey locks and pull, extracting an excited moan from your lover. His fingers knead the soft flesh on the backs of your thighs as he eats and when his mustache starts to tickle your clit, you’re done for. Your grip on his hair becomes vice-like and your whole body seizes up, constricted by enrapturing pleasure. You strangle out, “One.”

Jack unlatches his mouth only once he’s certain your first orgasm is complete. He stands, admires your wrecked expression, takes his cock out, spits into his hand and pumps his dick a few times. Hands slithering around your waist, he flips you onto your stomach and pulls your ass up, positioning you on your hands and knees. You’re a little bit dizzied by his manhandling in combination with his expert tongue, but this type of vertigo is the most enjoyable you’ve ever experienced.

When he pushes into you, it’s a bit of a stretch because he hadn’t warmed you up with his fingers. He relaxes you by leaning forward, pressing his chest against your back and peppering soft kisses to your shoulder blades. The clink of his belt comically punctuates his thrusts, but your laughs are swallowed by intoxicated groans. You don’t know, and you don’t really care to figure out, how he already has you teetering on the edge of cumming again. Heightened senses tell you that you’re close; the fabric of his shirt feels unearthly soft as it brushes against patches of exposed skin, his fingertips are delightful lead in their clamp on you, his grunts and pants angelically reverberate in your skull. And then, suddenly and all at once, “Two.”

Jack’s pride shows itself in a smirk while he flips you onto your back. He makes a show of hooking your calves over his shoulders, eliciting laughter from the both of you. Resting almost all of his weight on top of you, your knees find your chest and his hands find your hair. The intimacy of it all is almost too much; his thumbs stroke your temples, palms cradle your head, those goddamned puppy-dog eyes bore into you. You turn your head in his grasp to check your timing: five minutes left.

Jack’s tongue darts out to lick the pads of his fingers before he snakes it down in between the two of you to rub your clit. Your moans come out uncontrollably, your eyelids stutter and he eggs you on, “That’s it, sweetheart. Give me another one.”

Hearty moans are reduced to desperate gasps and you’re unable to verbally acknowledge the third orgasm that rips through you. Nonetheless, Jack can tell from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and his name tumbles ferociously out of your mouth that you’re cumming. “’Atta girl.”

Jack takes his cock out of you and the whine that escapes your lips embarrasses you. He can’t help but laugh at your whimpering before he scoots down the bed and starts to eat you out again, framing his head with your quaking thighs. You find the strength to check the time, “Jack, there’s only a minute and a half left.”

He moans deeply into you, unaffected by your comment, and eases three fingers into your fluttering center. Like earlier, your hands fly to his hair like a magnet and find purchase so tight it makes your knuckles go pale. In a matter of seconds, circling your clit with his sopping tongue and tapping your g-spot with his deft fingers, Jack has you cumming yet again. This time you yell out the count, “Four!”

The sounds his ministrations make are lewd and exhilarating, pushing himself to his own precipice. You look down your body to find Jack’s other hand jerking his cock and his seed spilling out of him moments later. He groans into your pussy while you pet his hair, praising him for his efforts.

Simultaneously, you both remember that you’re being timed. Your eyes meet the clock at the same time: 30 seconds. Jack springs from the bed and pulls you up with him, grabbing your discarded panties. He squats and taps your ankles so you lift your legs up, sliding each leg hole over your body and pulling your underwear up underneath your skirt.

You fumble with his mussed clothes, stuffing his still-hard cock into his boxers, hiking his jeans up over his ass and zip and button them closed. You snake his belt around his waist and let his fingers do the work of buckling it before he picks you up bridal style and ushers you out of the bedroom, grabbing the clock off of the nightstand on your way out.

Unhinged cackles follow you two down the hallway as you return to the living room. He plops you down in your chair, straightens you out, gives you a kiss on the cheek and then your alarm goes off. You raise your eyebrows at him, “Jeez, you didn’t waste a second.”

He hums, then mumbles, “You get back to work now, babygirl,” and leaves you with a yearning kiss on the part of your hair.

Both of you return to your respective readings, hopelessly trying to downgrade your panting gasps to normal breaths. The absence of Jack’s warmth is already painful. But you rationalize that the indulgence of the last ten minutes is more than enough to get you through this next hour of studying, if not for longer.

Little do you know that Jack feels the same pain. His ache for your touch, sexual or not, will overtake him later and he’ll be unable to resist the temptation of coming over and distracting you again. Determined to finish your studying, you’ll propose a compromise: you can sit in his lap while he is lulled to sleep by the ambience of the afternoon rain and the enveloping comfort of you. The two of you can try to beat the record of four orgasms next semester.

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chipper9906 · 3 years ago

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Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 5: Old Friends Made Anew

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 6,344

Overall Word Count: 48,317 (In Progress)

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (5/?)

Chapter Preview:

Coming from the unbearable heat of whatever desert-type planet they had come from and walking into the almost tropical level of heat of this new place was downright pleasant. Loki blinked in surprise as they stepped out onto more sand, though it was also combined with the refreshing breeze blowing in from the ocean that crashed down around his feet. The water was crystal clear up close, but the more it stretched out, the more it took on the vivid turquoise colors of the beaches he had seen in those jet-ski magazines on Mobius’s desk.

“Quite the Time-Loop…” Loki whirls around in place, taking in the sight of people lounging around on bed-like chairs. Most had drinks in hands, others were passed out asleep and only half under the cover of the straw umbrellas overhead, their other half more than likely burning away as they cooked in the day’s heat. “Better than being kicked in a rather sensitive area over and over again, that’s for sure…”

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* * *

On his first shift, Loki lets Sylvie sleep for a little bit longer than their agreed shift times.

He isn’t too sure how, but Sylvie somehow seems to know that he was waking her up a couple of hours into what should have been her shift. It was almost funny watching her try to decide whether to express her gratitude for his thoughtfulness or be annoyed that he had let her sleep in when they had clearly agreed to set shift times.

The second time he wakes her up for her shift, he tries to do so with the morning kiss that he had promised (with try being the keyword here). It had been quite early in the morning, judging by the faint light that had started to filter in through the ceiling and partly illuminate the cave. Loki summarized that, with that small amount of light, that Sylvie would be able to recognize it was him when she woke up and hold herself back enough not to stab him immediately on sight.

He was mostly right. It had started well enough – running the back of his hand softly down her face as she began to stir and tucking a few wry strands of hair behind her ear. He waited until she was mostly awake, just seconds away from transitioning into that deep sleep to a groggy awareness, before leaning across her and pressing a feather-light kiss to her lips.

For a few seconds, Loki thought it had been a success. Of course, that thought flew straight out of his head the moment he felt her body go tense under his. It was remarkable how quickly she had snatched her sword up from her side, and he could at least appreciate the feel of the blade pressing against his side instead of in his side.

“Oh,” Sylvie breathed in surprise as recognition filtered in through drowsy eyes, the sharp pinch of the blade end against his side quickly disappearing as she drops her weapon. “Gods, did I…?”

“Nope, completely stab free,” Loki assures her.

“I did warn you…”

“And I said I’d still take the risk,” Loki countered with a cocky grin.

Sylvie wanted to wipe that grin off his face as he hovered over her, and she did so by grabbing hold of collar of his dress shirt and yanking him down. Loki was barely able to catch himself, hands spread out on either side of Sylvie as she surged up to claim his lips with her own.

She could still feel his smile against her mouth, though this one was less of the typical arrogance he displayed and more of… of contentedness. Dare she say ‘happiness’, even? Whatever it was, she found she didn’t mind it – even if it did make it a little awkward to kiss him.

It was almost surprising that nothing of note occurs during their watches: no more giant lizards set on peeling away the meat from their bones, no unruly citizens that didn’t appreciate their presence on this planet, no brown and orange-clad TVA workers materializing from thin air and whisking them away.

Some might call Loki stupid for making an attempt to kiss Sylvie awake for the second time. If he’s being honest with himself, he did feel a little nervous as he leaned down, trying to resist the urge to push her sword out of reach; not that it would do any good since she’s apparently a natural at conjuring and would probably have a dagger materialized and plunged into his chest before he knows it.

But this time, it seemed that Sylvie was expecting it – or, maybe, she really was starting to break out of the habit of attacking anyone that touched her whilst coming out of such a vulnerable state. There is a split second where she goes from ‘sleeping still’ to ‘unnaturally and very much alert’ still – which is the moment his nerves hit their peak – but Loki’s then pleasantly surprised by the way she seems to relax into his hold, pushing up into the kiss rather than forcefully pushing him away as he had expected.

“Good morning,” Loki rumbles in greeting as they separate, drinking in the sleepy smile she gives him in response.

“Well, we weren’t killed in the night, so I think I can agree with it being a ‘good morning’,”

Loki narrowed his eyes playfully at her. “Oh? And it being a ‘good morning’ has nothing to do with my method of waking you?”

“Hmm… I suppose it helped a little…”

Sylvie suppressed a grin at the roll of his eyes, pushing up and away from her with an overly-exasperated sounding huff. Loki offered out a hand to her once he was settled, helping to pull her up into a sitting position.

“How was your sleep?” Loki asks once she’s sat up, holding out a flask of water that he had collected shortly before waking her.

“Surprisingly well,” Sylvie takes the flask with a thankful smile, the early morning sun already starting to bake the cave. “–Considering I had a bunch of little rocks stabbing me in the back.”

“You should have said something,” Loki says, waiting for the moment she takes a deep pull from the flask before continuing. “I would have been more than happy to act as your personal pillow once again.”

To his disappointment, she does not spit out the water all over himself like he had the night before. She does give a slight pause though, arching up a brow at him as she continues to drink from the canteen.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” She returns once she pulls the flask away from her mouth, holding out the flask for him to take back and take a drink himself.

Loki looks down to the flask in his hands, fingers tapping against the metal as he thinks. “So… we survived the night.”

“Somehow,” Sylvie added.

“Guess that means we can assume this isn’t an apocalypse? And that we’re somehow off the TVA’s radar?”

Sylvie sighed softly, resting the back of her head against the wall behind her. “Assume? Yes, but we can’t know for sure. There’s a chance that… that maybe…”

“That what?” Loki pries, sensing her reluctance to speak what was on her mind.

“You’ve seen the TVA first hand, perhaps even more than I have. You’ve seen the intricacies of how they work, of how dedicated they are to ensuring the timeline goes the way He Who Remains had decided it needs to go.”

“I suppose so, yes,” Loki agreed slowly, wondering where Sylvie was going with this.

“What’s the one reason why the TVA wouldn’t be interfering with a branch?” Sylvie asks. “The one reason they don’t get involved?”

“An Apocalypse?” Loki guesses, and Sylvie shakes her head ‘no’ at him.

“An Apocalypse isn’t a branch. They’re not interfering there because there’s nothing to happen that would affect the timeline.”

“Then… what-,”

“The only time they don’t interfere-,” Sylvie continues. “-Is because there’s nothing to interfere with. Because we’re abiding by the timeline.”

“But… there’s no one controlling the timeline anymore,” Loki points out.

“How do we know that?” Sylvie stresses. “You want to know the last thing ‘He Who Remains’ said to me? He said ‘See you soon’. He told us he’d be right back in that office, didn’t he? How do we know some other version of him isn’t already up there, waiting for us to go find him again and… start all this shit over again.”

“I… I suppose it’s a possibility,” Loki reluctantly agrees. “But, from what He was describing of the other variants of Him… I imagine it’s Him that’s going to be tracking down us.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It means we’re not living by the story that He’s written so… a little, I’d hope?”

That did make Sylvie feel a little better, actually. Not enough to overpower the paranoia that an endless amount of variants of a man that controlled infinite universes could be personally hunting them down, but still – a little better was better than nothing.

“Either way, we’ve got a Hel of a fight ahead of us,” Sylvie points out the obvious.

“Unless we keep hiding like this…?” Loki jokes – or at least, Sylvie assumes he’s joking.

Sylvie exhales sharply from her nose, shaking her head side to side. “I’ve been running my whole life. I’m done running, Loki.”

“Okay then,” Loki says, apparently on board with whatever it is that Sylvie wants to do. “So… what’s the plan?”

“We’re going to do the only other thing I know how to do,” Sylvie answers. “We’re going to fight.”

“Oh, no -- I get that,” Loki got out in a rush. “I meant more what’s the plan for today? Are we going to stay on this Hel-Hole and try to find some kind of power source for your TemPad?”

“Only if it comes to it,” Sylvie didn’t quite fancy the idea of trudging through all that sand and potentially facing even more pissed-off wildlife. She rotated her wrist so the surface of the TemPad was facing up towards her, running a finger along it to wake it up. “Never thought I’d be saying this, but… I suppose we should see if there’s enough juice left in this thing to get us back to the TVA…”

“-Wait, hang on a second,” Loki reaches out a hand to stop her from activating anything on the TemPad. Sylvie pauses, looking up to him with her brows raised in surprise. “How will we know which TVA it’ll take us to?”

“We won’t,” Sylvie answers grimly. “If things go south quickly, then we can just grab another TemPad and get the Hel out of there. At least with one of the TVA’s TemPads, I know how to use them and how to charge them -- and that they can even be charged.”

“And then what? Sylvie, we need the TVA’s help with this, whether we like it or not. They’ll know more about what’s going on out there than we do. We need to know how to use that TemPad properly: how to jump between multiverses; how to select specific timelines to travel to. Otherwise… we’ll end up lost in a web of universes.”

“Then… then I don’t know,” Sylvie admitted defeat. “We can’t just keep jumping between TVA’s, hoping that the next will be ours, or at least better than the one before. But we also can’t just go up to whoever at whatever TVA we end up in and demand they tell us all they know. Magic doesn’t work in the TVA, remember? So, enchanting is off the table. Really, we’ll be lucky we aren’t surrounded and with a collar around our necks the second we step in there…”

“Or… come face to face with another version of Him…” Loki says, grimacing at the thought.

Then, an idea springs to mind. Loki straightens up as the realization hits him, turning to Sylvie. “Almost sounds like… we could use a guide?”

Sylvie frowns at him. “A guide?”

“Of course!” Loki exclaims. “Someone who’s familiar with the TVA perhaps? Someone who knows their way around the place, knows what files to find, holds some information that could be of use to us?”

“Well, yeah, that’d be great,” Sylvie says, frown still etched onto her face. “But there’s no one in the TVA that would help us.”

“What if they’re not in the TVA?” Loki counters with an excited smile. “At least, not right at this moment.”

Sylvie’s narrowed-eyed look of suspicion grows. “….Such as who…?”

“Well…” Loki trails off, glancing down to the TemPad on Sylvie’s hand, and then back up to her. “You think there’s enough juice in that thing to re-open a time-loop?”

* * *

Sylvie was right: Mobius’s time-loop was nice.

Which… kind of explained why they were here, he supposed. It was kind of comforting knowing that, despite they weren’t the same Mobius’s, they seemed to share the same type of desires. And, if this was the good memory Sylvie had recreated in a Time-Loop for him, then… perhaps he was more like his Mobius than he thought. Perhaps… they had a good chance of swaying this Mobius over to their side.

That was enough for Sylvie’s eyes to freeze in place from where they were scanning across this unknown environment, slowly turning to Loki with a questioning look. “I’m not sure if I even want to ask…”

Loki could only shrug. “It’s not a good day when you lose count of the number of times someone’s kneed you in the crotch…”

Even Sylvie had to wince at that.

Loki placed his hands on his hips as he peered out to the bay they found themselves in, searching the crowds of people both in the ocean and on the beach itself for a familiar gray hair and mustache combo. Even in what was only a re-construction of an actual time – more of a memory, really – the two of them still gained a few curious looks. This was to be expected, of course, being the only two people dressed like they didn’t belong: one looking like he had just come from the office, and the other looking like she had just returned from battle.

“Do you remember where he was last time?” Loki asks Sylvie, wading through the shallow water and out onto mostly dry land where she stood. “I’m saying this under the assumption you didn’t just shove him through the Time-Door and slam it closed behind you, of course.”

“I couldn’t exactly hang about in here,” Sylvie retorted. “I was working on getting you out of the TVA, remember?

“So… you did shove him through the Time-Door and slam it closed behind you?”

“No,” Sylvie all but groaned. “I told you already, I had to enchant him to keep him calm. It sort of… placated him, I think. Helped remind him that he actually enjoyed the life taken from him. At least, enough so that he would forget about the TVA for a little while and just… re-live his memories. But I don’t know how long that would have lasted. The effects of enchantments don’t last forever…”

That… was better than so many other outcomes, Loki thought.

“In that case, I can’t imagine he’ll be too thrilled to see us again…” Loki said, now more on the lookout for a very disgruntled, ‘could possibly throw a punch on sight if they’re not careful’ mustached man. “Is there any chance he could have escaped? Maybe there’s some kind of… escape hatch of some sorts that we don’t know about?”

“Uh… I’m gonna guess no,” Sylvie had her eyes fixated on something in the distance, which Loki – who was still busy searching the closer vicinity – did not notice.

“And why’s that-,” Loki begins to ask, but stops talking when Sylvie grabs at his arm for his attention, pointing out to a section of the bay not too far ahead.

“Because Mobius is right there… and… Loki, I don’t think he’s alone.”

Sylvie was right. As they trekked across the beach and closer to Mobius, ignoring the stares of the cautious but, thankfully, fake beach-goers, they could clearly make out that it wasn’t just Mobius sat upon the jet-ski that they had spotted him ripping around the bay.

“Now you see, you want to be a little bit less trigger happy with the throttle there.”

A part of Loki didn’t want to approach Mobius anymore. Even Sylvie seemed to hesitate, her long strides turning shorter and sluggish just as his do the closer they get. The jet-ski had been brought to a standstill, bobbing away on the peaceful waves near the shore. Seeing Mobius without his usual suit and tie get-up was jarring enough, so seeing him in only a pair of swim-shorts was quite the sight. Mobius had his body craned around a young boy that sat in front of him on the jet-ski, pointing out various instruments of the vehicle as he – presumably – was giving the child some driving tips.

