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youarejesting · 4 years ago

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Herb Jimin x reader

Pairing: Dealer!Jimin x Reader Beta: @bubblebunnylia Genre: Romance, Smut, Fluff, NSFW Rating: recommended 18+ (or whatever the legal age is in your country) Words: 3.3k Warnings: Blow job, oral female receiving, voyeurism, sex, cum mentioned, slightly rough but not extremely, unprotected sex. Summary: Jimin was the mary poppins of drug dealing. What ever you wanted he had and he NEVER disappoints his customer. That is until he met you. He finally decides to take matters into his own hands to fulfil your order.

[Masterlist] [Herb.2]

Not much was known about the young Korean man who showed up to all the parties. No one knew how he got there. All anyone knew was that he was the biggest flirt and had the herbs everyone wanted. Honestly, it didn’t matter what you wanted, he had it somehow.

Everyone has their story with him. ‘I said I needed a bandage and he had it’, ‘I asked if anyone had any cat food cause we found a stray cat and he wipes out a bag, it was weird’, ‘He is like a sexy Mary Poppins, he gives you the dank weed but he also has pool floaties in his bag’ and you’re personal favourite ‘I was so hungry and he pulls out a whole casserole and apologized because he ran out of vegetable bake’. You had heard it all, it seemed like drunk fairy tales but no good party was without him.

You remember when you first met he asked you if you needed anything, and when you asked him for love he froze up and apologized, sheepishly claiming he didn’t have it. You knew he had his limits and that’s what kept you skeptical of his abilities. But something about his charming nature keeps you searching to meet him again.

And it wasn’t hard. You met him, again and again. Each time he approached you and asked if you needed anything, you always replied the same. “Love” and he would always grow quiet. You thought one day he might actually come up with a solution but you were yet to find out.

You were at one of ‘these’ parties, it wasn’t really your scene. Usually, you had no problem but tonight you really just couldn’t deal with it. It had been a long day and you had a headache. So you were trying to find a place to take a quick nap, using the stairs to stray further from the heavy base, which had started to cause some anxiety within your body. The sound upstairs was muffled and yet still so loud. Hoping to find an empty room and an equally empty bed so you could rest.

You opened the first door to see if you were correct. This was Namjoon’s bedroom and there was an unspoken rule of no sexual activities in the host’s bed. Opening the door to see a modern style bedroom with white and black furniture and a few figurines. On the bed was the Host Namjoon with his boyfriend Seokjin kneeling on his knees in front of him.

“Can I help you, Y/n?” You weren’t surprised that he knew your name, Namjoon knew everybody. But you were surprised by their blatant disregard of modesty. You had to seal your expression from the two and the sexual act being performed was making your ears grow warm in embarrassment.

“Ah, I was looking for somewhere to take a nap.” You admitted while looking away. You didn’t want to overreact, only the coolest of kids got invited to Namjoon’s parties and you thought after high school popularity wouldn’t matter, but it still does.

Everyone at these parties had high libido’s. I mean, they are friends with Namjoon himself. If you were invited, you have either previously had relations with the host or you were a planned notch on the insatiable young man's belt.

You were invited after a heated make-out session in the university’s auditorium with Namjoon and his loquacious boyfriend Seokjin.

Though your head was in fact turned you were still able to hear every obscene noise. The wet suction and smacking of lips, the throaty moans of Namjoon and the muffled encouraging moans and other elicit sounds from Seokjin. You could hear Seokjin's throat squelch around the large cock and you fought the urge not to blush any further.

“We will be finished in a— ahhh!” He hunched forwards, fingers clutching firmly to Seokjin’s blonde locks as his forearms tensed, the veins popping out. You saw every thrust of his hips. Seokjin waited patiently, you heard and saw how thick he swallowed and felt your pulse beating rapidly in your tight jeans.

With every thrust he would swallow again. You could clearly see in detail the pronounced girth of the shaft sliding in his throat with fervor. Until the broad-shouldered gentleman pulled back in order to breathe, the action sending another twitch to Namjoons hips, and a final shot of cum just made it to the edge of Seokjin’s mouth and lips.