“Trust me kiddo, I get the need for speed same as you do,” Mobius said with a gleaming grin, patting the boy on his shoulder. “But I think it’d be best we avoid giving your mom a heart attack if we take off like that again.”

Loki wanted to sink into the sand. He wanted an astronomically large tidal wave to appear out of nowhere and swallow him up. Mobius did have a family. A family. And he had had that taken away from him. Somewhere out there is his Mobius, trying to turn the TVA around, trying to do the right thing, and he doesn't even know.

The two of them probably looked incredibly suspicious – just stood there in the sand, dressed in clothes that definitely were not beach appropriate, watching a father and son live out one of their fondest memories. Luckily, Mobius hadn’t noticed them just yet, his focus solely on his son who rolled his eyes at his father just as every child who thinks they know better than their parents does.

“What if I take us out slowly around the corner of the bay, then once we’re out of sight from mom I can really open her up?”

Mobius laughed heartily at his son’s enthusiasm, giving his son’s shoulders a playful shake when he pouted at his father's reaction.

“Well, for one… I think us being out of her sight would give her even more of a heart attack,” Mobius said. “And secondly… you know better than I do that your mother has eyes in the back of her head. Really, there’s no such thing as ‘out of sight.'"

“That’s the right answer.”

Both Loki and Sylvie looked over to the woman who had seemingly appeared from within the crowded beach, walking over to the edge of the beach and stopping just before the incoming waves would reach her feet. She looked to be around the same age as Mobius, although her black hair had streaks of gray running through it instead of being fully gray as Mobius’s was. Her face looked kind, ingrained with laughter lines that hinted at a well-loved life.

“How many others do you think are out there?” Sylvie got out through gritted teeth, the heat in her voice taking Loki by surprise.

“How many of what?”

“Families ripped apart by Him,” Sylvie answered, her face scrunched up in disgust. “People who, just like us, took one wrong step – as decided by Him – and were just… whisked away from their lives, brainwashed, and forced to work for the group that had kidnapped them in the first place. And their families?”

Sylvie laughs a humorless laugh, gesturing with a lazy flick of her hand to Mobius and his family. “Nothing more than memories now. His real family were… well, they were just another meal for Alioth, I suppose.”

“Until you changed that,” Loki said softly, tearing his eyes away from Mobius and down to Sylvie next to him. “Somewhere out there… there’s a variant of Mobius that was never taken from his family. Infinite variants, even.”

“And what of this variants family?” Sylvie asks, gesturing to Mobius with a flick of her chin. “And what of our Mobius? What I did doesn’t change their fate.”

“No, but at least now they have the opportunity to make a difference,” Loki stressed his words, the back of his hand lightly brushing against hers in an attempt at comfort. “They can help us to make sure no other variants of themselves have to go through what they went through.”

“...Dad?” The sound of the young boy's fear-filled voice snapped their attention back. It seemed that Mobius’s son had been the first to spot them, his eyes fixated on the two mysterious strangers who had been watching them. “Dad, who is that?”

The moment Mobius’s eyes landed on them, it was like he changed into a different person completely. Gone was the carefree and laid-back father. Gone was the happy-looking family man spending a day at the beach. His entire demeanor hardened, eyes cold and calculated as he stared at them. He could no longer pretend that this Time-Loop was his life. Now, he was faced with the reminder of why he was here in the first place.

“Get over to your mom real quick, would you?” Mobius instructed his son, but he kept his gaze solely on them. “I need to talk with… some people from work.”

Mobius’s son looked like he wanted to ask more questions, but knew better. He slid down from the jet-ski in a hurry, wading through the shallow water as fast as his little legs would carry him over to his mother. It was only once the young boy had safely reached his mother’s side – who briskly pulled him out of sight – that Mobius moved from the jet-ski. He slowly slid down from the vehicle, keeping a hand on its seat as he stands silently, waiting for them to come to him.

Loki and Sylvie exchange nervous glances, unsure as to whether this was going to be an actual talk, or more… the kind of talking you do with clashes of steel and the spilling of blood. Then again, it wasn’t exactly like Mobius was able to hide a weapon when he’s clad in only a pair of swim-shorts…

Loki and Sylvie both nod at each other in silent understanding, choosing not to pull out their weapons and potentially freak out the people around them – even if they were nothing more than memories. They both slowly advance towards Mobius, who continues to stare them down, understandably cautious of their approach.

“Mobius…” Loki says his name conservatively in greeting.

Mobius’s eyes flick between Loki and Sylvie, landing on the both of them for a few seconds each before settling on Loki. “Loki.”

“You remember my name?”

“Not every day I have someone in a TVA uniform come up to me in a blind panic, tell me they don’t actually work for the TVA, tries to get me to turn against my people, and then disappears around the same time I find myself kidnapped and placed in a Time-Loop.”

Loki and Sylvie look to one another again, a movement that – surprisingly – get’s Mobius to groan in annoyance.

“And here I was thinking what happened with you two was just two random different events. Should have known you were both involved with one another,” Mobius sighs, glancing back to where his family had disappeared into the sea of people. “So… what now? You here to kill me?”

“No,” Loki answered, voice pitched up in surprise that Mobius would think that. “No, nothing like that, Mobius. We just… we want to talk.”

“About what?”

“About the TVA,” Sylvie said, garnering Mobius’s attention.

Mobius narrowed his eyes at her, head tilted to the side as he looked her up and down. “And… who are you, exactly? I didn’t quite get your name before you–” Mobius bent his arm, mimicking a choking motion. “–put me in a choke-hold and violated my privacy by digging around in my memories.”

Sylvie at least had enough kindness to look ashamed at her actions. “My name is Sylvie.”

“Sylvie…” Mobius repeated her name, dropping his arm back down. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of you.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Loki piped up. “Sylvie is, uh… well, technically she’s me. Another variant of me, anyway. And if what you said about me not being on your files was true, then… Sylvie wouldn’t be, either.”

“Hang on, what?” Sylvie spluttered, wheeling around to face Loki. “We don’t exist in this timeline?”

“I guess not?” Loki said, sounding unsure. “Either that, or we haven’t done anything in this timeline to become variants.”

“Wow…” Mobius interjected, staring out blankly into the distance. “I knew that whatever had happened to make the sacred timeline erupt like that would be bad but… I don’t even want to think about the shambles it must be in right now…”

“Believe me, you don’t even know the half of it,” Sylvie grumbled.

“Mobius, you…” Loki begins, the corner of his mouth pulling into an uncomfortable grimace. “I don’t get it. You’re a variant-,”

“I’m aware,” Mobius stated dryly.

“Already told him, Loki,” Sylvie reminded him.

“But… now you know that your TVA isn’t the only TVA,” Loki pointed out. “Your timeline isn’t even the sacred timeline. Hel, mine and Sylvie’s timeline weren’t the sacred timeline, either. We just sort of… found our way onto it.”

Mobius cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at them. “And… how did that happen?”

“Well… you, actually,” Loki said. “You – the version of you we know – was trying to track Sylvie down. I had been brought in by the TVA for, um… you know what, it’s not important. You stopped me from being reset. You thought that the best person to track down me would be… me.”

Mobius huffed out a breath of laughter at that, crossing his arms against his chest. “I’m assuming the other me was right?”

“Well, I did find her,” Loki said, voice full of pride as he jabbed a thumb in Sylvie’s direction. “And… well, it’s…”

“I have an idea,” Sylvie suddenly whispered in realization. “We could try telling you what happened, but I doubt you’ll believe us.”

Mobius shrugged his shoulders in a way that said that would be exactly the case.

“Alright, fine,” Sylvie said, and before either Mobius or Loki knew what she was doing, she grabbed hold of Loki’s arm before stepping forward and grabbing Mobius’s.

Loki didn’t even know that enchantment could work this way. Instead of searching through Mobius’s memories, she was scrounging through both hers and his and, like a reel of film, she let them play. All three of them watched as the series of events that had led them here flitted by: Loki crash landing in the deserts of Mongolia and swiftly being apprehended by the TVA, and coming face to face with Mobius for the first time as he saves him from being reset –

– Sylvie burning the TVA workers to a crisp in the fields of the past and snatching the reset charges left behind –

– Loki and Mobius discovering Sylvie’s hiding trick within the Apocalypses of the Universe; the first time Loki sets eyes on the other version of himself as she playfully waves at him before stepping through the Time-Door –

– The two of them running through Lamentis, just trying to survive an event that no living being is supposed to survive; the moment that a nexus event Mobius had never seen before spikes on the monitor, as two of the same beings reach out for one another –

– Loki pleading with Mobius with everything he’s got to believe him, that Mobius had been taken from his life just as everyone else in the TVA had –

– The brief moment it seemed they may have a chance before Mobius was pruned before Loki’s very eyes, losing one of the few friends he’s ever had in his entire life –

– Watching in horror as the decapitated head of a Time-Keeper falls to their feet, realizing that the all-knowing Time-Keepers were nothing more than robots being used for show to keep the workers of the TVA in line. Then, that small yet significant moment where Loki dared to take a leap he never thought he would make, only to feel his body disintegrate as Renslayer’s pruning stick is pressed against this heart –

– Sylvie, not long after, shoving that very same pruning stick into her heart, joining him in the Void. The briefest of glimpses she got of the Citadel as she grabbed hold of a part of Alioth, before being reunited with the man she had spent her life running away from. All three of them, accompanied by a few peculiar Loki variants, hatching a plan to bring down the TVA once more –

– A tender goodbye shared between a rapidly formed yet strong bond between the three; a hand stuck out in an attempt of a goodbye that was deemed not enough by Loki, who couldn’t bear to let the other man leave without a word of thanks, both spoken aloud and with the gesture of arms wrapped around one another –

– Stepping through into that Citadel that sat on the edge of time, the two of them being offered what was once all they ever wanted. Then finally, finally, meeting the man responsible for it all. Listening as he regaled his life story, trying valiantly to defend his actions to two people whose actions he had wronged –

– Loki’s hand on her shoulder, trying desperately to pull her back as she advanced towards He Who Remains with sword in hand. Loki’s heart-filled attempt to get Sylvie to stop before all hell breaks loose, and they find themselves fighting the one person they never truly want to hurt. Then, knowing what she knows, Sylvie chooses to let herself enjoy the briefest of moments where Loki made her feel like she could be okay before shoving him through that Time-Door –

– The emptiness Sylvie felt inside as she plunged her sword into He Who Remains’s chest, feeling no sense of the satisfaction she thought she’d feel as the light left his eyes. That emptiness being replaced by complete and utter regret as she watched the timeline ripping itself apart, already imagining all the other versions of Him forming into existence as she dropped to the ground –

– Loki’s similar feeling of emptiness as he sat within the TVA, the shock steadily giving away to the aching pain in his chest, now knowing what it felt like to be on the other side of a Loki betrayal. That pain only becoming infinitely worse as he finds the friend he was looking for, only to be slapped with the realization that whilst the man in front of him may have bore the same face as the man he knows, he was now nothing more than a stranger to him –

Mobius gasped as he was wrenched out from the memories, nearly falling over his jet-ski as he stumbled back and away from the two of them. Loki instinctively reached out a hand to help steady him, but stopped himself, unsure as to how this Mobius might react. Mobius’s face was scrunched in pain, holding a hand up to his head as the images of what he had seen remained burned in his memory.

“I know it’s a lot,” Sylvie said apologetically. “But it’s important. I… we needed you to see.”

“I… I don’t understand…” Mobius mumbled, his eyes rapidly moving side to side as he was lost in his thoughts. “Why… why wouldn’t He tell us? He… he told us our jobs were important, that we were protecting the entirety of time, but… we didn’t know we were protecting it from Him.”

“Do you see now?” Loki asks, taking a risk and stepping closer to Mobius. “Your leader… he isn’t the only one of him out there now, and if we don’t do something, then… there will be nothing left but death and suffering.”

Mobius swallowed harshly, giving a small nod of his head as he struggled to get his thoughts under control. “I… I don’t even know what to do, now… Everything I thought I knew, it’s… it’s…”

“It’s never how you think it is,” Sylvie finishes for him. “But you can help us, Mobius. Help us find a way to make things right.”

“How?” Mobius asked, forcing his head up to look to Sylvie. “I’m just an analyst-,”

“Precisely!” Loki cut him off. “You know more about the inner workings of the TVA and the timelines than we do. If you don’t want to get involved, that’s fine. All we’re asking is for some information from you. Give us a chance to find some people that can help, and fix this whole mess.”

Mobius sighed, running a shaking hand through his hair. “I… I suppose that might be possible… What kind of information are we talking about here?”

“For starters-,” Sylvie brought up her hand, showing Mobius the TemPad wrapped around it. “-Any information you have on this thing would be good.”

“His TemPad…” Mobius uttered in amazement, looking moments away from reaching out for it before thinking better of his actions.

“His?” Loki asks. “Does your version of ‘He Who Remains’ have one of these, too?”

“That he does…” Mobius confirms, looking almost transfixed by the TemPad. “I’ve never actually been able to see it up close myself – having never met Him face to face – but… I know of it. Not much, I have to warn you. Although… there might be some files on it stored away within the TVA…"

“He keeps files about it?” Sylvie asked.

“It’s His pride and joy,” Mobius answered with a short chuckle. “While we’re left slumming it with the older versions, he’s the only one that gets to use the ‘new and improved’ model.”

“Huh… guess your version of ‘He Who Remains’ is kind of similar to the one we know,” Sylvie noted, running a finger across the TemPad.

“I wouldn’t know,” Mobius said with a shrug of his shoulders. “He’s just sort of… there. An imposing leader. A…”

“A threat?” Sylvie guessed. “Something to keep you in line?”

Mobius paused, pondering over her answer for a moment. “Kind of. Someone to respect, but also… someone to fear.”

Mobius twisted his neck around, looking around to the crowd of people that were still around them. He turned back to them, flicking his head for them to follow as he moves away from the jet-ski, making his way onto the shore. Loki and Sylvie obediently follow, keeping on Mobius’s heels as he carves a path through the name-less beach-goers.

“I don’t think I can do much for you,” Mobius said over his shoulder as they pushed through to a less densely populated area of the beach. “I’m… I’m not much of a fighter; I wasn’t trained for that. I know how to find information that would be of use to me, and apply it effectively. That’s what I’m good at.”

“And that’s all we’re asking of you,” Loki said. “We could really use a guide through the TVA.”

Mobius came to a stop with a heavy sigh, spinning around on the spot to face them. “I hope you realize what you’re asking of me here. The TVA it’s… it’s all I know. They’re my family-,”

“No, they’re your family,” Sylvie insisted, pointing back to the crowd of people they had walked away from. “And I know there’s nothing we can do to bring them back. But the person who did this to you, who took you away from your family? He’s still out there.”

“I know,” Mobius said gently, eyes glazed over as he looked to where Sylvie had been pointing. “I thought that… that the ends justified the means. I knew that I was doing to other people what had been done to me, but… He… He was so assuring, you know? He made us believe there was truly no other way.”

“He’s a very convincing man,” Loki agreed, glancing over to Sylvie with an awkward wince. “But we’re going to find a way to stop him. There has to be a way for the multi-verse to exist in peace. We just need to remove the dictator – every version of Him.

Mobius nodded at that, taking in a deep breath through his nose. “Okay then,” He said, shortly before spinning back around and walking away from them.

Loki and Sylvie looked at each other, eyebrows raised in surprise as Mobius continued to just walk away from them. “Wait -- where are you going?” Loki called out, unsure whether they were supposed to follow.

“Well, I’m not just gonna rock back up to the TVA in swimming trunks, am I?” Mobius called back with a grin, walking backward to face them as he gestured down at himself. “And, uh… whilst you’re technically in uniform, you should probably clean up all the sweat, and dirt, and… and is that blood?”

“It’s been a rough few days…” Loki grumbled. “It’s been a rough damn existence.”

“Isn’t that the truth…” Sylvie added.

“Oh, and you-,” Mobius said, clicking his fingers as he pointed to Sylvie. “Not saying that I don’t admire the armor set, but uh… you might want to think about wearing something else if we’re going to blend in.”

Loki turned to Sylvie with a knowing grin, enjoying the apprehensive look on her face just a little bit more than he should. “Guess it’s time to see if we can conjure you’re a new outfit.”

Next Chapter - - - >

#sylki #sylki fanfiction #sylki fanfic #pro sylki #loki//sylvie #lovedagger #enchantricks

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Heaven, There's Nothing Better (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

Maybe it’s the blonde locks. Maybe it’s the pencil skirts, or the red lips. Maybe it’s the way that she always tosses her Birkin on the counter without any qualms at all, because she can most certainly afford to replace it if she needs to. But there’s something about her, something about Brooke, that has Vanessa mesmerized every evening when she comes home after a long day at work.

AN: Haven’t written a smut oneshot in little while, but inspiration sometimes strikes in the strangest of places. That being said, enjoy this complete pwp! Let me know any thoughts you have after reading, because I’d love to hear em. Thank you writ for betaing and being the best <3

The fat paycheck isn’t the only reason that Vanessa has stayed at her nannying job for so long.

Sure, the money keeps her on time for rent payments every month, as well as giving her the chance to plan for grad school in the future. And it doesn’t hurt that Rosie is a sweet kid who keeps Vanessa’s job from feeling like actual work, the hours in the day passing by without any hitches most of the time. But truth be told?

What really keeps Vanessa at her nannying job is Rosie’s mom.

Tonight, despite being Friday and the end of the work week, is no exception. It’s already nine by the time Brooke’s unlocking the door and kicking off her Louboutins in the entrance, and Vanessa’s heart flutters in her chest when Brooke shoots her a smile.

“Rosie already asleep?”

“Bedtime an hour ago,” Vanessa nods from her stool at the kitchen counter, and she can’t help the way her eyes trail over Brooke’s figure as she hangs up her coat.

“Wish I didn’t have to have so many of these late days. I feel like I’m missing out on her sometimes,” Brooke’s voice is tinged with a bit of regret as she walks further into the penthouse, towards Rosie’s room. “I’m going to go say goodnight.”

Brooke’s soft voice emanating from behind Rosie’s door makes Vanessa wonder what it must be like, for both of them. She’s not sure if she’d be able to pull long hours the way that Brooke does, having to miss out on so much of her future kid’s life, but hey, it’s made Brooke richer than rich, so maybe it’s not so bad after all.

When Brooke comes back into the kitchen, the softness in her face is replaced by a furrow of her brows as her eyes dart across her phone screen. Half of Vanessa wants to ask what’s wrong, but the other half of her is distracted by the way that Brooke tosses her hair over her shoulder as she walks over to one of the kitchen cabinets.

“I need some red,” Brooke mutters under her breath, pulling out a glass and a bottle of wine and setting them down on the counter.

The way that Brooke pours the wine is purposeful, determined, and makes Vanessa’s eyebrows raise higher and higher on her forehead when the glass has enough wine to get her slurring her words, at a bare minimum. But Brooke is unfazed, her grip on the stem of the glass delicate as she lifts it to her lips, draining it in one go without so much as a wince.

Well, damn. That shouldn’t be as attractive to Vanessa as it is, but she can already hear Silky’s voice in her head teasing her for the way her stomach is doing flips.

Brooke traces her finger along the rim of the wine glass, an expression of distaste flashing across her face when her phone lights up once more on the counter. “You want a word of advice, Vanessa? Never marry a man. Getting out of it is a miserable nightmare that drags on for years.”

Damn. Vanessa doesn’t even want to think about those settlements and divorce proceedings.

“That bad, huh?” Vanessa asks, her eyebrow raising when Brooke reaches for the wine again. “Though I wasn’t planning on it.”

Not that Brooke really needs to know. Vanessa shifts in her chair when Brooke looks up at her with a wry smile, because she’s definitely noticing the way Vanessa’s cheeks are heating up, but then Brooke taps her nails on the side of the bottle of wine. “You want some? You’re off the clock now.”

“I’m good,” Vanessa’s reply comes out in a bit of a squeak, but maybe Brooke hasn’t noticed, if she’s lucky.

Except that Brooke is full-on smirking at her now, her lips pressing together as her eyes flit across Vanessa’s face. It’s as if she knows exactly what she’s doing, and what sort of power she has over Vanessa.

It’s too much. It’s intoxicating. And honestly? Vanessa doesn’t really want to go home yet.

Brooke comes around to Vanessa’s side of the kitchen island, and even without the stilettos she manages to tower over her. “I always noticed that my divorced friends looked so much happier than those who were still married. No longer tied down to their shitty husbands, who were already cheating on them anyway. After divorcing they could put themselves first, y’know? They didn’t have to listen to their husbands and just went after whatever they wanted.”

Vanessa feels like she’s going to pass out, with Brooke close enough that she has to crane her neck to look up at her. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” Brooke’s laugh is light, airy, almost as if they’re having a conversation about the weather. “Do you find that, too? Is your man holding you back, or are you having a good time by yourself?”

“Oh, I’m not…dating anyone.” Vanessa has to keep her gaze from dropping down, because there is definitely a hint of cleavage peeking out from Brooke’s shirt, and nope, she’s not gonna look. She has self control.

Until her eyes flick down and there’s definitely lace behind Brooke’s shirt buttons.

So maybe Vanessa has the self control of a teenage boy. Not that Brooke seems to notice, from the way that she sidles up to her, a contemplative look in her eyes.

“A girl like you isn’t seeing anyone? Not going after what you want?” Brooke says it like it’s a challenge, and her perfume as she takes a step closer is making Vanessa feel a little heady.

“No, I…” Vanessa’s train of thought comes to a stop because Brooke is close to her, real close, her face a few inches away from hers as she leans down to be at Vanessa’s eye level, and god, she really is hot.

Fuck.

Brooke stays where she is, just a smidge far enough away to make Vanessa want to close the distance between them, except she feels frozen, rooted to the spot, her racing heart the only part of her with the capacity for motion.

Brooke doesn’t seem to share the same struggle because she’s smirking, mischief in her eyes as if Vanessa is a target that she’s been waiting for. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. You think I haven’t noticed? You’re not exactly subtle about it, Vanessa.”

Oh, shit.

“I didn’t…it wasn’t…”

Vanessa trails off again, because it’s hard to think of an excuse when the smile on Brooke’s face looks almost satisfied. Brooke’s gaze drops down to her lips, then back up to her eyes, as if she knows Vanessa’s going to break first without her having to do anything,

Brooke’s going to kill her, she really is, because Vanessa feels like she’s about to combust, and then Brooke bites her own bottom lip and shit-

Vanessa surges forward to close the gap between them because she can’t hold back anymore, she can’t, and Brooke’s ready for it, her hands bracketing Vanessa’s waist and holding her steady. Brooke tugs her off the stool so that she’s standing and oh, she still has to tilt her head up because Brooke is so tall, invading all of her senses when she pulls her in closer by her belt loops. Brooke kisses like she knows what she wants, like she’s here to take it from the way she nips Vanessa’s bottom lip and smirks into the kiss when it makes Vanessa gasp.

There’s no way Vanessa’s not asleep, she’s decided as such. She wouldn’t put it past herself to have a spicy dream about Brooke, but this? The way Brooke’s pushing her back until she’s leaning against the counter, the way her hand is winding into her hair, it’s all more than her imagination would even be able to conjure on its own.

Brooke tugs on Vanessa’s hair lightly by her scalp to expose her neck and shit, she’s right on track to turn Vanessa’s legs into jelly, pressing kisses against her skin that make her shiver. “You’re cute when you’re all worked up.”

Brooke lifts her head up and she’s looking smug, too smug, for her own good and Vanessa wants to retort, but then Brooke’s kissing her neck right under her ear and she can’t help but moan, and how has Brooke found one of her weak spots already?

“I’m-”

Vanessa’s half-hearted attempt to reply cuts off when Brooke pushes a thigh in between her legs, and shit, she can’t stop herself from grinding against it because it feels so good , especially when Brooke lightly nips at her skin like that. It makes no sense that Vanessa’s senses are overloaded already from just some simple making out, for God’s sake, but somehow, Brooke elevates it to a level that makes her head spin.

Brooke pulls her thigh back, and Vanessa’s surprised by the whine that leaves her own mouth. She’s usually better than this. Hell, most of the time she’s the confident one. But there’s just something about Brooke that draws Vanessa to her like a magnet, that makes her want more and not be ashamed to have to beg for it.

Jesus, it’s been too long since Vanessa’s gotten any action.

Vanessa doesn’t have to wait for long, because Brooke’s replaced her thigh with her hands at the edge of her shirt, fiddling with the hem as if she has all the time in the world. Vanessa wants to go and take the shirt off her damn self, speed things up a bit because Brooke’s having too much fun, from the way her lips are curving up.

“Easy,” Brooke mutters into her ear, but then she’s tugging on Vanessa’s shirt, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction when Vanessa lifts her arms up for her.

Maybe it’s a good thing that Vanessa hasn’t done laundry in ages, and that the only bra option she’d had to wear this morning was her lacy one that frames the girls nicely, because the way that Brooke’s eyes widen is enough to make her want to squeeze her thighs together. Brooke wastes no time, her hands raking up her sides and leaving goosebumps along her ribs and cupping her tits as she presses kisses down Vanessa’s collarbone, along her cleavage. Vanessa sends a small thank you to the counter that she’s leaning against because there’s no way that she’d still be standing without it, not when Brooke is so determined to turn her into a puddle on the floor.

“Keep going,” Vanessa gasps out when Brooke pulls back, her eyes gleaming and her lips pursed as if she already knows how she has Vanessa wrapped around her finger.

There’s an excitement in Brooke’s eyes, as if pulling Vanessa apart is for her own pleasure as much as it is for Vanessa. Brooke’s the type to enjoy the process, the type who wants to play with her food before she eats it. It’s a far cry from what Vanessa likes, that’s for sure, not when patience is overrated and the fact that they could just be getting to it instead.

But Brooke doesn’t seem the type to give in to Vanessa’s pleas, not her hands go back to trailing along her sides and making her shiver.

“C’mon,” Vanessa mumbles, turning into a whine when Brooke lets out a little laugh.

“I never pegged you for the begging type. All it took was some kissing, huh? That’s all you needed to turn into a little mess? Cute.”

The worst part is that Brooke’s not wrong, not when she’s somehow figuring out Vanessa’s buttons before she even realizes. Brooke’s words shouldn’t be making her even more wet, but Vanessa takes pride in being a sucker for punishment.

“I…”

Vanessa wants to defend herself, she really does, but then Brooke is undoing the button on her jeans and tugging on her zipper, and the slow smile on her face when her fingers trail along the outside of her panties makes Vanessa’s cheeks heat up.

“Someone’s worked up already,” Brooke murmurs into Vanessa’s ear, and Vanessa has to grip the counter behind her when Brooke starts to kiss her neck again while stroking her through the fabric of her underwear.

A part of Vanessa, the one that surfaces occasionally in the shower or when she’s under her covers late at night, has always wondered what it would be like to hook up with Brooke. Of course, that part of her had assumed that it would forever remain a fantasy, that there would be no way for her to know what it would feel like to have Brooke’s lips on hers, Brooke’s hands teasing her and working her up. That same part of her now feels like it’s short circuiting inside of her brain, with sparks that light up and travel along her skin and set her on fire.

Brooke finally, finally tugs Vanessa’s panties down, and the touch with which she traces along her folds is quite confident - she’s definitely not inexperienced, not when she’s already playing Vanessa like a finely tuned instrument, keeping her strings taut and under her control. It makes Vanessa wonder, through the haze of her brain and Brooke’s movements, just how Brooke had ended up settling for someone like her ex husband.

Not that it’s Vanessa’s place to ask - she has more important things to worry about, anyway, like Brooke’s teasing as she circles around her clit without giving her the relief that she needs. Vanessa can feel her hips lifting off the counter to get closer to Brooke’s touch, and the way that Brooke holds her down with her other hand makes her need it even more.

She’s gonna have to beg some more because she’s not going to be able to take it for much longer, not when she’s this wound up. The world feels fuzzy around her, save for snapshots that cut through the clouds in her brain - Brooke capturing her lips with her own, Brooke’s thumb finally brushing against her clit, Brooke’s fingers teasing at her entrance.

“Please,” Vanessa’s voice is breathless when Brooke pulls back from the kiss, when the corners of her lips turn upwards in a satisfied smile.

“I do love it when you’re polite.”

Maybe that’s all it would have taken in the first place, because Brooke’s finally pushing a finger into her and the heel of her palm is on her clit and it makes Vanessa gasp, because finally. It’s a good thing that Brooke has her up against the counter, because she’s not sure if her legs would be able to hold her up on their own anymore.

Brooke licks into her mouth as she gets into a rhythm, pushing another finger in and scissoring them apart inside of her. The noises coming from in between the two of them are enough to make Vanessa want to blush, hide on a normal day, but right now? Vanessa needs it to continue, because the more that Brooke continues the closer and closer she’s getting, and the familiar tightening in her abdomen makes her whine against Brooke’s lips.

There’s no respite as Brooke keeps a steady pace with the pumping of her fingers, and Vanessa’s squeezing around them when she comes, her grip on the counter slipping a little when her legs shake. Brooke keeps her pace up until Vanessa’s gasping and she can’t stay quiet anymore, unsteady on her feet when Brooke pulls her fingers back.

Despite the breathlessness in Vanessa’s lungs and the beads of sweat along the back of her neck, she takes Brooke’s two fingers into her mouth, her tongue swirling around them as she licks them clean. Brooke’s eyes twinkle almost with pride.

“Well, aren’t you something?”

The words are confident when they leave Brooke’s lips, but Vanessa can also see how her pupils are blown, the way her chest is rising and falling as rapidly as Vanessa’s. Behind her facade she’s as worked up as Vanessa is, just as affected and maybe, just maybe, Vanessa can pull her apart even further.

If Brooke’s this worked up already, Vanessa’s going to take the chance she’s been given and make the evening just as memorable for her, too.

The buttons on Brooke’s shirt are hard to undo when Vanessa’s still shaking, but she works her way down until she’s pushing the fabric off of Brooke’s shoulders. Brooke lets her do it, her breath hitching in her chest as if she wants to find out exactly what Vanessa has in store.

“Let me return the favour.”

Brooke’s pliant, letting Vanessa maneuver her towards one of the stools at the counter. “Yeah? You wanna do that, angel?”

“Please.”

Vanessa lets Brooke pull her onto her lap, grinding her hips down a little and maybe there’s going to be a wet patch on Brooke’s skirt underneath her but hey, Brooke’s the type who can afford the dry cleaning. Brooke doesn’t make it easy for her to focus though, not when her hands are raking up Vanessa’s back in a way that makes her shiver. She slides back off of Brooke’s lap so that she’s on her own two feet, and Brooke’s groan of frustration is short-lived because Vanessa wastes no time in tugging on the zipper of her skirt. Brooke takes the hint quickly enough, lifting up her hips so that Vanessa can slide off her skirt and her panties. Pushing Brooke’s thighs apart and stepping between them is worth it to Vanessa despite the cold tile against her knees when she crouches down, especially when Brooke looks at her with hooded eyes and her bottom lip between her teeth.

Vanessa keeps her hands on either of Brooke’s thighs, pushing them apart when they squeeze together as she licks up her slit. Brooke’s breathing comes out in pants, with a moan that she tries to hide behind the back of her hand when Vanessa looks up. Vanessa decides to skip the teasing, the working up, because seeing Brooke fall apart has suddenly rocketed to number one on her bucket list.

She circles her tongue around Brooke’s clit until she’s mumbling under her breath, and Vanessa can pick out just like that and you’re so good before her murmurs turn into a blend of whines when Vanessa trades the circles for sucking on her clit instead. It’s not hard to tell that Brooke’s close, from the heavy breaths and the squeeze of her thighs and steam that has to be emanating from between them, because Vanessa can feel herself already burning up into a pile of ashes.

Her jaw is sore and her knees are aching from being down against the floor, but Vanessa doesn’t waver with her pace, her fingers marking half moon indents against Brooke’s thighs while keeping them apart. It’s worth it, after all, when Brooke’s legs are trembling and she’s inching forward on the stool to get impossibly closer to Vanessa.

“Baby,” Brooke gasps out, and maybe it’s the breathlessness, maybe it’s the pet name, but it’s enough for Vanessa to double down on her efforts, until Brooke is letting out a fractured moan and pushing her away from between her legs.

It’s hard for Vanessa not to feel smug when she stands up, nearly at eye level with Brooke as she catches her breath. She tucks a lock of Brooke’s hair behind her ear, and the sudden intimacy of it makes her pause for just a moment.

She has a second to wipe her mouth on the back of her hand before Brooke’s tugging on her waist and pulling her closer and kissing her. When they pull back, Brooke looks as spent and sated as Vanessa feels, her shoulders relaxed and her posture less tense as compared to when she first came home.

“Feel like I may have you give you a raise for that performance.”

Vanessa makes a face, flicking Brooke’s shoulder when she grins. “You wish. I ain’t a hooker.”

“Sleep over, then? It’s getting pretty late. I’ll even make you a nice breakfast with Rosie in the morning.” Brooke intertwines their fingers, and it’s enough to pull Vanessa in, trap her in place.

“How are you gonna explain that to her?”

It’s a valid question, because the implications of sleeping with her boss are starting to sink in, now that her brain isn’t clouded by lust.

Whoops.

Except Brooke looks unfazed, her smile light and easy. “Rosie’s always asking for you as soon as you leave. I’m sure she’ll be delighted that Miss Vanessa has decided to visit on a Saturday morning.”

“You make a compelling argument,” Vanessa concedes, and maybe just this once will be fine, especially when Brooke is looking at her like that and Vanessa has always wondered what it would be like to sleep in a king sized bed.

“Mm, I’ve been told. Now I have a question for you,” Brooke starts, and the sudden seriousness in her face makes Vanessa stand up a little straighter.

But it’s all for show, really, when Brooke suddenly smiles.

“Pancakes or waffles for breakfast?”

Tell me what you think! And find me as usual at @plastiquetiaras on tumblr.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #smut #lesbian au #nanny au #holtzmanns

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tiaragqueen · 5 years ago

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Palliative

✂ Pairing: Minato Namikaze x Reader

✂ Word Count: 933

✂ Trigger Warning: Pregnancy

[Edited]

***

I was planning to write this as hcs but I think scenario fits better. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this, @itsao-mine. It's been a long time since I wrote a non-yandere fic, so forgive me if it seems rusty.

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“When you're lost down the river, babe, I'll be there. When you're lost in the darkness, I'll be there. I'll be there when your heart is breaking. You'll never be alone, I'll be there for you.” - I’ll Be There [Jess Glynne]

There was a special joy that came from being pregnant. The feeling of bearing the child whom you’d created so hard, the slight kick that occurred sporadically, the nursery, the names, their face, everything your mind could conjure up. Sometimes, you found yourself sobbing because you still couldn’t believe that you were actually a mother now. The responsibilities were huge, sure, especially during your child’s transition to adulthood. However, the happiness overrode any anxiety and fear a new mother might feel.

There was one thing that you dreaded, though. Something that most women shared in common, yet for an entirely different reason.

Labor.

And, yeah, you wouldn’t deny that the thought was frightening in itself. How could you not? You had to push another human being out of your body with sheer willpower and strength alone. Your chakra might be above average, and very helpful in alleviating the pain, but nobody couldn’t guarantee that you wouldn’t die post-labor. Not to mention, you had some reservations regarding the durability of your seal. What if it accidentally broke during the process? What would happen to the village later? You refused to venture any further, aware of what would occur. But deep inside, you knew that it was only a matter of time.