“We are done!” Seokjin said, standing as Namjoon readjusted his large and yet softening member back into his pants. “You can have the room or perhaps if you want we can entertain you?”

The two smirked and you again, trying to play it cool, gave them a flippant reply. “No I really am tired and want to sleep, I was working on a thesis all night last night and–”

“Say no more sweetheart, rest.” You avoided the place at the end of the bed where the two lovers had been. Snuggled in the blankets while falling asleep slightly as your head touched the pillow. Seokjin switched the light off and shut the door, allowing you to drift off peacefully.

The light switch flicked on and even with your eyes closed you felt blinded. You couldn’t stop the harsh shriek that pierced the air. “What? What is it now!?”

“I am sorry,” the voice was soft and familiar as its owner switched the lights back off, “Can I sit for a moment?”

“Sure.” you mumbled, laying back down. You could smell the stranger’s beautiful cologne and you got curious as to who it might be.

“I just need to hide out for a while, someone not so nice is looking for me.” Their voice was hard to describe but sounded like a melodic ache.

“Who are you?” You asked, suspicious of the stranger climbing into the bed with you.

“Who is asking?” The tiny trill showed he was amused by his dismissive answer, he was trying to act cute. You turned on your phone and used the light of your lock screen to examine the stranger’s face. Ash-blonde hair parted on the side, he smiled, wetting his thick lips with his tongue.

“Ah, it’s you.” dropping your arm back to the bed, no longer feeling uncomfortable. All the encounters you had with him were pleasant, he always used endearments because he never remembered names.

“You know me, baby?” He took his phone and repeated your process to stream a soft light over your face. “Oh my, baby it is you! What are you doing in here sleeping? You're usually the brightest in the room.”

“Huge Thesis.” you mumbled and he hummed, taking your hand.

“Hey listen, how about I make you an offer tonight? You can ask for anything you want and I will give it to you for half the price. If I don’t have it I will give you the next best thing for free.” the lamp beside the bed was clicked on, giving a soft orange glow throughout the room.

“Something warm?” You hummed while looking over at him curiously. You were craving a body. To be exact, human contact and love. He opened his jacket.

“I got a warm meatball sub, a packet of lollipops, and a container of home cooked spaghetti. I got spare underwear in all different sizes, this is a set of slippers when your feet get sore in heels, juice mixers, spirits. I got herbs for days, this one will make you happy, this one calms you down, this one here has you seeing pretty colours, this one has you sleep until morning, this is my house special, it tastes like a cinnamon donut.” he looked over. “Anything yet?”

You shook your head and he sighed, lifting a gym bag onto the bed, “alright brace yourself, I got spare clothes, ramen packets, a scented candle, batteries, pet food. I got condoms, a razor, a vibrator, lube. I have painkillers, cold medicine, I have this thing which I think was an Easter egg. I got a 3DS, a switch and a variety of games. I got a can of tomato soup, yet no can opener, weird. I got a heat pack, I got this adult diaper and I don’t know why, and a spiderman comic?”

“No,” you sighed.

“Tell me what you want and if I know I don’t have it it’s free.” he hummed, running his hand through his hair and looking so amazing while his plush lips were always so glossy and soft looking.

“I want a fuck,” you breathed, “a good stress relieving fuck.”

“Aha, I do have what you want!” He held up the vibrator and you shook your head.

“No, I want heat and hands and so much more. I need to be loved right now, I need to just fuck until I forget everything. Last I checked I can’t get plowed into the mattress by a vibrator. So, unless you have a willing male hidden in that bag I don’t think you have what I want.”

“Not in my bag, no, but I have one under my jacket,” he pulled his jacket off and held his arms out, “and I am free.” he grinned kneeling beside you.

“I have never done a deal like this, I am going to be honest. No one has ever asked for this. Would you like to make the purchase?”

“You sure you have what I want?” You bit your lip after you said it because look at him, he was sexy as hell and he knew it.

“I can fuck you until you forget everything, you won’t know anything but my name.”

“But I don’t know your name?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Pretty baby doesn’t know my name?” He pouted “What do you call me in that pretty little head of yours?”

“I call you the herb man.” he laughed heartily, looking too cute for this proposition, almost falling over from his cute giggles causing you to sigh. “look, maybe I’ll just go home?”