Until then, you’d pretend to be blissfully oblivious and enjoy each moment as it came.

However, your husband saw through your façade and decided to confront you.

“You’re anxious,” he remarked suddenly, plopping down on a seat in front of you. Cerulean eyes keenly observed the way you cocked your head innocently, and he wondered if you thought you could fool him with such an obvious act. “Did something happen? Did someone bother you or something?”

“Nope, I’m splendid.” As if questioning his motives, you blinked owlishly and turned your head to stare through the window again. There was a comfort in watching the passersby did their daily activities, faces serene without a hint of fear. It made you realize that ninjas were still ordinary people underneath all the secrets and complex techniques, and you found yourself wishing to maintain this brittle peace.

Minato sighed, resting his forehead against his knuckles.

“I know you’re lying.” he murmured. “You’re not very adept, you know?”

“Thanks for the compliment, hun.” you retorted smoothly. “Glad to know that I look honest enough.”

“Except you’re not being honest, are you?”

You clicked your tongue, still refusing to face him properly. You feared that he’d tear your flimsy lie to shreds with a mere look. “It’s nothing.”

“It clearly isn’t nothing if you look like you’re getting worked up over it.” Minato studied your clenching fists on your lap before glancing up. “Don’t you trust me, [Name]?”

You said nothing for a while, simply prolonging the silence in hopes that it’d deter him somehow. When it became clear that he wouldn’t leave anytime soon, you sighed in defeat.

“It’s silly,” you admitted rather bashfully, the apples of your cheeks reddened a little.

“What is?”

“This… this fear. It’s silly.”

Minato cocked his head and patiently pressed on, “Are you scared of giving birth?”

“Not really– I mean, yeah.” You bit your bottom lip, wondering if you made the right choice of expressing your concerns to him. It wasn’t as though you didn’t trust him, you just… didn’t want to put another burden on his shoulders. God knows how taxing being a Hokage was. “There are too many possibilities, after all. But it’s not the only reason, you know?”

This time, Minato didn’t respond. But you knew he was listening because you could feel his gaze lingered on your bulging stomach. Then, after much contemplation, he finally opened his mouth.

“You’re scared that the seal will break.”

You grimaced, slightly unprepared to hear the truth out in the open. It made your apprehension sounded like a fact; like it was as inevitable as time itself. “I mean, can you blame me for that?”

“No, never.” Minato leaned forward and grasped your hands tenderly, trying to encourage you to look at him. “I understand just how daunting labor is, especially when you’re a Jinchūriki. But, please, have more faith in yourself and me. I won’t let the Kyūbi destroys the village, even if it means sacrificing my life.”

“Don’t say something like that.” Tears stung your eyes as you frowned and squeezed his hands. You didn’t want to imagine a future without your precious husband beside you, but the risk always existed. You knew, he knew, and that was what made it so hard to swallow. Compared to the lives of innocents, his was dispensable.

If only you both lived in a world without war threatening to break out anytime soon, perhaps you’d be at your happiest.

“I’m sorry.” Frowning sympathetically, he reached out to push your head on to his chest. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.”

A drop of tears leaked through your lashes when you squeezed your eyes shut and gripped his dark blue shirt. Despite the hand that kept patting your back and the soothing words he never failed to whisper, you couldn’t stop your mind from spiraling down the negative. What if this was the last time you’d get to hug him like this? What if you wouldn’t be able to see your child grow up someday? What if you have to raise them alone?

“Minato,” he merely hummed in response, and you took it as a sign to bury your face deeper. For the sake of him, you’d try to stop thinking about the worst and cherish every memory. “I love you.”

#minato x reader #minato namikaze x reader #Sfw #Anime scenario #anime imagine #Anime oneshot #Naruto #Request #itsao-mine #non yandere

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years ago

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goodbye to the clearest eyes

pair: kim namjoon/park jimin | minjoon, rating: G

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33675553

dropping a minjoon fic here as well (because why not)! :>

Namjoon glances at his phone for the seventeenth time that night, the digital clock blinking back 23:14 at him, and his screen flashing low battery warning since the 20 percent mark. He waits again for ten more minutes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the muted sound of the club on the street across and the passing honks of ubers. A ping stirs him up.

Disappointed but not surprised. He knows he set himself up for this.

“Joon hi. Hope you thought better - like before. I actually got a ride. Lucky huh. So anyway, please don’t mind my earlier texts. See you later.” Ironically, his phone thinks it’s the most opportune time to shut down, zero percent, no more warning. He softly thumps his head on the steering wheel, but his fingers are tightly gripping around it.

“I should stop this.” This is the same sentence he repeats for every conquest Jin conjures up every Friday of the week. He sighs, enraged but tired, and he starts the ignition.

Then his passenger side opens and comes in an angel.

“Excuse me?”

It’s Namjoon’s first expression. Blonde hair, lopsided smile that reaches his eyes, plump and pouty lips, flushed cheeks, and fair skin. He waves to his friends goodbye and reaches for the seatbelt.

He misses it and he chuckles. He tries again and almost gets it. Again, another hearty chuckle.

“You’re hammered,” Namjoon says. “But this is not an uber.”

The blonde man fits the seatbelt in successfully in his third try. He looks up at Namjoon, and he is disarmed by bright hazelnut irises which disappear in a wide smile. “Look I managed to wear my seatbelt.” His fingers, dainty fingers, meet each other to give himself a small, silent clap.

Namjoon’s heart is thumping. What is this is a new modus of a local gang? Using an angel-faced to lure innocents into their deaths? He clears his throat and tries to capture the blonde’s attention. “I would appreciate it if you get out of my car right now.”

Yeah, especially since I just got my license at 30 years old. Because Jin had his car towed.

The blonde is heaving and Namjoon knows what comes next. He opens the windows and gets ready to give him a paper bag stashed in his glove compartment. It’s actually reserved for Jin, waiting for its purpose for several weeks now, but at least a single piece gets to see the light for tonight.

The passenger waves away his offer of a vomit bag. He just lets his head loll on the side, eyes shut, smile still plastered on his cherubic face. Namjoon rakes his raven locks with his hand, and he decides then to fuck it. He’s in the neighborhood, he has an available car. He will do one kind deed today and bring this angel safely to his home.

But yeah fuck me too because my phone’s basically on coma and I’m geographically challenged. No choice then. “Hey you, I’m sorry but I don’t have the maps on. I can’t drive you.”

The blonde tries to sit up straight with his eyes still closed. “Can you first drive around? I don’t want to go home yet.”

This is a red flag, Namjoon knows. Far too many dreadful things have been happening nowadays and everyone is hardly to be trusted even when they have the most beautiful countenance he has ever seen. But he had too many losses this year, too many times he held out chances for someone who won’t return them back, too many hopes for beginnings but he got indefinite endings instead. Yeah, fuck it.

“Can you move away from the window so I can close it?” Namjoon asks.

“Can you leave my side open? I want to feel the cold air against my face,” the man replies. Now that Namjoon’s looking at him intently, he notices he must be in his early 20s, not more than 25 probably.

He stuffs the paper bag on his passenger’s dainty fingers (which thankfully he holds onto because dry cleaning would be a bitch) and drives towards the road he frequents when he gets stood up.

“It’s kinda cold.” His blonde locks are swaying with the wind.

Namjoon chuckles and checks his monitor. “Well it’s the transition between fall and winter. Do you want me to close it now?”

“No, not really. I love the cold. It makes my cheeks redder. It makes me aware of the blood in my body.”

“I like this season too although I’m not a fan of snowing. I’d rather walk than drive a car when it’s winter.” Namjoon steals a glance. “Looks like you really enjoyed tonight. Flushed and rosy cheeks are also good signs of life. Would you believe it’s a criteria males would look for in females they want for marriage and reproduction? Of course, this was back when patriarchy was still 100 percent practiced.”

Namjoon takes a right turn amid the dense canopy of hickory trees and into the tunnel. Now would be the most advantageous time for his passenger to kill him.

“Yes, I enjoyed tonight,” the blonde remarks. His hazelnut eyes are now open and trained on the road. “My friends and colleagues organized a farewell party.”

“Changing jobs?” Namjoon breathes slowly, waiting for the blonde to pull out a gun or knife.

“Nope, not really. I’m going away.”

Nothing comes for Namjoon’s life, and he feels the bubble of laughter in his throat. “Another city or abroad?”

His hazelnut eyes roll to the ceiling, and he ponders for a whole minute. “Yeah, abroad. That’s what I told them.”

The tunnel is empty, but Namjoon keeps a safe driving speed on the rightmost lane. Occasionally, a sports car would speed past them, the tires screeching with the echoes. He wonders if he should keep up the conversation, but gauging the other person’s responses, it seems like they don’t mind. “Oh that must be fun. I also went abroad after university, straight to Belgium. It felt freeing that time, but I realized just recently that I was probably running away.”

There he goes again, spilling his guts to a stranger at midnight in the middle of a tunnel. Namjoon’s mind now wonders if this blonde isn’t afraid of him. He’s bigger than this passenger, more muscular, and definitely taller. He can easily subdue him and drop him in the ocean.

“It’s somewhere I have to go to,” he replies. “I’ve never been to Belgium. Chocolates must be good there.”

“The roads are very bike friendly, if you’re curious.” Namjoon remembers the awe when he first set foot in Brussels. No annoying car honks, no bulky vehicles on the streets. Just people biking, in tune with nature, giving way to each other, the tiny bells ringing.

“Ah I also never learned how to bike. How disappointing.”

“It’s a nice skill to have, keeps you active, and obviously it decreases your carbon footprint.”

His passenger laughs like it’s a trill of a nightingale. “You have such a weird thought process!”

Namjoon’s voice wavers, part embarrassed, part socially anxious. He’s never good in dealing with extroverts. “Is it bad?”

The blonde shakes his head. “I’m saying it’s unique. Anyway, I won’t worry much about my carbon footprint.”

Namjoon clucks his tongue against his mouth. “You must be a mindful consumer.”

“Hmm, I’m not really sure. I guess I am?” His little pinky finger rests on the side of his lip. “But it gives me comfort that I’m alleviating Mother Earth’s illness somehow.”

They leave the tunnel and the smell of salt air arrests both of their senses. Namjoon opens the window on his side as well and breathes in the ocean. He normally frequents this area during sunsets, a few minutes when twilight sets in before it finally transitions to the night sky. His existence hovers in between those changes, all beautiful and all passing. It dawns on him that he took a plunge when he decided to drive here at this time. “Do you mind some music?”

“No, go ahead!”

Namjoon opens his radio, and the first notes of 400 Lux drifts from the speakers. The blonde lets an arm out on touches the air on the skin of his fingers. Namjoon notices this and mirrors him. The ocean greets them after a few seconds, quiet in its vastness despite the rhythmic buoy of the waves and the sound they make when they crash against the sandy shore.

“I’d like to visit many more places,” his companion continues. “Like Jeju Island. My grandmother plants the sweetest tangerines, and my ex-boyfriend would often come help out during harvest season. But I broke up with him just recently and cut off all ties.”

“Sorry about the ex-boyfriend,” Namjoon interjects. “He must be missing the tangerines a lot.”

“Let’s hope that’s the only thing he’ll be missing. By the time he’d miss me, he must have moved on already.”

The road comes a bit closer to the waters, and the wind drifts over some of the sea spray to them as the waves break against the side of the cliffs. “And here you are, sounding like you already miss him.”

“I won’t deny it.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I found that it’s healthy to acknowledge your feelings than keep them all repressed so I’m honoring our bond by honoring the grief.”

“Sounds like good advice.” The guilt creeps up on Namjoon, but he ignores this for a moment. Maybe he can take this bit, store it, and use it in the future. It’s good advice anyway.

“I also want to visit Disneyland. I’ve never been to one. Couldn’t afford it. But I hate roller coasters and pirate ships, anything that has to do with heights. Although, if given the chance, I would try all of them at once even if I vomit after.”

“The lines are freakishly long.”

“How much do you think would it cost if I rent the whole place for a day?”

Namjoon laughs. “Pretty sure it would have at least six zeroes.”

“Oh I thought it would have seven.” They both break into guffaws. After a few seconds, the blonde continues his musing. “I would also love to visit my parents and see them again every day.”

“Can’t you do it now?”

The man stretched his arms in front of him and wiggles in his chair. “I’ll actually drop by tomorrow, spend some time before I truly go.”

Namjoon slowly turns on a blind curve, weighing the last sentence in his mind. “I moved out when I was 18 into the university dorms, and then I got my own apartment after graduation. Most of us go through that linear phase, don’t you think – growing out of our childhood homes and leaving the ‘youth’ behind.”

“You don’t even look like 30 yet.”

“I’m flattered. And you don’t look like you’re over 20s.”

“I get that a lot.” The blonde chuckles, not bothering to hide another set of blush on his cheeks. Under the dim light of the moon, Namjoon briefly notices the redness in his ears.

“But wouldn’t it be nice to come back to it, to that safe bubble when life becomes too overwhelming?” Somehow, Namjoon also feels a hot flush on his skin despite the icy air that has set in their atmosphere.

“We both know there’s no bubble anymore when we go back.”

“I guess it will take you a long time to come back.”

The passenger nods, his hazelnut eyes leaving the road to focus on the ocean. “A very, very, very long time. I may not see them again after I go.”

He must be moving for good, Namjoon thinks. Or he’s cutting off ties. Like I did so many years ago.

“Hey, can we stop over for water? I’m thirsty.”

Namjoon spots the 24/7 convenience store on the side of the road. He remembers this is a junction close to a fishing port hence the all-around operations. He parks on the empty lot and waits for the blonde to finish buying his needs. He comes back with four bottles of water and two bowls of already cooked instant ramen. “Would you like to eat by the shore?”

Sure why not in the middle of almost-winter? Namjoon follows him nonetheless, even sitting on the damp sand cross legged with ramen in between his hands. They slurp the noodles in silence punctuated by the crashing waves and occasional noise of the seagulls and the horn of incoming fishing fleets. They do not talk, too engrossed with the hot food and spicy broth.

Finally finished, they combine their garbage in what was supposed to be the passenger’s vomit bag. Namjoon initially walks to the direction of his car, but the passenger decides to walk along the shore for the minute, barefoot, his black leather mules secured in his other hand.

“Would you look at that? It’s finally used,” Namjoon jokingly remarks about the vomit bag.

The blonde chuckles at his lame attempt to lighten the mood. Namjoon finally notices the muted loss in his startlingly beautiful hazelnut eyes, and the layers of sadness covered up by his songbird laughter, but he knows it’s not his place to ask.

“Have you ever thought about death?” The way he asked it was so blunt, so deadpan, so out of the blue, and so far removed from his lively persona that Namjoon interacted with in the vehicle.

It catches him off guard, of course. He never really delved into it, not when he was too busy running away from his feelings for his college best friend, not when he came back and tried to rekindle that friendship and connection again, not when he was too busy wondering if it was already too late.

He was too busy facing the consequences of his life. “In passing, maybe.”

The blonde walks further into the water, the waves reaching to his knees. “What do you think happens after?”

“I personally don’t believe in afterlife or in God or in heaven.” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, aware that his being agnostic would sometimes earn an agitated reaction from people. “It just ends. You become food for the detritus, a fertilizer for the plants.”

“Lessening the carbon footprint?” the blonde brings it up again, and this earns a hearty chuckle from Namjoon.

“We could put it like that. You contribute to nutrient cycling.”

“That’s a nice way of describing rotten flesh being eaten by worms.” He turns towards the expanse of the ocean with his eyes closed and that constant smile that seems to hold him together throughout this night. “I….visualize dying as a new birth, a chance of being someone again, a reincarnation. Even if I live as a butterfly with gray wings, a disowned black cat because of superstition, a whale with an alien frequency, a deer hunted in the open season, I’ll welcome it because it gives me another day, another life. It gives me another chance to feel the cold air on my face, the hot flush on my nose and ears, the water between my toes. Another chance to meet people, another chance to fall in love and break and fall all over again, another chance to live.”

The whole monologue untethers Namjoon. It is as if the sand underneath him started shifting.

The blonde turns his attention on the sky, stars invisible behind the fluffy clouds which signal incoming rain. As he silently watches them move across the space, Namjoon follows the change in his expression, the surrender of the smile, and the explosion of dullness in his irises.

“I have a tumor in my brain. Cancer has progressed too far and too deep to consider chemotherapy. Doctor gave me three months at most.”

Namjoon feels like he needs the vomit bag more. He’s tongue tied and numb all over. He feels cold all over, but he doesn’t know if he should blame the season. All the sounds are drowned by a ringing in his head, and he barely hears the blonde come up to him and tap his shoulder with his smile back again.

“I want to go home now. Thank you for driving me tonight.”

---

Now in the safe enclave of his apartment with a fully charged phone, Namjoon composes a long message intended for Jin, his apologies running all the way back since college. An apology for not responding to his confession, an apology for running away, an apology for coming back and expecting everything is the same.

And an ultimatum of a definite conclusion – whether he can let him in or cut him off from his life – because he has spent a long time living in between.

The breakdown comes after he hits send, choking sobs hitched in his throat. A mourning for a blonde stranger.

---

“Have a taste of this.” A grandmother in her 90s offers a peeled tangerine to Namjoon.

He bites through the piece of fruit and the sweetness hits him in full. He relishes the burst of flavor in his mouth with his eyes closed albeit it’s actually a ruse to keep the flood of tears at bay. You were right, they’re the sweetest tangerines. “I think I’ll order a hundred kilos.”

“That’s too much, my son.” The old woman laughs and playfully slaps him on the arm. “So how did you find your orchard tour a while ago?”

“I can’t help but hear a songbird in the area. Must be coming from the nearby forest.”

“Ah, it started singing last year. Since then, we’ve always had a year-round harvest. He must be my lucky charm.”

#bts fic #bts fanfic #minjoon #minimoni #namjoon x jimin

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 5 years ago

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Complexities Unknowable- Chapter 7 (Finale!)

Ao3, 1 2 3 4 5 6. MasterPost

Relationships: Deintruality, background Analogince

Warnings: Cursing, Remus-typical language and jokes, Minor self-deprication/insecurity, the ol’ ‘thinks-it’s-unrequited-and-is-oblivious-to-obvious-flirting’ song and dance, all sympathetic sides, feelings of being left out, also I accidentally projected too hard and now Patton has adhd oops.

Word Count: 4,000 (approximately)

Patton felt better than he could ever remember feeling. Sleep came easy as it hadn’t for him in years. It was amazing how far a little bit of understanding went.

When all your closest friends are together, you get lonely. Patton wouldn’t say that he was jealous, but everything was different now. When he used to spend time with the others, it was four pals spending quality time together! Now when they did, it was a date, except oops! Patton’s here too! How awkward!

He knew that was unfair. They didn’t really think of him that way, of course not. Hence why he didn’t bring it up.

It wasn’t like that with Remus and Deceit. Even though they were dating, Patton never felt left behind. Their humor was dark and snarky but accessible, not laden with inside jokes that he’d missed out on or specific clues that he didn’t pick up.

The inclusiveness they treated him with was probably borne from being excluded for so long, though he didn’t like to think about that. The fact was, the three were friends now, the past was past, and Patton was drinking in their companionship like fine wine (or, to be more accurate to himself, a grape juice box).

It did not take him long to figure out why he was so fond of their company. You can only spend so much time with Deceit prattling about the dangers of repression before you start to unearth all of those deeply buried feelings.

He’d fallen for the Dark Sides. Whoops.

Could you really blame him? Deceit, suave and clever and funny, yet so gentle when he wanted to be; Remus, bold and brash and energetic, but still with such a deep empathy hidden in him! It was no wonder that the two were already together- anyone who spent as much time with them as they spent with each other would be head-over-heels as well! (Patton was speaking from experience on that one).

Initial surprise regarding the feelings had soon faded to something almost comfortable. He was happy to have them as his friends alone, so what was a little crush? No big deal!

...Was what he had thought ten minutes ago, when there wasn’t an affectionate Remus wrapped around him, chattering off various compliments.

“I could hold you forever, Patty. You are just the softest, like a water balloon full of blood and organs! But still so ripped, I mean, damn!”

“Language,” Patton chided meekly, trying very hard to not dissolve into the ether.

“Awww, you can’t make an exception for me? Just this once? I’ll make it worth your while~,” the last part was a hushed sing-song right near Morality’s ear. He felt his face redden, but forced himself away to refocus on… whatever he had been doing.

“Nope, no exceptions,” he chirped, going back to- right! Cleaning!

“You aren’t tempted at all? You are so responsible- and that’s really one of the sexiest qualities there is.”

It was just Remus’ nature to talk to people like that, Patton told himself firmly. The Creative side was just expressing his friendly affection in a way that made sense to him. It came alongside being close to someone so unused to ‘typical’ friendship dynamics, after all. Patton reminded himself of this again and again, denying himself the desperate urge that welled up and told him to respond in kind. He would not purposefully misinterpret Remus’ actions for his own gain, he was better than that!

“Thank you, Rem,” just nice, platonic gratitude for nice, platonic compliments.

Eventually, finally, mercifully, The Duke had seemed to get bored. He disentangled himself from Patton (appearing rather crestfallen, though the moral trait wasn’t sure why), and wandered off.

But that, whether for good or for bad, was hardly the end of that.

Deceit’s room was magnificently cozy. It was armchairs that swallowed up whomever sat in them, warm lamps casting down on all surfaces, and jazzy music playing distantly in the background. In other words, the perfect place for a good cup of tea and some sandwiches, not to mention pleasant conversation.

Deceit lounged back in his oversized chair, sending Patton an inscrutable look across their teacups. The side smiled, hoping that was the appropriate response.

“So,” he drawled, switching the track of their conversation abruptly, “You’re something of a seamster, aren’t you?”

Patton stared blankly for a moment before the term clicked.

“Oh, you mean a seamstress?”

“Sorry, I thought you’d prefer the masculine, but that really was presumptuous of me,” Deceit amended in apology.

“I didn’t know that there was a word for it other than seamstress. Hey, isn’t it kinda weird how some jobs are like that, when you think about it? Like how there’s actors and actresses! Why wouldn’t ‘actor’ be all encompassing, ya know?”

Deceit made a vague noise of disinterest and waved his hand, as though manually cutting off the tangent in conversation.

“Yes, gender is a distasteful societal construct and an overall prison to our consciences, we both agree- but regardless, you sew. Make clothing and things like our quilt. Isn’t that right?”

“Right- yes.”

“Do you make all of your own clothes, then?”

“Hmm, sometimes I do- I mostly make stuff for the others. It’s easier to conjure simple stuff for myself, but making them is a lot of fun!” Morality gestured enthusiastically to the pastel pink sweater that he wore, fluffy and intricately patterned.

Deceit’s eyes glinted in a strange, intimidating, and also incredibly hot way. Patton almost forced the attraction out of his mind, before realizing that that kind of repression would definitely be noticed in this part of the Mindscape.

“I would have to say you have quite the talent, in that case,” the dishonest trait set down his cup and craned his body over the small table between them, heterochromatic gaze alight with… something. Patton cleared his throat.

“W-Why’s that?”

“You look positively hideous in that, my Dear,” he purred in obvious lies, gloved hands now sitting in the middle of the table and creeping forward by the inch.

“Aw, thanks,” Patton croaked, fighting the urge to lean forward in turn.

Something strangely disappointed flashed in Deceit’s eyes, but he quickly recovered. He reached out to run a hand along Patton’s sleeve, the touch lingering against his arm.

“My my, that’s just like a cloud. How did you manage that, Darling?”

Morality shivered as Deceit continued to toy with the fabric of his sweater.

“I-It’s probably because it’s made with love! Since that’s what I am, kinda,” he stammered, desperately trying to keep up the cheery tone.

“I’m inclined to agree. There’s beauty in all you touch, Sunshine.”

Oh, the pet names. Patton really couldn’t take it; he jerked away and pressed his back against the chair, before he had the chance to do something stupid. Honestly, it was sad how hard this was for him- Deceit was just trying to be a good friend! It wasn’t his fault that he showed it with flirts!

“You’re too sweet,” with distance reestablished, Morality found it much easier to formulate words, “I really appreciate you, Dee.”

Deceit blinked, still hovering over the table. He cleared his throat and snapped back into his seat, suddenly looking the part of the cold and distant Dark Side that Patton had feared just months prior. Guarded, callous, stoic. It was almost frightening, how quickly he changed.

“Yes, I know you do. Let’s change topics, shall we?”

Patton, feeling quite a bit of whiplash, nodded hesitantly. Their conversation continued to flow normally, for the most part, but he couldn’t help feeling that he’d messed up somewhere. There was something heavy over them, but Patton hadn’t the slightest idea what it was.

For a brief, dizzying moment, he wondered if they were moving backwards. If he’d somehow crossed a line when he was trying so hard not to, and now they were two steps back again. Just the thought of it made him too sick to finish his tea.

Patton didn’t have to be worried for long about that particular mishap, thankfully, as a very momentous occasion had swallowed up the fear. Remus and Deceit were going to be joining in their first ever movie night as part of the family!

There’d been plenty of TV marathons with just them and Pat already, but now they’d all come together! As part of the group!! Contributing to the voting and the arguing and the joking and the experience of it all!!! Needless to say, Patton was practically bouncing off the walls in his excitement.

He plopped down onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn, passing a much larger container of snacks to the amorphous blob of limbs and sass that had once been his three best friends, cuddled together far across from him. Now, all they needed were the Dark- sorry, former Dark Sides.

He wasn’t waiting for long before Deceit and Remus appeared in the living room (Remus, thank the lord, wearing actual pajamas). Patton couldn’t contain the happy little chirp that escaped him, scrunching himself to one side of the sectional so that they’d have plenty of room to make themselves at home.

Rather than huddling together in the crook of the curved sofa, however, Deceit immediately gestured for Patton to scooch over, and Remus sat on his other side. Morality was happy (if a bit surprised) to comply with this new seating arrangement, flashing them bright smiles. In light of recent events, being so close with both of them was a little dizzying, but it wasn’t too hard to bear. For now.

The conversation on which movie to watch that night was more agreeable than usual, which was nice; they got right to the marathon with little hassle. Patton sighed as the opening credits to Tangled played. At that moment, his life couldn’t get any more wonderful. Surrounded by the people he cared about, finally all together, it was perfect.

And then, a mere ten minutes in, Remus leaned his chin on Patton’s shoulder and pressed into his side.

“Mother Gothel is such a Milf.”

Patton would usually have been put off by the sexual comment, but at that moment Deceit had also seemed to decide that he’d make a good headrest. Which was fine, this was fine. Some mild friendly cuddling- nothing he couldn't handle!

Another twenty minutes later and Remus twisted an arm around his waist. Deceit held Patton’s hand between a couple of his own. By this point, they were beginning to look a lot like the cuddle pile wrapped up together on the other side of the couch. He was still alive, though!

Neither of the sides beside him moved an inch until the film ended, only begrudgingly letting go when Morality had to get up for a snack refill. Even then, they latched back onto him as soon as he returned. Thus began the second movie, and the beginning of Patton's slow and snuggly death.

Every few minutes, it would be something else: Deceit ran a hand or two through his hair, Remus hooked his leg around Patton’s, Deceit nuzzled against his neck, Remus laughed into his shoulder, et cetera et cetera et cetera.

Three movies in and he was barely keeping up with the conversation. His head was spinning and he was sure he’d never been so warm, but more than that he felt protected. Even adored. He wasn't often on the receiving end of affection, and the longing brought with it ached, but he never wanted it to end.

Then Virgil yawned (oh yeah, the other three were still there), exiting from the ending credits of All Dogs Go To Heaven and clicking back to the main screen.

“Bed time,” he grumbled, a tone so intimate and low and clearly meant for his boyfriends that Patton almost felt bad for overhearing it.

“It is getting quite late,” Logan agreed, standing to stretch. Roman followed suit and dragged a sleepy Anxiety up with him.

Virgil tossed the remote in Patton's general direction and let Roman haul him up in his arms (Deceit caught it with an unoccupied arm, given that the moral side’s brain was currently jelly). The three bid their goodnights and were gone with a few shimmers of color and a whoosh.

“I guess we should head up, too,” Patton murmured, working very hard to disguise his reluctance. To his surprise, the traits sandwiching him only sank further into his sides.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right, it’s so very late,” Deceit rumbled, his face partially hidden in the crook of Patton’s neck.

“Yeah, I’m exhausted. I can’t move,” Remus added, his voice ticking up in a noticeably mischievous way.

“I can’t either. We should stay, just like this.”

Patton's heart warmed, looking between their adorably sleepy faces. He couldn’t lie, the offer was tempting, but in such a situation his brain came back to him. Despite the continued proximity of his crushes, this was something he could handle!

“Aww, don’t you worry about it, I’ve got ya,” and, making very sure that his grip was secure, Patton stood up with Deceit and Remus cradled in either arm. He hardly staggered under the weight of the sides, familiar with such heavy lifting.

Remus and Deceit went from sleepiness to pure shock in a matter of milliseconds. Deceit instinctively clung to Patton with all of his limbs, meanwhile Remus gave a startled laugh. Their faces were a matching pink; oh, he could have made them uncomfortable!

“Is this okay? I promise I won't drop you.”

Remus nodded frantically; Deceit squawked in an affirming sort of way.

Relief washed over Patton and, satisfied with the response, he sank out in a circle of cyan. For a moment, he feared that the nausea that The Subconscious usually brought him would unsteady him, but he was left pleasantly surprised when he felt none. In fact, it felt just like rising up anywhere else. Just as easy as breathing. Hm.

He didn’t dwell on it too long, ascending The Subconscious’ staircase and bringing his cargo to the first bedroom he saw (Deceit’s). He nudged the door open with his shoe, carrying them right to the bed and dropping them down gently. Remus fell onto his back with a happy hum; Deceit stayed upright and stared at Patton with wide eyes. He huffed a laugh and nudged The Snake's shoulders, and Deceit let himself fall beside his boyfriend, dazed.

This was routine for Patton: grabbing the covers and blanketing his friends, as he’d done for probably every other side at one point or another (even Logan, though he would deny it furiously). Once Remus and Deceit were sufficiently tucked in, he stood up and dimmed the lights to near darkness.

“Alright, you two have a good night's sleep.”

There was a noise of approval from the pair. Patton gave them one last smile before disappearing back to his own room. To scream into his pillow and think about how gay he was.

Which meant that he didn't get the opportunity to hear the interaction that followed between Dee and Ree.

“Well, that didn’t backfire at all.”

“I want him to snap my spine in half like a glow stick. He could break every bone in my body and I would thank him,” Remus replied dreamily. Deceit hummed in agreement.

“Perhaps we should try a more… direct approach, as this doesn’t seem to be working in our favor.”

“I dunno about you, but I’m feeling pretty fuckin’ favored right now.”

“I was suggesting that we be more-” he very nearly gagged, “Straightforward.”

“More like gay-forward, actually,” Remus corrected, “But I’m with you! You know I love being direct.”

“Now when I say direct, I don’t mean blunt.”

“I don’t understand the difference.”

“I know you don’t. Let me do the talking.”

“Fine by me! Whatever works to get him to pick me up and throw me!”

Deceit rolled his eyes, settling his arms around Remus.

“Yes, yes- but I’m actually wide awake right now, and I’d love it if you keep being loud all night, Dearest.”

“Oh, right,” Remus lowered his voice, curling himself around the lying side in turn. Together, their breathing slowed. As they drifted to sleep, the feeling of Patton's arms around them still ghosted their skin.

Patton was cleaning furiously. He’d already reorganized the entirety of his room- twice, for that matter- and now he’d moved to the Common area. It hadn’t been so much as a week since his last tidying session, and the Mindpalace was pretty much spotless, but that was irrelevant. It was as good a distraction as any.

Maybe he was avoiding the trifecta of trifling traits- aka his best friends- because he knew that they’d ask about why he was being so weird lately. Maybe he was avoiding Deceit and Remus, the reason that he’d been weird lately. Maybe he was just avoiding his thoughts about them, because seeing them all cozied up and sleepy and adorable a couple nights ago really hadn’t helped settle his growing infatuation with them. Most likely, he was avoiding all three.

But he had failed to take into account that The Common Area was not the best place for avoiding stuff. Given that it was. A Public Space.

“Patton,” began the voice of Deceit behind him, in a tone deadly serious.

He spun around to see a very embarrassed Dee and an immensely giddy Remus. Well, Shhhhh-ucks. Shucks.

“Hey!” Patton tossed the sponge in his hand back into the sink and pretended that he wasn’t freaking out at that exact moment.

Deceit hardly registered the greeting, continuing:

“We need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

The Snake opened his mouth, and promptly closed it. His eyes had widened concerningly, and he cast his gaze downwards.

“We-” he cut off again. Patton’s worry was mounting.

“DeeDee?” Remus prompted, elbowing his partner’s side, “I thought you were doing the talking?”

“I-I can do this, I’m not tapping out,” his voice was frenzied, hiding himself behind The Duke in a rare display of fear.

“Guys? Is something wrong?” Patton approached them, all of his nervousness about his feelings forgotten in the face of this distress, “Whatever it is, you can talk to me.”

Remus gave him a warm smile, not hesitating for a breath.

“We came to tell you you’re hot and we wanna date you! But, you know how bad Dee is with words! Anyway, whaddya say?”

Deceit, for his part, nodded in deep resignation. And Patton’s head reeled.

He could hear, audibly hear his heart thumping against his ribs. It was probably as simple as a confession could get, but regardless he found himself frantically replaying the words over and over and over again. He’d never imagined- not even for a second- even the thought of it-

Mentally, he took a step back. Roman, Logan, and Virgil were an item. Remus and Deceit were an item. And Patton was a third party, paternal and caring and watching out for all of them and their misadventures, though he knew he’d never be entirely part of it. But maybe, now he could be. After everything, they wanted not to just be with him, but to be with him.

It didn’t process.

“I- You- What- Me?”

Because there is good in this world, Remus (correctly) interpreted his flustered stammering as surprise and not distaste. The smile that he almost always wore widened and he took a step forward, dragging the mildly less panicked Deceit along with him.

“You,” he confirmed, shimmying excitedly in place, “Definitely you. And us.”

“I second that not-at-all vague sentiment. We’ve grown unfortunately fond of you,” Deceit uncoiled himself from Remus enough to be seen clearly.

Patton saw it. He saw, in full light and understanding, the subtext in their previous interactions. And now that he did, he had no idea how he’d missed it. A testament to the power of his insecurity, probably. But that didn’t matter, because they liked him back.

Patton failed to words. But, they were very near, and he was very happy, and in the light of new context, he figured that they wouldn’t mind the response he opted for instead.

He hopped forward with a delighted squeal, scooping the traits up in his arms. Remus started cackling and immediately returned the hug with just as much fervor. Deceit wasn’t far behind for once, allowing his face to split with a smile equal parts shock, relief, and glee.

“Oh, I love you two so much!” Patton laughed out, burying his face in Remus’ hair.

“I love you back!” Remus said in kind.

Deceit attempted a dramatic groan, but he failed to tamp down his grin.

“It could be said that I feel something love-adjacent for the both of you. Perhaps.”

Patton’s mind was swimming in joy, so much so that it barely registered when Remus tilted his head back only to lean forward, and oh wow, were they kissing. Patton’s vision was all bright blurs of color, and he melted. The creative trait pushed up against him, rough in much the same way as an overly excited large dog. Patton hardly had time to reciprocate the kiss before Remus broke off completely from the hug, unflustered and unaffected by what he’d done, save for a light blush.