“I have a reputation, I have what everyone wants. If word gets out that I, Park Jimin, let someone down not once but multiple times? I- we just can’t have that. Now tell me how you want it.” he smiled, pulling his hair back with his fingers and revealing his forehead whilst licking his lips. You felt like you just got slapped with how quick he went from a soft boy to this deep gazed daddy.

“I don’t know..” you whispered, lying. He cupped your cheek looking you in the eyes and trying to search them for what you needed. Maybe he was just a people pleaser, he couldn’t let anyone down. You didn’t know why he was always so eager to make others happy.

“Kissing, touching, fingering, oral sex, what positions? What’s your kinks? I can provide it all.”

“I want it all,” you whispered. He rolled on top of you, straddling your hips and caging you in with his body as he took your chin, tilting it upward and pecking you gently. Gauging your reaction, he looked down at you, you were looking up at him pleading for him to use you. But this wasn’t about him. He wanted to give you what you wanted.

He kissed you slowly, deeply, you felt loved, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. He grinned, pulling off his shirt before continuing to kiss you. His hands starting to wander along your body as he massaged your breasts, squeezing them, making you whimper and moan into his mouth.

His plush lips moved to your neck and he smiled when he found out how sensitive you were there. “You bought me, pretty baby. Use me however you wish.”

Without hesitation you grabbed his face kissing him again and running your fingers through his hair. The music downstairs was loud but you still refused to make too much noise. His hands slid down your side and thighs before sliding back up and lifting your dress, revealing your underwear which he quickly slipped down your legs. He didn’t waste any time.

Spreading your legs and smiling up at you. “Please,” You breathed and he smirked, biting your thigh. You yelped feeling yourself grow wetter.

“My name is Jimin, use it?”

“Please Jimin.” You said and he smiled thankfully, obliging to your whines.

“With pleasure my pretty baby.” He gripped your thighs and took your clit in his mouth, it was so sudden. You were so surprised that a loud moan pulled from your chest. You tried to stifle your moans and he mumbled, “Make noise baby, no one can here you and no one cares.”

He began making enthusiastic noises while he caressed you with his tongue. He alternated between sucking and flicking your clit, his fingers curling up inside you pressing against all the sweetest spots. Your thighs trembled in his hands and he giggled against you, pulling back with his chin glistening. “You’re shaking.”

“Please jimin I need you!”

“Ooh, you sound pretty when you say my name.” He smiled, removing your dress entirely and your bra before he took his belt, unbuckling it. You noticed the bulge in his pants as he slid his tight ripped jeans and briefs off. He took himself in his hand pumping lazily, he was more than ready.

“Is this really what you want?” He asked softly, calling your eyes back to his, he looked shy once more. As he grabbed a condom, you took it from him, and threw it onto the bed hands pulling him down over you.

“I am on the pill,” your words made him smile, nudging your legs wider apart with his thighs and lined himself at your entrance. He took his time entering you, rolling his hips forward, sliding effortlessly inside you. Each thrust fills you up completely.

“I apologize if I finish too quickly,” His eyebrows knitted together in concentration, his mouth forming an o-shape, his breathing becoming forced pants. “Oh god, you feel so good, I’m sorry!”

He came. The sounds he made were beautiful and you felt disappointed as he pulled out. He smiled, “I always last longer the second time, if you are still willing? I haven’t satisfied you yet and that is what’s important. It is what you asked for.”

At your enthusiastic nod he flipped you over, pressing his hand to the small of your back and guiding you into position, your hips rolling forward so you were at the perfect angle to receive him.

“Oh fuck!” You gasped, this made him feel deeper inside of you and the angle has him pressing heavily against your G-spot. Making you cry out every time. “Don’t stop, please!”

“Don’t worry pretty baby, I would never until you tell me you are satisfied.” He grunted, reaching around your waist to press two fingers against you, stimulating you further in time with his thrusts.

“Jimin, please!” The urgency in your tone was registered by him; he pressed your chest into the mattress and pistoned his hips trying to help you finish. Your eyes flashed white as an immense pleasure filled your body. You couldn’t hear anything or see anything, lost in a void of white for eternity, while the pleasure screamed through your body. It was maddening with how nice it felt, but it faded back to reality and your eternity of bliss was, in fact, mere seconds.