“Now you guys!”

Oh, he was still hugging Deceit.

“Only if it’s okay?” he’d barely gotten the apprehensive words out of his mouth when it was suddenly occupied, and the world went back to hazey vibrance. Deceit was almost skittish, a barely-there press against his lips like he expected Patton to shove him away. He didn’t, by the way. Rather, he slid a hand up to rest between the side’s shoulder blades, bringing him nearer.

After a moment, they pulled back slowly, not letting go of each other.

“That was hot, ngl,” Remus chimed from his perch on the counter.

Patton was overcome with a fit of giggling, energy building in him. He ended his and Deceit’s very drawn-out embrace to satisfy the necessity of full body wiggle. He was in Silly Mode, there was no avoiding this until it had been exorcised via The Joyful Movement™. Patton flapped his hands at his sides and shook his hair out, laughing all the while. Today could not possibly get better!

But he remembered his audience of two. He looked up, hair fluffed up and face flushed with fading excitement and a tinge of self-consciousness.

“Sorry, I got over-excited...”

“That,” Deceit announced solemnly, “Was astoundingly adorable.”

“I’ve died a gruesome death,” Remus rolled off the counter and onto the ground with a crash (and some bone crunches thrown in, probably for fun), “My heart overloaded, it has burst. There’s blood everywhere, it’s in my eyes, I’m now also blind.”

Patton’s relief escaped in another bout of laughter, and something lifted in him. A weight that had been there for so long that he hadn’t even remembered it was there, nor how it felt to be without it. But now that it had left, he didn’t know how he had been living with it for so long. There was airiness in his chest, a clarity in his mind, a general sense of contentment rushing over him. This wasn’t a face he put on for others benefit, it wasn’t a fleeting enjoyment of one thing or another- what it was was a deep, thrumming joy that overcame him.

He was happy.

Naturally, Patton could not finish cleaning due to. Circumstances. Those circumstances being, he was finally letting himself indulge in some quality time with his new boyfriends (an identifier he very much liked the sound of).

The trio were half-laying on the Common room’s couch, a tangle of various limbs. Remus leaned against a pile of pillows, and Patton rested his head on his chest. Draped across the both of them was Deceit, fastening all of his arms around them in a manner simultaneously protective and needy. Oh, and also very, very cute.

“This was totally what I was planning from the beginning,” his voice reverberated through Patton’s chest, “God, I am so great at plotting.”

Remus clicked his tongue agreeably, pressing a kiss to the top of Morality’s head.

“Yeah, I was pretty sure we were gonna end up killing you, Pumpkin. This wasn’t even in the ballpark of outcomes.”

Patton hummed in thought, cuddling himself closer to his partners.

“I dunno. I’d say your plan turned out pretty well.”

@deceits-left-glove

@princemesscharming

@shrimp-crockpot

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jane-the-zombie · 4 years ago

Text

Wedding Inferno || Harsh & Jane

TIMING: Present LOCATION: ???? PARTIES: @notsoharsh & @jane-the-zombie SUMMARY: Jane and Harsh show up to Jane’s wedding wearing the same dress. Obviously, one of them has to change.

Soft music guided careful steps down a long, carpeted aisle. Chairs on either side were full of smiling, unfamiliar faces. The dress was hard to walk in. Or maybe that was the shoes. Harsh couldn’t really tell, they were trapped underneath the voluminous skirt. Well, at least everyone was looking at him. They should be. It was his big day after all. Except… it wasn’t. Someone else was walking the aisle with him. He gave her a sideways glance, brow furrowing. What was she doing wearing white on his day? Or was it his? Whatever, that was so out of line. Everyone knows wearing white to a wedding is just in bad taste. “What’s with you?” he muttered before looking down the aisle. Just one groom there waiting. The guy was… decent looking. Yeah, Harsh could work with that. It was just the chick keeping pace with him who was a problem. “Seriously, shouldn’t you go sit down? You’re kind of getting in the way.”

Oh god, not this again. Jane scowled down at Dream Jason, beaming at her from the end of the elongated aisle. Everything was wrong. Her flowers were blood red roses instead of the pretty purple pansies and they were in a church with the two sides of the family separated, and she was pretty sure her heels were a size too small. And, Jane realized as she walked down the aisle, instead of her father escorting her to Jason, some asshole in the same dress as her was walking with her. Excuse me, absolutely not. “What’s with me?” she hissed back. “What’s with you! You’re the one interrupting my wedding! That’s my fiancee down there! And how the hell did you get that dress, this was custom made just for me!”

Harsh scoffed, one hand on his hip. “If it was made for you, then why does it look better on me?” None of the guests seemed particularly bothered by their little pause halfway down the aisle. Good. No one should be giving him crap, not today. He cast another look at the groom, head tipped to one side. “I don’t know, I’m pretty sure he’s giving me bedroom eyes right now. What do you want for him?” Maybe they could trade something. What was worth a fiance? Chauncey was probably just as good as a boring human husband. The music was still going, it seemed a little louder, a little more urgent. “I think they want us to get this show on the road. So one of us is going to have to sit this out. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of uh… what’s his name?”

“Trade him?!” r stared at him, aghast. Honestly, if this was real life and not a dream, she would absolutely trade Jason for less than half an m&m. But she was fairly certain this was a dream, considering her mother was actually here and not somewhere on the West Coast tanning. That had to mean Jason wasn’t a total bag of dicks. Jane scoffed. “You don’t even know his name. This is my wedding, my dress, my possessed ring-bearer step stool and that’s my family -” Jane pointed to where her family was sitting. “- so go sit your ass down.” She full on body blocked him, standing in front of him with hands on her hips. Who cared if it was embarrassing, it wasn’t real! And damn that music was getting loud, the groom’s side of the church starting to shuffle quietly. There was something she should be remembering, but she was too distracted by whoever the hell this guy was. Trying to interrupt her dream wedding, dickhead was lucky she didn’t shoot him right then and there. “I’ll save you a piece of cake.”

The groom’s side was starting to get ansty, moaning and groaning discordantly. Harsh spared them a brief look. Huh, apparently some of them didn’t want to wait for the reception to eat. Oh well, they weren’t his family. What’s his face at the end of the aisle didn’t seem to care much as his best man turned and started snacking on another groomsman. As long as the blood didn’t get on his dress, it didn’t seem to matter. “Listen, lady, I don’t know who you are, but you’re really killing my vibe here. You want me to sit down, how about you try to make me,” he said, shoving roughly at her shoulders. It was probably bad luck to start a fight on his wedding day, but if she wasn’t going to move, he would just have to make her.

There was something she was forgetting - something very important. Jane, with her back to the chaos behind her, was shoved backwards. By some miracle she didn’t fall on her ass in her one-size-too-small shoes. Grumbling under her breath, she looked at him. She wasn’t about to be bullied by some man on her wedding day. Absolutely not. “I’m Jane - Jane Wu. And this is my wedding!” It wasn’t like any of this mattered right? And honestly, it was a little fun to start fights. She could feel her heart pumping the adrenaline going as she wound up and decked the man straight in the face with her best punch. She didn’t fuck around. She killed a mime with her bare hands. Some half-rate dream man wasn’t going to do crap to her.

For a human, or someone who looked pretty human, Jane could throw a decent punch. Harsh staggered back, catching himself on a chair. His cheek stung. There was something weird about that. Whatever, he couldn’t go down that easy. Giving himself a shake, he straightened up, rolling his shoulder. “So that’s how it’s gonna be? Fine.” Charging forward, he threw a sharp punch right to her gut and then slammed his foot down onto hers. Wearing heels was suddenly a great call. Maybe he should get a pair to wear more often. Wait, no he had these. Didn’t he? He couldn’t think straight, his face hurt and that weird music just kept getting louder, almost like it was trying to drown out the growing growls around them. And, for a second, he was sure he smelled smoke.

She didn’t have time or really the ability to block the hit as it came, Jane swearing as his foot slammed down onto hers. Why did that hurt more than the damn punch to the gut? Jane gripped Harsh’s shoulders, pushed him back before using the momentum to flip them both down onto the ground. There was an outrageous tearing noise - someone’s dress had ripped and she didn’t give a shit whose it was. She wound up to bunch him in the face again, this time with her left hand so her diamond ring would cut his face - yikes, when had she gotten so violent? - when she heard her father scream. The mangled frantic Mandarin came to through to her - Janey, janey what are you doing, help - when her head snapped up to see Jason’s friend Dave ripping out his neck. “Dad?! Hold on! Hold on!!” I’m coming!” Jane cried back in Mandarin. “Zombies. Oh crap, I forgot about the zombies!” She pushed herself up off the man, forgetting about everything. “Dad - shit, I can’t move in this thing.”

Shit. The carpet didn’t do much to soften the blow as Harsh crashed down. That hurt, really hurt. Maybe she wasn’t human. Something was off. He threw up his hands to try to stop the blow, but it didn’t come. Oh, right people were getting eaten. “Hold on.” Forcing himself up, he took Jane’s arm, helping her to her feet. The chaos was spreading, the music was almost defeating now and he didn’t just smell smoke, he could see it. Dark tendrils of it crept out from under the few chairs that were still upright in one piece. The stupid dress was too long. Cursing under his breath, Harsh ripped at the skirt. He grabbed a few bits of a broken chair, handing one to Jane. “Here. It’s better than nothing,” he said before turning to try to brain a zombie with his makeshift club. “Where did these things come from? Did you invite a bunch of zombies?”

Jane watched in horror as her Dad was carried off away, the blood spraying everywhere. And suddenly, the man under her was helping her up to her feet. Well that was strange - Jane winced as she heard screaming that sounded like it was from her friend Anya. Oh god, Anya. Her maid of honor. Jane needed to call her, but Anya gave up on her way before she moved to - nope. Focus. She took the chair leg from Harsh looking down at it doubtfully. “We need a sword,” she said, solemnly. “I didn’t on purpose, I didn’t know - well, it’s a long story. It always ends like this. Take your shoes off, you’re doing to twist and ankle.” Jane kicked her heels off, slugging the first zombie in the face that tried to come for her. “Don’t let them bite you!” And then she noticed the smoke. Dark smoke filled her nostrils as she ran forward to try and save her nephew she saw the flames. “... The fire’s new though.” Jane said, nervously. Things were somehow scarier when she knew they weren’t real.

“Right, just let me pull a sword out of my ass,” Harsh said, rolling his eyes. Her advice wasn’t terrible though and he made quick work of his shoes, driving the heel of one through the eye of an advancing zombie. “No shit, my first plan wasn’t really to just let them chew my arm off. I don’t think it matters if they bite me. I’m already dead. Ish.” He was pretty sure he couldn’t get any deader. Jane probably didn’t need to know that, but… this wasn’t real. At least, it seemed pretty not real. Was it a dream? His dreams were usually more… oh. There was the fire. He winced. “I think that’s mine. It’s going to keep spreading until it’s everywhere. We’ve gotta get out of here.” He looked around, frantic. There had to be an exit, this stupid church had to have a door somewhere. The flames grew, ripping through the last of the chairs, climbing the walls. “How does this end for you?”

“Right.” And unaffected by zombie bites? Weird. He must be a zombie she conjured up with her mind. Dreams were fucking wild. Jane shook her head, before she reached out and grabbed Harsh’s arm, pulling him down the aisle. “This way, there’s always an exit down by the priests quarters. We can avoid the fleeing guests that way.” The smoke was getting worse though, scratching the back of her throat. They clambered over bodies in a wedding dress and she barely even paused to think. “When I get down to the end of the aisle to get married, I usually... “ Jane grimaced. “Get eaten.” But it looked like Jason had been ripping Lizzie’s throat out last she checked. Figures. Dream Jason went for her sister. This wasn’t real - Except she was really sore and in a lot of pain. Weren’t people supposed to not feel pain in dreams. “Come on,” Jane coughed. “Shit. I think the exit is blocked off.”

Stumbling over a few lost limbs, Harsh followed after her as fast as the dress would allow. He should have ripped it more. The smoke stung his eyes, but not having to breathe had its advantages sometimes. “Y’know, I was sort of hoping for a different answer. We need to get out of this.” His own ending was rarely better. Being burnt to a crisp was so far down on his to-do list. And there was something wrong with the fire. It felt hot, it felt real. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. This… this was a dream. Wasn’t it? The walls were engulfed now, the ceiling above them starting to creak. The screams and cries behind them were growing fainter, but there was still that damn music over everything. “We can’t stay here,” he said, eyes flicking about. There, one of the walls wasn’t the raging inferno the others were, but it had broken in places, bits of light peeking through. “That wall, we’ve gotta get through it.”

“Through the wall?” Jane looked at him like he had four heads. There was a raging inferno and it was starting to get way too hot for comfort. She was sweating, her carefully done up hair damp and falling down, and she was sure her makeup was running - that’s how she knew this was a nightmare. Who the hell wore non-waterproof mascara on their wedding day? “And how do you expect us to go through the wall - of course we can’t stay here. What if we try to get through one of those windows -” she pointed. They were a little high up, but with some small feat of acrobatics maybe they could manage it. It wasn’t like they would die or anything. The flames were starting to creep closer though, and Jane wished the fucking music wasn’t so loud. Here Comes the Bride was only fucking charming during a wedding that wasn’t shit show.

“The fuck are you talking about? Those windows are tiny. Just c’mere.” Harsh grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the wall. There were little spaces between the wood, faint hints of light. Wedging his fingers in, he found purchase and yanked. The fire was growing hotter and hotter, his dress already stained by the smoke. He ripped away chunk after chunk of wall, hands aching. The hole he made wasn’t huge, but it would have to do. Grabbing Jane around the waist, he pulled her close for a moment. “See you on the other side.” And then, with a rough shove, he forced her through before clawing his way out himself, into the light.

“What are you - hey! I don’t think this is a good idea! This is stupid, it’s all a dream anyway, I’m going to wake up just fine -” Jane said, but it wasn’t heard and she was gaping at Harsh as he ripped a hole through the wall. Things were getting worse by the second. Smoke burning her throat and eyes and things were far too hot, and Jane was pretty sure for the first time in a long time, she felt a healthy dose of fear. But that’s what nightmares were, right? It was fine. Except she didn’t have time to really process that before Harsh yanked her close to him. “Wait, don’t -” except she didn’t have time to object as she was forced through the small hole in the wall, cutting her arm in the process and -

Jane jerked upwards in bed, sweating, coughing. disheveled, and bleeding. Wait, bleeding?! Fumbling for her lamp, she knocked her alarm clock on the floor. “Crap -” Jane swore, before finally disentangling herself from her covers as she limped to the bathroom flipping on the light to look at herself in the mirror. Her arm had a jagged cut on it, blood dripping down onto the floor. She was still coughing, eyes burning with tears as if she had just been in a fire. Wait. A fire? THat’s what she wash ust dreaming about, right? Her stomach was killing her and so was her foot - what the hell? What the hell?! Aghast, Jane reached for her first-aid kit, and wondered how the hell she managed to kick her own ass in her sleep. Hadn’t it all been a dream?

Harsh jerked awake, nearly rolling off his couch. He sat up, patting at himself. His cheek still stung and his back ached. That… that was wrong. How did he still hurt from that stupid dream? Something was wrong. Maybe it was something he drank… or someone. And then there was that woman, Jane. She had seemed different than the rest of it. More real. It was something to do with her, it had to be.

#wickedswriting #para #para harsh #harsh #ya'll this was a deLIGHT LMFAO

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atomicblasphemy · 4 years ago

Text

In the sign of evil

She kept thinking of her battle with the Emperor.

Not the battle itself, or how it would play out next time around, although it would be a lie to say such thought didn’t occupy her mind. After all, she made it through him with barely enough time to save Eda, King, and that other one.

Instead, what truly kept her up at night, what truly haunted her was what she saw in that creature’s eyes. First, she saw what could only be described as pure, unadulterated evil. Something Luz, who had thus far lived a mostly comfortable life, sheltered from the true perils of both worlds she knew, was unacquainted with. In her original realm sure she saw some small glimpses of it. There was the fact that she had for a long time been ostracized by her school peers, made to feel ashamed of being who she really was. But perhaps a more appropriate name for that would be the irreflected propensity for cruelty that some children, in both realms come to think of it, seemed to be obsessed with. Nevertheless, age and the ensuing experience it brings should rid most such children of these evil seeming impulses. And here in the Boiling Isles, even if she could count with a mostly reliable source of protection in her friends and, of course, in her mentor, she had not been unscathed from the semblance of evil’s claws coming to try and reach, abduct her from safety. She could, of the top of her head name at least four names for the list of unrepentant evil doers: Adegast, Tibbles, Boscha and, of course, Lilith. Then again, if anything, Adegast was motivated by sheer spite and while that alone made that monster a threatening foe, it might not be enough for him to entirely qualify to such a strong word as evil; Tibbles was a capitalist, his motivations were simply profit, an opportunist, which meant his approach to morality may be more than a bit lax, frankly Luz wasn’t all too sure whether to call that pig like witch evil or just immoral; as for Boscha, the same as for her bullies back in the human realm applies, whether she was truly an evil doer or just a misguided kid was for time to decide; Lilith, in all frankness Luz failed to come up with any significant argument to abstain her from the title of evil doer, but given how instrumental she was on freeing Eda and King from capital punishment, and then relieving her sister of her curse, Luz ruled in favor of conceding her the benefit of doubt.

However, the Emperor’s eyes… They carried within them an aura far deeper and so much more horror inducing than all of those past experiences combined. She was in those two wholes, those all consuming voids the bottoms of depravity. Ambition corrupted to its furthest extreme. Whatever that creature was, because she held close to her the belief that no witch nor human would ever be capable of conjuring such dread in her very soul, Luz prayed it had no peers, and she wouldn’tbelieve for even the shortest of instants that its plans weren’t boorish, as he himself put it. Truly, defeating that horror was imperative, both for her own sake, as well as for life itself.