Jimin didn’t stop, flipping you back over. He was inside you again. You came again in a short time and he looked down amazed. “Seems you come quicker the second time,”

“More!” You pleaded as you were chasing your high, that moment in the white void of pleasure when there was nothing else and you had no other worries.

He kept going. Each orgasm becoming less intense, and harder to reach. Until finally, instead of a white void you saw black and it was peaceful. But you weren’t alone. Jimin was there, just with you and you felt safe.

You woke up a while later to people talking. Realising the dark void was actually a dream, involving you and Jimin. Opening your eyes you saw Namjoon and Jin standing at the end of the bed while Jimin spoke to them quietly. “She passed out after seven rounds.”

“Next time invite us to join. It is my room,” Namjoon laughed and you turned to see Jimin beside you, sitting up, dressed in everything but his shirt.

“You are awake.” He had a placed a damp cloth on your head, “I am sorry if it was too much, I didn’t mean to make you pass out.”

“No, it was amazing.” You laughed.

“Was everything okay, pretty baby?” He raised an eyebrow and tucked your hair behind your ear. Your cheeks flushed, “Anything you like or dislike so I know for next time?”

“Next time?” You asked.

“Of course, if you need me again,” he smiled.

“Um, well, you are really good at oral, I am sure other girls will enjoy that a lot, so keep doing that, but some girls might not like a fast pace so keep that in mind.”

“Hey, listen I am not planning on doing this with anyone else this is an exclusive offer for you.” He smiled rubbing the back of his neck, “I don’t really like sharing and it would feel too much like cheating if I did this with every girl that asked. I am a one at a time guy, if you ever need me, I am here.”

“Oh thank you, I will call if I ever need anything.” You nodded, taking your phone from him and turning to the other two grinning in the room.

“You are both so cute,” Seokjin pointed at you both. You stepped out of the bed wearing Jimin’s shirt. It was quite large on you since he wore baggy clothes often. You felt a warm trickle and looked down to see the small trail of liquid both Jimin and yourself had created. It continued to run down your thigh, a hot white liquid that made each male in the room moan at the sight. Namjoon licking his lips, as if imagining the taste.

“Next time you use my room we all have to share.” Namjoon wiggled his eyebrows, earning a slap to the back of his head by Seokjin.

“Didn’t you just hear him say he doesn’t share?”

“Look at the mess you made on my bed, that is amazing!” Your eyes widened as you turned to see the sheets darkened with mixed arousal, jimin was as flushed as you, his phone buzzing.

“Someone downstairs needs something to eat,” You saw him adorn his hoodie and duffle bag, reaching into his Mary Poppins Esque bag and grasping the container of spaghetti he had mentioned earlier. “If you need anything let me know.”

You went to the ensuite and got dressed, looking in the mirror. You looked happy, even you could admit that. “How is she so blind, he looks for her at every party, always asks her if she needs anything because he hopes he can talk to her,” Seokjin said “Jimin and y/n I ship them so hard!”

“I will ship you so hard, come here.” You heard them start kissing and ducked out. “Thank you for letting me rest and use your bathroom!” You smiled, waving as you left the room before they could start anything.

Calling it a night you wanted to return the shirt Jimin let you borrow, he was over by the pool handing out a few things and he waved with a smile. “Jimin,” you said as you got closer, “Your shirt!”

“Ah thanks,” He placed it into his duffle bag and you nodded, feeling awkward. “I am going to go.”

Halfway to your car you heard, “Wait, Y/n!” you turned on instinct, genuinely surprised he knew your name. He stopped in front of you. “I um, I wanted to you know-”

He rambled for a while and you thought perhaps you or he was having a stroke. None of it made sense and you blinked. “Jimin slow down, I am listening!”

“I asked you every party for almost a year what was the one thing you wanted and you answered love every time and I was thinking...” He took a deep breath looking at you nervously playing with the hem of your dress. “Do you maybe want to go out?”

If you like this please hit the heart or the button that looks like you are trying to throw it in reverse in UNO to share this with others. If you enjoyed the story please feel free to check out some of my other stories on my [Masterlist]

Click here for [Herb.2]

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shannaraisles · 4 years ago

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After Hours

Cullen helps his boss relax after a long day ... [established relationship, Modern AU, lemony goodness]

After Hours

"And distribution is keeping up with demand, Leliana?"

"Certainly," the redhead assured her superior as the meeting began to break up. "We have fixed the issue the Merchants' Guild was having with Carta Corps, and our warehouse to point of sale should now continue to be unaffected by their ongoing difficulties with one another."

The CEO of Inquisition Incorporated, Rowan Trevelyan, nodded, making a quick note on the corner of her agenda sheet. It wasn't that she didn't trust the secretary to take the notes; just that she felt better to take notes during meetings rather than just sit there and look like she was following some of the more detailed minutiae of the company's inner workings. As always, she was the last to leave the meeting, heels tapping on polished wooden floors as she made her way back to her own office, still skimming her notes as she went.

She didn't notice the way some of the office workers watched her as she passed by, just as she had never noticed them doing so in the past. She certainly didn't seem to understand that what they saw was a beautiful, leggy blonde in a perfectly tailored pencil skirt and shirt who also happened to be their boss. She would probably have been deeply embarrassed to know about the many, many fantasies just a glance from her could evoke in the minds of the people she trusted to do their jobs well.

Cullen Rutherford, her personal assistant, rose from his desk as she passed, falling into step with her.

"Anything urgent?" she asked absently.

"You are scheduled to take a call from Sten Arishok, the owner of Qun, in twenty minutes," he informed her, all business as usual. "You just have time to eat something, since you decided to skip lunch. Then Varric, down in Marketing, wants to drop in and discuss some promotional opportunities with you."

"It wasn't really a decision," she muttered, frowning as a thought came to her. "Why are we talking to Qun again? Their outreach doesn't overlap ours."

"I believe they may propose a mutually beneficial business arrangement, conditional on the placement of some of their people in our departments," he said, opening the door to her office for her to step through.

"Thoughts?" Rowan asked, moving behind her desk. She bit down a laugh at the sight of the chicken salad sandwich awaiting her, neatly laid out on a plate with a cup of steaming hot tea beside it. There was even a delicate sprig of parsley laid decoratively on top of the bread.

"Turn them down gently," he recommended. "We don't need any more problems with internal espionage."

"Bull isn't really a problem," she said, taking a sip of her tea. "He was very honest with us about his reasons for being here."

"He might stop being honest should we partner with Qun," he said, laying a folder on the desk in front of her and tidying away her notes from the meeting.

"Bump Varric back an hour and ask Bull to come up for a chat after the Arishok call, then," Rowan said, this time through a mouthful of bread and chicken. She moaned in quiet delight as the hunger in her belly finally started to ease.

"Don't make noises like that at work," she heard him mutter, provoking a low giggle after she swallowed.

"Finding it hard to concentrate, Mr. Rutherford?"

The look he gave her was simmering, far more rejuvenating than a mere sandwich could be.

"Never bait the man in charge of your schedule, Ms. Trevelyan," was his warning response, delivered with a very faint smile. He glanced at the door, as though making sure it was still shut, and leaned over to brush a fond kiss against her temple. "And please stop missing meals. I hate it when my wife comes home hungry."

She smiled back at him, obediently munching on her sandwich even as he showed her this small sign of affection. It was rare for him to let the business-like mask drop during office hours, but she knew better than to push her luck by not working just as hard as he was.

It was just a brief moment of warmth, but good grief, was it necessary for getting through the rest of the day. It wasn't the call with Sten Arishok; it wasn't the awkward conversation afterward with Bull from Personal Resources; it wasn't being teased by Varric from the Marketing department over a photo-shoot he wanted her to do. It was the phone call and the awkward conversation and the being teased and the never-ending list of everything else that she had to do in a single day that left her feeling frazzled and exhausted as five o'clock rolled on by.

She was deep in contemplation of a new proposal from Cassandra Pentaghast in Purchasing when she felt a familiar hand smooth onto her shoulder. The paperwork was twitched out of her grasp in the same moment she felt Cullen's lips brush the curve of her ear.