Still, none of that was what made sleep avoid her. No, she had seen something else, something other than evil, in those bottomless pits. Something about which the girl simply couldn’t help but to allow her inquisitive mind to ponder.

There was no mistaking it, she saw a glyph, one unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was intricate, one could even say that, had they been found elsewhere, that the lines and shapes therein were even beautiful, entrancing even.

Luz had replicated it in a small piece of paper, and whenever she found herself alone she would turn her gaze upon it. She knew what a Faustian bargain was, she had read about it in her literature class back at human school, but she never expected to find herself pondering whether or not make one of her own. On one hand, this could bring about the most nefarious effects and essentially grant her foe an uncontested victory, which might as well be tantamount to the destruction of both realms. On the other hand, maybe this could prove to be the source of a power to rival his own, and this could certainly be extremely useful in helping her to release everyone she knew, everyone she cared about, everyone she loved, from the agony of living under that tyrant’s ironclad fist.

She tentatively raised her finger towards the glyph, she had made several in an effort to make sure not to forget anything, down to the smallest detail. She wanted to activate it, she felt as though the risk could be worth it; she wasn’t a magical powerhouse, so whatever its effects were they wouldn’t likely be all that expressive. Right?

Still, it was to risky to do it alone. And she couldn’t jeopardize Eda’s well being further. No, that was unthinkable, luckily for her there were three young witches she knew she could count on.

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

“Luz, Amity said she would probably have to stay late in class today and its been almost half an hour.” Gus said, trying his best no to sound discouraging. “I can wait a bit longer, no problem, but maybe we should go ahead with it.”

“Yeah.” Willow spoke, equally trying to sound calming despite her nerves being entirely on edge. “Besides, we don’t what this thing does. And, I think us three should be about enough for this… experiment.”

The three of them sat on an empty classroom, four identical copies of the glyph sitting on a small desk around which the three of them stood, looking attentively at the pieces of paper. Luz couldn’t voice an answer. The decision weighed heavily on her shoulder. She rubbed her temples, hoping a solution would miraculously manifest itself. Amity’s presence, surely, would help her feel safer. After all, their bond had been growing steadily for sometime now, and having three powerful witches guarding her back was better than two. Right? Still, Gus’ and Willow’s words were sound.

She still can’t say a word, her breath coming with more difficulty now. She looks at her friends. She nods. And before either of them can stop her, she ignores her previous reservations and taps on one of the glyphs, activating it.

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

“Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late. I ran into Boscha and you wouldn’t be...lieve...” Amity, having just entered the not so empty classroom, felt her words run short. The view was horrid. One of Willow’s vines hung from the ceiling, imprisoning an upside down and surprisingly bored looking Luz. Flanking her stood two figures, a red piece of cloth on which they, despite the complete absence of any sharp objects in the room, somehow had cut a vertical for going all the way up to their noses and a couple of holes for their eyes. In their hands they held wooden rulers Gus’s made ofillusion magic, long ones at that.

“Oh, hey there Amity. Can you… maybe… help me… please?” Luz whimpered at the only friend of hers currently in the room.

“What… is going… on here…?”

“BLIGHT. BLIGHT. We are so glad you are here. We were expecting you, yes, we knew you would come eventually. How could you not be here, we were expecting you, after all?”

The only way Amity could describe the unfolding scene was as an outbreak of evil. Her once estranged friend had a manic grin on her lips, not unlike that sported by Gus. Their voices, normally so friendly were tinged by something that scared her to her core. Something underlying withing it. No, they hadn’t such sepulchral voices as the ones she heard when they spoke. She couldn’t begin to understand the scene. They were her friends, they had forgiven her past undoings. More importantly, they were Luz’s closest friends in the Boiling Isles. It was all unfathomable.

“Seriously, what in the Titan’s ever loving Isles is happening? Why is Luz tied up? And what is up with those weird masks?”

Luz, seemingly having recovered some amount of fortitude was the first one to answer.

“Oh… Well… You see… Mistakes were made today… We were waiting for you, but I decided to just go ahead with that glyph experiment I told you about and… Now they are evil… Yup, their psyches are totally corrupted… My bad.”

“What?”

“And these, dear Blight, are the unholy evil shrouds with which we hide our identities.” Willow, still sounding ominous, continued with the explanation, pointing her index finger at the rag covering face. “With those none will able to stop as we ascend.”

“What?”

“Yes, dear Blight. Look, we even made one for you too... Actually it was for this ungrateful, unambitious… uhhh… she was going on and on about how ‘no, that’s not who you are’, ‘no, those smell really, really bad’” Gus continued, stopping to shake his head with disapproving eyes at Luz, who simply answered by rolling her own eyes in annoyance. “Anyway, we trust you, dear Blight, will not be as short sighted as this fool. Join us, dear Blight. Join us on our quest for power.”

“Ok, first of all, please stop calling me dear Blight, you sound just like Lilith when I was still under her wing. Second, I still don’t know what any of you are talking about.” Amity, recovering some semblance of sense finally managed to produce a coherent sentence. Two actually.

“Ah yes, dear Blight. We haven’t told you of our plans, have we?” Willow answered as the faint sound of Amity’s huff could be heard. “We shall take over the world, and we want you to join us. Soon the Boiling Isles, nay all the realms, shall tremble at the sound of our mighty RRROOOAAARRRS.” She actually made justice to that last word.

“Why? Willow, Gus… Why would you guys ever want to do something like that? Also… HOW?” She shoots wide eyed glances at the upside down Luz, who was now swinging back and forth, whether trying to loosen the grip of Willow’s vines or just to amuse herself Amity couldn’t tell. “Did… Did the glyph awaken some hidden power within them?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Yup… I mean, look at these things. Don’t you think they would have done better than that if it did? Like, Gus didn’t even conjure a couple of swords for crying out loud.”

“SILENCE, TRAITOR.” Gus yelled as he whacked Luz over the head with his illusion wooden ruler. “Now, dear Blight, you asked how we intend to achieve such, admittedly, ambitious goals. The answer is simple, dear Blight. By overthrowing that lowly Emperor and seizing the throne for ourselves. How else would achieve the power we so deeply crave?”

“Again… How exactly do you plan on doing that?”

They let out a loud “Ehh” while shrugging.

“We’ll figure it out as we go.” Willow attempted. “Besides, that’s where you come in, dear Blight. You were always the top student of this proud institution, were you not? You shall be the planner, I shall be the raw muscle, and Gus the charisma. We will make such formidable, unstoppable force, you’ll see.” Lifting that red rag with the hand not holding her weapon, Willow proceeded. “Now, put this on and join us, dear Blight.”

Amity sighed once. Then again. Rubbing her temples with both her hands she tried to process all that she learned since entering this forsaken room. She looked her the eyes of horror that took over her possessed friends. Raised both her hands in a deceivingly amicable gesture that actually aimed at eventually disarming the two of them. She, unlike them, had a plan.

“Now, guys. Why don’t we all calm down, talk this out? Willow, you could start by letting Luz loose.” Amity spoke, slowly walking towards Willow and Gus. Luz was still swinging back and forth to the point Amity actually began to believe it was out of sheer boredom, the again, she knew the girl had been in direr straits before. Gus’ and Willow’s began showing the faintest signs of suspicion. “I mean, think about it, you guys don’t even have a plan. And I really can’t help you with this one. But more importantly, this isn’t who you OUCH! What did you do that for?”

“BLASPHEMER!” Gus, having just beaten Amity over the head, yelled. The witchling’s strike actually felt like metal as the weapon collided with Amity’s.skull “How dare you, loathsome Blight, mock the brilliance of our design? THOU SHALL KNOW OUR WRATH!”

And, like that, Gus and Willow raised their weapons, to which Amity responded by bravely running in the opposite direction, looking at Luz in hopes of the girl offering her a solution, she just shrugged.

“I don’t know... all I did was activate the glyph and things started escalating pretty quickly.”

Amity thought of her short life. Had she had time to make up for her numerous mistakes? What would her family make of her demise? She, honestly, expected a more glorious death, perhaps even fighting the Emperor alongside Luz. Definitely, not by the hands of Gus and the girl she tormented and allowed others to torment for years, but maybe that was fitting.

She thought of Luz, she hadn’t had the opportunity to confess her feelings to her quite yet and that’s something she’d soon take to her grave. Until then, she would cherish every interaction, every word exchanged between herself and the human.

And then, two thoughts came to her. Although she possibly had just suffered blunt force trauma, this was done through the use of an illusion. A magical spell. Likewise, Luz was hanging from artificially, magically, created vines. Magic. They were all students of magic. Including herself.

Quickly turning around she summoned one of her largest abominations to date between her assailants and herself. Noticing the threat, Willow and Gus promptly shifted targets.

Progress was undeniably made.

But still, she had a job to do, and she just then noticed that amid the battle somehow a fire had started in one of the room’s corners. She had two jobs to do.

The other thing that had crossed the witchling’s mind, directly resulting from those last words Luz had told her. The glyphs. There were still three of the accursed things sitting on that small desk. A burst of brilliance commanding her to move forth. She held one glyph in each hand, admiring the design for a brief instant. It may be a long shot, but she was short on options. She took a deep breath, bracing all her determination. She had to save her friends, all of them, but especially Luz. She let out the closest thing she could think of for a half decent battle cry.

“TILL WAR!”

And she hit Gus and Willow with that mysterious magic. Now, she could only wait.

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

Willow woke up, a weird smell assaulting her face. Her last memories were of being with Luz and Gus, as they went through with the glyph related experiment. She was laying on the hardwood floor, next to her Gus also seemed to be recovering his senses. Her headed ached, and judging by the grunts so did Gus’.

But that wasn’t the most surprising part of the scene. That title rested with the abomination happily waving at her while, horizontally, holding a vine wrapped Luz over its head. She, smiled at them cheerfully. Next to them a small fire raged.

“Hey, you guys are up, thought it’d take longer. Anyway, still hellbent on overthrowing all known existence?”

“Wha… What are you talking about? What happened here?”

“Wait, I refuse to answer without today’s hero’s presence.”

As if on cue, a flustered Amity carrying a witch bucket - not to be mistaken with a human bucket - filled with water broke through the door with a loud bang. She quickly made her way to where the fire burned, making short work of killing it.

She turned around to face the newly conscious duo.

“Willow!” She exclaimed pointing at Luz. Willow quickly liberated the human, who immediately jumped towards Amity, planting a kiss on her cheek.

“My hero. And here I thought I was supposed to be the fearless champion.”

Normally, the way her pale face so easily reddened after virtually any amount of physical exertion was a constant source of embarrassment for Amity. Now, however, she was thankful for it.

“So...” Gus, finally speaking, broke the moment. “Can you two please explain what happened?”

Amity and Luz shared a troubled glance.

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

That had been probably the most uncanny conversation any of them had ever had.

“So, I think its safe to assume that this is some kind of dark magic glyph that turns everyone present, except the one who activated, it totally evil.” Gus said, pointing at the piece of paper on Amity’s hand. The girls nodded.

“That’s kind of like a curse isn’t it? I mean, if it wasn’t then Luz would have turned evil too, right?” Willow continued.

“Humm… Maybe… then that’d mean that the Emperor is cursed, so we could try to look into a way of reverting it... I don’t know.” Luz, rubbing her chin in an attempt to give off her most scholarly look, hypothesized.

“That is possible, but I don’t think it would be worth it. I mean, look what happened today, this kind of magic seems really dangerous. I vote against us looking into it any further.” Amity countered their arguments. The others, after some reflection, voiced their agreement. She continued, looking at Luz for permission. “So… Can I destroy this?” Luz nodded.

Her blood ran cold. As she performed the motions of ripping it a terrible accident happened.

She tapped the glyph. It activated. -------------------------------- @johnnysfire hope an eleventh hour entry is still acceptable

#johnnyspromptchallenge

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advernia · 5 years ago

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of cats, jade, honey, nightingales, and spilled ink — — a compiled assortment of ikerev drabbles i’ve managed to spit out last week during break hours - they're spoiler free + scenes with vague contexts because that's all i can manage to write recently lmao _(:3 」∠)_

stray cat conjuration theory || loki & alice prompt: rain, rain, rain // shady stuff under an open umbrella

her umbrella is a shade of red.

it's shade because you see, it’s hard to be too sure considering the conditions: the umbrella’s cloth is soaked through and through due to its heroic sacrifice of shielding two people from a sudden torrential rain, the sky above them is covered by a thick spread of dark grays and obscure blacks so there’s little to no lighting that equals to harder visibility, then there’s the overgrown trees with their -

- ki, are you listening?

… hmm?

he turns his head - it’s a slow twist of his neck from up, down, then a tilt to his left with a little push forwards; perhaps painfully deliberate - and voila, there she is in all her glory; a face he was getting fond of filling his vision: wide eyes framed by dainty eyelashes, a small nose resembling what a fine-made porcelain doll might have, round lips without a single trace of rogue yet have the natural color of an enticing peach, and… oh -

alice, he says almost in sing-song, your cheeks are red. like apples! are you okay?

the umbrella skews a bit to the right as she shrinks back, grip on the handle tightening - a bit of his arm is left exposed and attacked mercilessly by the rain, dry turning damp in seconds: it’s cold and frankly annoying against his skin, but there’s a quick solution to that, and that is -

w…w-wha… hey, loki?

yes, alice?

uh… do you mind moving back? a little bit? please?

aww, but my shoulder’s gonna get wet!

oh… i wouldn’t want that either, but… don’t you think you’re standing a bit too -

- a bit too what?

a step closer has their shoulders brushing up against each other and his face just a handspan away from hers, and he takes this opportunity to peer much closer at her eyes, and he sees that her irises are a brilliant shade of -

i… i-if you move any closer, i’ll leave you here to get drenched!

a pause. brisk raindrops hitting the umbrella fill it in, dull sounds of tap tap tap tap tap, then -

he breaks into light laughter, a foot moving backwards and upper body retreating, a safe breathing space in between them now visible again.

sorry, alice! I was just kidding… did I take it too far?

really, loki… is this how you treat people who share their umbrellas with you?

nope! it’s not everyday that someone offers to share their umbrella with me… even if their umbrella’s too small to begin with.

… does that mean you want to get drenched after all?

no way!

please speak well of me || ray & alice prompt: in memor(iam)y // a fragment of me on your skin

"now that i think of it, why did you call this necklace a 'collar'?"

the king of spades raises his head briefly, eyes shifting from the wordy official document in his hands to the woman standing in his office. she's by the bookshelves, small hands, lithe fingers intent on relocating the books from their former places to wherever she saw fit. pull out, set aside, dust away, evaluate possible positions, then insert back to the shelf. rinse and repeat, like dance steps: one, two three, four, and five.

around her neck, chain hidden by the collar of her blouse and ribbon, a sparkle of green shone. it showed itself occasionally, peeking out of the ribbon when she would begin to chase the dust away from the books and shelves with a feather duster. it doesn't mix, he muses, that red ribbon against that bright green. to begin with, why was her dress blue and her ribbon red? do they mix? then again, did he really need to know?

she was wearing it, anyway - that's all.

"... i don't get you," he replies, tossing the now-signed document onto one of the many stacks piled on his desk. he gets another document from another stack and tries not to groan when he's greeted by multiple lines of ink, beautifully dull and almost consuming the paper itself. "does it matter?"

"of course it does," she replies, tone and pitch of voice a little bit higher than usual. he can't see her facial expression, but he envisions a frown - or maybe a scowl crossing her features. either way, she's not happy. "a collar is something you would use for pets. or domesticated animals."

"i know."

"so do you see me - or think of me as one?"

his lips quirk upwards, a snort escapes him. "is that your question for the day?"

she stops to glare at him, a thick tome in her hands. "that's just cheating."

"it isn't," his reply comes off as casual.

she doesn't buy it.

"i can see you grinning, ray blackwell."

he laughs when his full name rolls sharply off her tongue.

"are you actually angry, or are you trying to act like my mother?"

♠ ♠ ♠

the king of spades learns that morning that alice the second can wield a five hundred twenty-three-page book with a thick hardbound leather cover like a training sword of the wooden variety, something that one could find in the black army's barracks.

sturdy and definitely not lethal.

he fails to account lethality for multiple hits straight to the head, though.

to his credit, she does apologize after she'd whacked him thrice. the book goes back to the shelf (without bloodstains), he mournfully clutches his head, she looks at him with worry.

"it's just that a necklace this nice," she says, fingers reaching up to her neck to clasp the jade in her palm, "doesn't deserve to be called a collar. it’s a gift from you, and i intend to treasure it when i get back to london.”

he’s not sure where’s the dull throbbing coming from now: it’s either from the back of his head, his ears, or his chest.

who cares, it hurts.

lather that honey on your tongue || blanc & alice prompt: ye olde pickup lines // romance in the eyes of the full moon

when he finds her, he sees her standing a few paces away from his house's backdoor, her hands set behind her back. her head is tilted upwards and her eyes reflect the moon over their heads: it's a large silver coin shining bright against a blackened sky scattered with stars.

he calls her name once - she turns her head, smiles and waves. moonlight casts a dainty glow on her facial features, making her skin seem softer and the blue of her eyes more vivid. he pauses for a moment before he walks to stand beside her.

"oliver told me you would be here," he says. "it seemed like you two had a pleasant chat before i arrived."

her brows furrow, lips purse themselves together. "i think oliver enjoyed it more than i did."

"oh? i would certainly enjoy myself as well, if i were in the company of such a beautiful lady such as yourself."

a pleasant smile lights up his features. one could not say the same for hers, however - her mouth has gone slightly slack, but she shook her head immediately and turns her head up back to the moon.

"i say, the moon is beautiful tonight," he says as he points to the sky with a gloved finger.