"Home time, Ms. Trevelyan."

"But -"

"No buts."

Another piece of paper was slid onto the desk in front of her, even as she felt his warm breath travel from her ear to the sensitive line of her neck. His finger reached forward, tapping against the last line on that page. She forced herself to focus on it, feeling the tension leaving her body with the tender scrape of stubble over her skin.

18:00 - Still working? Executive time with Cullen.

A snort of laughter escaped her, her amusement fading into a low groan as she felt his body loom over hers where she sat, the slow trail of his fingertips to the top button of her shirt somewhere between exquisite torture and aching promise.

"No arguments?" he murmured, nipping gently at her neck.

That top button stood no chance against his experienced fingers; nor did the next three, the very tips of his fingers ghosting a barely there touch against the swell of her breasts as she unconsciously arched in search of that contact.

"I'm still working," she tried to protest, but the words were without conviction. He knew exactly how to distract her from overworking herself, and he had been threatening to do this in the office for weeks now if she didn't start observing office hours. She really only had herself to blame.

"I beg to differ."

His voice was a purr against her skin, vibrating somehow deep into the core of her being where she could feel the first pulsing spark of a very familiar fire starting to burn. Eyes closing, she let herself sigh in pleasure, feeling the hem of her shirt pulled out from the band of her skirt, buttons tugged open fully to let her husband's possessive, wonderful hands explore the smooth cups of her bra and the bounty within. Her own hand rose to drag her nails through the tamed curls on the back of his head, earning herself a low growl from deep in his throat in answer.

"Please tell me you locked the door," she breathed, gasping as he quite suddenly drew her up, out of her seat, spinning her around until his lips could capture hers.

"What do you take me for?"

The kiss was everything he was and everything she was, combined in one fiery joining of fierce love and passionate affection, hands grasping at back and shoulder and neck, each seeking to pull the other closer. His knee slipped between hers, inching the tight cling of her skirt upward until his fingers could grasp the hem and tug upward. She squeaked ever so slightly at the sensation of the cool wood against her now bare backside, giggling as much at the sound of her surprise as the sound of his when his stroking fingers discovered a mere scrap of lace where he might have been expecting satin.

"Mmm, were we hoping to seduce our husband at work today?" he teased against her lips, his grin just as warm and wicked as hers.

"Someone didn't do the laundry yesterday," was her playful reply, her body jerking at the playful tap of his palm to her rear for her cheekiness.

"Someone else shouldn't have distracted me, then."

He kissed her once again, one of his searing, needy kisses that wiped her mind blank of any counter to his fond accusation, clouding her thoughts to the point where she barely noticed as he lifted her up onto her desk to nudge his way between her thighs. Only when his lips began to descend, following the teasing trail of his loving hands, did she realize, and not even then could she object when he was so good at keeping her from forming actual words.

With her shirt hanging open, her skirt bunched about her waist, she should have felt exposed, embarrassed, but in Cullen's hands, she only felt wanted. Even when he tugged at the molded cups to reveal the soft thrust of her breasts to his eyes, she merely moaned, grasping at his hair while her head fell back. Hungry eyes were followed by the hot suction of lips and tongue, and the shooting lance of pure electricity to pool in liquid heat between her thighs, and fuck whoever might hear that sound outside this office. She wasn't Rowan Trevelyan, CEO, anymore. She was Rowan Rutherford, and if her husband didn't get on with it, she might actually spontaneously combust with impatience on her own desk.

When his thumb smoothed over the lace that covered her mound, her hips jerked forward, wanting more, needing more, yet only earning a very self-satisfied chuckle from the man in question, who simply repeated that barely there touch, featherlight and tenderly tortuous, again and again, just to feel her squirm in his grasp.

"Cullen ..." she whined, but he didn't let up, not until she was arched back against the desk, her thighs tense, desperate for more than this slow wave he was building inside her.

"I hope you're not too fond of these," he murmured against her breast, kissing the dark mark he had left there as she felt the cool slide of metal between the string of her thong and her burning skin. A moment later, the clinging tension of that waistband was gone with an audible snip, and despite her shiver, she moaned eagerly as he slipped the scissors to his other hand to divest her completely of the offending garment.