"but not as beautiful as i am, maybe?" she says, a lilt in her voice.

she laughs for a bit until she realizes that his eyes are on her: his eyes are wide open, his mouth slightly agape. heat flushes and colors her cheeks slightly.

"okay, i'm sorry," she splutters, angling her face away from him, "it's just that i mentioned to oliver that i get so flustered when you compliment me, and he said something along the lines of 'then why don't you beat the rabbit in his own game', and - "

" - and you decided to compliment yourself before i would?"

"yes, well - gosh, that sounded really awkward, didn't it? please forget i said anything."

he fixes her with a blank stare for a few seconds before chuckling.

"on the contrary, i can't deny your words."

her breath catches in her throat for a moment before she replies. "which ones?"

"you being far more beautiful than the moon will ever be, of course."

"now you're just exaggerating - i didn't even say half of that!"

"you didn't, which is why i took the honor of doing so."

he leans forward to take a lock of her hair in his fingers, pressing it to his lips with a smile.

sing sweet nightingale || sirius & alice prompt: i’m drowning in siren calls // my own two feet as a compass

that deep tone has engraved itself so distinctively well into her ears and mind that each time she would hear it, even if it was of the softest of murmurs, she would find herself looking for its source. it's almost unbelievable how it's become something like a reflex in such a short amount of time, making her feel quite sheepish. she was no dog, nor did she wish to give off the impression that she was a clingy lover constantly observing her beloved's actions... but time and time again, her body would fail her and she would always end up in another search for him.

whenever she would successfully find him, he'd pause whatever he was doing for a moment to greet her with a smile and a voice that soothes her sudden wanderlust. the sound is oh-so kind and noticeably happy so she smiles back, but somehow there's a lingering feeling of disappointment for herself.

so one day she tries to stop turning his way when she hears him from afar: whether she was at the kitchen and him just outside by the training grounds, she by the flowerbeds and he near the headquarters' entrance, or her in the saloon and him issuing orders by the hallways; she stifles the urge of her feet to drop everything and go to where he was. it's far from easy since she wants to hear more, but she tries her best and it actually works for a while - perhaps three days. it makes her feel a bit better about herself, but -

- it's all for naught when he literally corners her in her own room, back and wrists pinned against the wall. she breathes an inhale of surprise at the sudden action, turning sharp when he lowers his face so it's just inches away from her own. his breathing sounded strained, how strange, like he was in pain - oh dear, did something happen? could she be of help?

worry begins to flood her thoughts, but it's washed out without a care just as quick when his breath tickles her ear and he speaks to her with an urgency, demanding and agitated and frustrated but still so beautiful to hear -

why have you been avoiding me?

oh no, she muses but doesn't say - her body had involuntarily trembled out of sheer delight at the sound of his voice so close, heart singing loud and knees growing weak.

words don't dare crawl out of her parched throat.

trails of sea-foam ink || dean & alice prompt: that i hold dear // the chase for a permanent you

today before he leaves his home he walks over to that one drawer and collects every single letter she sent, keeps all those tiny envelopes complete with their barely torn seals inside a folder that fits snugly into his bag, then goes on his merry way.

when they meet for tea, he shoves the folder - and all those one hundred fifty-seven letters of four seasons - into her hands.

“you should do something about your penmanship,” he says like the professor he really was, and that just makes her frown. what - was her alphabet too round, the edges too curved? were the words, sentences, and paragraph alignments all wrong on each and every line, like how music notes would dance on staves?

“i’m sorry,” she says, but she’s not even sure what she’s apologizing for. maybe it was better to ask. “... is my writing too small for you to read?”

“i would’ve told you immediately if that were the case, rather than subjecting myself to eye strain.”

“is it too large?”

he holds himself from clicking his tongue. “it’s not an issue about size.”

“oh. then is it about how i write everything in a slanting manner?”

“no - you aren’t the first and perhaps the last person i would see whose penmanship presents itself in such a script-like fashion and objectively speaking, you are one of the agreeable examples of those writing in such a style.”

“uh-huh,” her head tilts to the side, she frowns. “then can i ask you what... well, you don’t like about my handwriting?”

he raises the teacup up to his lips. what i don’t like, he muses, is how light you write. what i don’t like is how the ink you used to write all those letters is dark enough to leave its mark on the paper but light enough for me to think that its fading, like touches of moonlight on a cloudy night. it reminds me of you and how you came to be in this world in the first place, and how easy it is for you to go back if you firmly decided on it. but what i dislike the most is the fact that i still have lingering thoughts of the possibility of you leaving when every single letter you have sent me has told me otherwise, all because your penmanship is as light and dainty as yourself.

“dean?” she calls out, voice something small.

unease unable to quell itself, he allows an amount of pure black tea to hold his tongue.

#ikemen kakumei #ikemen revolution #ikerev fanfic #ikerev alice #loki genetta #ray blackwell #blanc lapin #sirius oswald #dean tweedle #drabble.txt #yeeeouch haven't done much writing recently so these feel a bit rusty #... they're a shame to scrap tho... maybe the others should go on a queue too #i like how dean's piece turned out bc the analogies mmm

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ghostking-wenning · 4 years ago

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Radishes, Chapter 6.2

This one’s a 2-part! Enjoy!

2.5K, Rated G, modern au, NingXian etc

***

Qionglin sat bolt upright in his bed. A thin sheen of cold sweat coated his body, the sheets tangled around his legs. His chest heaved and his cheeks flushed. A dream. It was just a dream! Oh, but what a dream it had been. Wuxian on his knees before him, looking up at him as he… oh god. Qionglin clapped his hand over his eyes, as if that would block out the memory of that vision.

Tentatively, he stood on shaky legs. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he hadn’t made a mess of his sheets, aside from wrinkling them beyond recognition. Sure, he’d had raunchy dreams before, but never like this! Never so long, with such detail, with a specific person that he actually knew! They weren’t even boyfriends yet! They had only recently shared their first kiss! Why would his brain conjure up such naughty imagery? Such naughty sensations?

He shivered remembering the feeling of Wuxian’s hands… and mouth… all over him. It had felt so real, even though he’d never done any of … that. His dream had even replicated the scent of his cologne, the flavor of his favorite wine. Heat coiled in his belly as he remembered the way he squished him against the wall, leaning his whole body into him. Then all that heat immediately rushed to his face when he remembered the way he had simply submitted to Wuxian’s ministrations, baring his throat like a dog to a wolf.

Really? He asked himself. Is that what I’m into? A wave of dread and shame washed over him when he heard an echo of the words “good boy” whispered in his ear and remembered how much he loved it.

“Oh god,” he groaned aloud. “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again…” What a shame that was, too, they were such beautiful eyes. Especially when they were fixed on Qionglin with that searing heat as he--

“Nope!” Qionglin said, forcibly derailing that train of thought. A cold shower. That’s what I need. He peeled off his sweat-soaked nightclothes and headed to the bathroom. In the mirror, he was almost surprised to find his neck and chest exactly as they always were, not mottled in lurid red marks. He couldn’t bring himself to look any further down, so he hopped into the shower and turned it on full-blast, hoping the water would pressure-wash his filthy mind. He didn’t even flinch at the cold.

He lost track of time, but he eventually calmed down. He dried off and redressed himself in clean pajamas. It was still several hours before he needed to be awake. He laid down on the couch, so he wouldn’t have to change his sheets for the moment.

Mercifully, the rest of his sleep was dreamless and deep. He woke to the sound of his phone chiming. He had a message from his sister.

“Happy birthday, little brother!! I love you! We still on for dinner tonight?”

Oh god it’s my birthday! In an instant, all traces of sleepiness vanished. Somehow he’d entirely forgotten his own birthday. Am I seriously that clueless? He shook his head, rolling his eyes at himself.

“Thank you, jiejie! Yes, of course, I’ll meet you at 7!” He replied, tacking on a few heart emojis.

Granny didn’t allow anyone to work on their birthdays, so he had nothing to do until dinnertime. He slumped on the sofa and stared at the ceiling until his phone pinged again.

“Bring that little punk boyfriend of yours. I have to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

He knew Qing well enough to read between the lines: “This is not a request.”

He didn’t even bother pointing out that they weren’t technically boyfriends yet.

Usually he would be elated to spend time with Wuxian on his birthday, but a) Qing could be … intense… he wasn’t sure if he was ready to introduce them yet, and b) he was convinced Wuxian would somehow read his mind and discover what a weird pervert he was. Maybe he’s busy! Maybe he won’t even come. He tried to reason with himself, but that actually just made him sadder.

It took a couple of hours to build up the courage to text Wuxian. He was a lot of things, sure, but he wasn’t a psychic. (Right? That would be crazy… right?) If Qionglin could just keep his cool, he’d never have to know about his dreams. He took a deep breath and opened the message app.

“Hey, Wuxian! Are you busy tonight?” He cursed the way his fingers shook as he typed.

Not five minutes later, his phone beeped.

“Nope! What’s up?”

Fuck.

“I’m having a birthday dinner with my big sister, and I was wondering if you’d like to join us!” He decided not to mention that Qing wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Wait, is it her birthday or your birthday??”

“Mine.”

“What?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me!!”

“Happy birthday!!!!!!!!”

“I forgot! I’m sorry!” It was fully true, but that didn’t make it less ridiculous to admit.

“FORGOT? Wild. Anyway I gotta go find you a present! Can’t wait to see you later!” A string of kiss emojis followed, and Qionglin giggled in spite of himself.

He gathered himself quickly and responded. “You don’t have to get me anything!!”

“Too late! I’m already out the door! See you later byeeee!”

A minute later, Wuxian texted again. “Wait, where and when am I seeing you?”

Qionglin snickered softly, an endeared smile growing on his face. He sent Wuxian the map link and enjoyed about four minutes of peace before remembering why he’d been so nervous about texting Wuxian in the first place.

Panic hit him like a train. Several trains, maybe. His heart skipped and his fingers tightened around his phone so hard his hand shook. Calm down, he tried to tell himself over the alarm bells clanging in his head. Calm down!! Through sheer force of willpower, he evened out his breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth, he repeated like a mantra.

He walked briskly to his bedroom, pointedly ignoring the rumpled sheets on his bed and snatched his anxiety medication. He popped one in his mouth and hastily gulped some water, and sank into his desk chair. Leaning back, he shut his eyes and waited for his heartbeat to calm.

Something to focus on, that’s what he needed. Something hands-on. But if Granny caught him working the fields, she’d chase him away with a rake -- it had happened before. So he decided on target practice. He grabbed his bow from its stand in the living room and marched out to the woods.

In a small, round clearing were a line of painted wooden targets he’d made himself. He liked to warm up starting from 30 meters, then progressively back away. He took a deep breath as he lined up his shot, shoulders flexing as he drew the bowstring back. The middle target, dead center. He exhaled slowly as he released the arrow, which made a satisfying thunk as it sank exactly into the center of the target.

After landing perfect bullseyes into each target, he backed away to 40 meters, then 50 and so on. He felt perfectly centered; there was nothing in this forest but him, his bow, and his breath.

He leapt about a foot in the air when his phone chimed in his back pocket. How was it already 5 PM!? Where did the time go? He thought, as he began to gather his arrows. It was well past time to get ready. He hurried back to his house, where a fat orange barn cat woke from its nap on Qionglin’s rain boots. It made a curious prrt noise as it fixed big yellow eyes on him. This was the one his little cousin had dubbed “Cheese.”

“Hello, Cheese,” he greeted, stooping to scratch behind its ears. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come inside.” Cheese purred and pawed at the door, but didn’t put much effort into following him inside.

Hanging up his bow, he realized he felt much better, as if his thoughts sorted themselves out on their own. It was just a dream. It’s perfectly natural, and he’ll never even know! And if he found out somehow, I’m willing to bet he wouldn’t blame me at all. It was magical, almost, how archery relaxed him, even as it wore out his muscles. (His medication probably also helped, but he liked to think it was mostly archery.)

He washed his face, and pulled back his hair, fussing with the locks that were too short for his half-ponytail. Poking through his closet once again, he wondered if Wuxian would say anything if he wore the ghost shirt again. He decided against it, instead opting for a grey striped shirt and a dark blue cardigan that he thought looked pretty sharp. He may not have a lot of nice clothes, but he thought maybe he was getting better at dressing well. Well-ish, at least, he thought, tugging on his comfy-but-ugly sneakers, but it was those or work boots.

He checked his pockets and whisked out the door to his car. He would probably still be on time.

He was not.

Fifteen minutes late, he scurried into the restaurant and scanned the room for his sister. At least for his birthday she might not scold him for being late. Soon enough he found her, looking polished and perfect as ever, in a tasteful dark red dress with her long black-tea-colored hair in a sleek braid. Across from her was none other than Wuxian, Qionglin realized with a start. What-- how did she find him? Why-- oh god what are they talking about?

He stood stock-still for a few seconds, until Wuxian laughed brightly, the sound spurring Qionglin forward. As casually as possible, he strolled over and plunked down beside them. With any luck he’d missed the awkward small talk and Qing inevitably giving Wuxian the third-degree about what he does, and his intentions with her little brother.

“S-sorry I’m late,” he said, offering a sheepish smile.

Qing looked like she wanted to say something about it, but Wuxian beat her to it.

“No worries! Happy birthday!” He said, grinning and reaching for Qionglin’s hand.

“Mhm,” Qing agreed. “Happy birthday, hun.” She patted his cheek fondly, and he blushed, unable to hide his cheesy grin at the attention.

“Thanks…” he mumbled. “Um, so, I guess you’ve already met, so I don’t need to introduce you. I-- I hope you weren’t waiting too long, though.”

“Not at all! Your sister was just telling me about how cute you were when you were little,” Wuxian said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Qionglin’s head whipped around. “Qing!” He complained, exaggerated betrayal written on his face.

She smiled deviously. “What? You were adorable! You used to hide behind me and follow me everywhere like a little duckling.”

Qionglin groaned and buried his face in his hands while Wuxian giggled.

“He’s still adorable,” Wuxian said. “Absolutely too cute.”

“Yep.” Qing nodded.

Well, at least they’re getting along… Qionglin thought. The rest of the evening went in a similar fashion, the two of them teasing him affectionately and relishing in his embarrassment. After dinner, they sat around chatting over glasses of wine. Qing reached into her purse and produced a small envelope.

Qionglin carefully opened it and read the card. Tucked into the corner was a gift card to a ritzy clothing shop.

“I’ll take you shopping next weekend, if you’re free.” Qing promised.

“Mm! Thanks jiejie,” Qionglin said leaning over to give her a one-armed hug.

“Ooh, my turn!” Wuxian chimed in. From inside his jacket, he pulled a little bundle wrapped in red tissue paper. He handed it over, grinning proudly.

Qionglin untied the silver ribbon holding it together, and the paper unraveled. Inside was a packet of heart-shaped candies and a set of charming pins shaped like monsters: a werewolf, a sea serpent, an alien, and a ghost, much like the one on his t-shirt. Qionglin’s heart threatened to burst in his chest. Faintly blushing, he gazed up at Wuxian, who was watching him intently, eyebrows raised.

“Thank you…” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “I love these.”

Wuxian’s face split into his signature dazzling grin. “I’m so glad! I noticed you don’t accessorize much, and I thought maybe it was because jewelry would get in the way of farm work or whatever, so I figured pins might suit you-- I even made sure to get the kind with extra-sturdy backs so they won’t fall off!”

Qionglin chuckled shyly. “That’s… really thoughtful. Thank you,” he repeated.

Qing scoffed lightly. “Way to show me up,” she said looking pointedly at Wuxian, but she was smiling. She gave a small, approving nod. Apparently Wuxian met her expectations well enough. She stood gracefully and tossed her braid over her shoulder. “Well, I should get going, but you two have fun, okay? Dinner’s on me.” She bent slightly and gave Qionglin a firm hug and kissed the top of his head.

Then she walked around him and extended her hand to Wuxian, who shook it graciously. She leaned in and whispered something to him that Qionglin couldn’t hear.

Wuxian’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and he blanched. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured weakly.

Qing flashed Qionglin an indulgent smile and bid them both goodnight, before sweeping away, paying the bill and leaving, her heels clacking decisively.

Qionglin cleared his throat awkwardly. “S-so that’s my sister,” he said tentatively. “I hope she didn’t say anything rude.”

Wuxian laughed, light and breezy, like he hadn’t just looked scared out of his wits. “Nothing unusual, anyway. Just the shovel talk-- and a quick one at that. Very efficient. She’s cool, though!”

“Isn’t she?” Qionglin agreed wholeheartedly. “I-I’m glad you got along okay. She seems to approve. Of you, I mean. Of-- of us.” He felt his cheeks color slightly, savoring the word us.

Wuxian smiled again, and squeezed Qionglin’s hand. “Good. Because I plan on sticking around.”

When they finished their wine, they took a walk through a park to sober up. The moon was just beginning to rise over them as they strolled leisurely, hand-in-hand.

“So, how old are you now? 23?” Wuxian asked, somewhat out of the blue, stopping and stepping off the paved trail.

“Mhm, exactly.” Qionglin said, following him into the trees. “Why?”

“For this,” Wuxian answered. He tugged Qionglin closer and cupped both sides of his face, then began peppering him with kisses, everywhere he could reach. Qionglin spluttered and tried to pull away, but Wuxian was unstoppable. He seemed determined to cover Qionglin’s entire face in a layer of kisses. “20,” he murmured, kissing his left eyebrow. “21,” he kissed the center of his forehead. “22,” he kissed the tip of his nose. “23,” he whispered, and at last kissed Qionglin’s lips, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him tight.

When they finally parted, Qionglin was breathless and practically vibrating. He hid his face in Wuxian’s collar and snuggled close. Wuxian chuckled lightly and nuzzled his hair. “Happy birthday, Qionglin.”

#mdzs fic #modern au #farmer's market au #ningxian #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #birthday fic!#my writing #my art

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