Before she could gather enough thought from the gooey puddle of sheer bliss that was her brain to protest, however, he had dropped to his knees, drawing his fingers up along the quivering line of her thigh to spread her wider for his pleasure. First cool air to tease her, followed by a heated breath that sent fire flaring up her spine, and then ...

Oh.

She felt the brush of his cheek against her inner thigh, startling her out of tense anticipation and pushing her higher into shivering impatience. The curling of her toes sent one shoe thumping to the carpeted floor as his lips parted to place a hot kiss against the delicate skin above her knee, unexpectedly gentle when she had expected a sudden attack of passion where she was throbbing to be touched.

He took his time, lavishing kisses and touches, wicked nibbles of tender teeth, sweeping susurration of warm, wet breath over her skin, inching higher, never quite reaching where she implored him to land. Not until she was panting, laid back against the desk, splayed out like the most lusciously lascivious dessert on the menu, did he give her what she so desperately wanted.

Slow, gentle fingers teased the glistening of his prize, her voice hoarse as she gasped and groaned at even that ghosting touch, arching up from the desk in a display that would have made an Orlesian courtesan proud. He rewarded her patience with those gentle fingers and the flickering adoration of his mouth, hugging her thigh tight against his ear as though pinning her in place to be devoured with glorious devotion. Those fingers curled and contorted, seeking and finding exactly where to tease to draw unbridled cries of pure ecstasy from her lips when stroked in tandem with the hungry lap of lips and tongue over the delicate nub at her crown.

All she could hear was her own breath and the lewd wetness of his mouth and hand; all she could smell was her own sweet musk cutting through the disinfectant of the cleaner's favorite sprays that permeated the office daily. Paper crumpled and wood creaked under the scrabbling grasp of her hands; images of Cullen dancing behind her closed eyelids, promising all the things she could do to him in return. Arched at the trembling precipice, she didn't see him look up at her, whiskey-warm eyes soft with reverent passion. She only felt the sudden vibration of his moan at that sight rumble into and through her, felt herself tumble free from the very edge of bliss as her own hand smacked hard over her own mouth to muffle the closest she had ever come to screaming in the workplace.

It seemed to take forever and a heartbeat for her to come down from that high, soaring far longer than she had for some time with her husband tenderly stroking her until she landed safely once again, breathless, sated, and amazed. Lifting her head, she watched as he slowly licked her from his hand before rising from where he knelt, reaching to lift her from her splayed rest and sit before him once more on the desk.

His forehead touched hers as she leaned into him, still fighting to regain her breath, her skin damp with well-earned sweat.

"What time is it?" he murmured, stroking her cheek as she blinked her eyes open to meet his gaze.

"Home time," she conceded, a rare blush lighting up her cheeks as she realized exactly what had just happened. "But what about you?"

He grinned, carefully tucking her bra back into place and buttoning her shirt. She must have looked gloriously debauched, but for once, she wasn't going to let it bother her.

"I much prefer beds to desks, Mrs. Rutherford," he murmured teasingly, his grin deepening at her giggle. "At least when the desk in question is in the office."

"I'm not sure I can stand up." Rowan swallowed, forcing herself to hold her own weight on the edge of the desk to test the theory.

"Tough luck," Cullen said in a tender tone, dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I'm not carrying you and my briefcase tonight."

She snorted with laughter, batting at him as he finally stepped back. There was only a faint wobble when she regained her feet, corrected with the lost shoe back in place and a moment of feeling awfully naughty to have no panties when she rolled her pencil skirt back into place.

"You are lucky I love you, Cullen Rutherford."

"Now that, we can both agree on," was his reply, his hand claiming hers to give her a gentle tug toward the door. "Let's go home, Rowan. I still have unfinished business with you."

Despite herself, she grinned, the strength in her legs suddenly renewed enough to skip along and fall into step with him as they made their way toward the elevator. Plans were forming in her mind. After all, she couldn't let him have all the fun tonight, could she?

#dragon age fanfic #modern au #lemon #cullen rutherford #cullen x female trevelyan #rowan trevelyan #established relationship #office #desk #cullen gives a helping hand lip and tongue

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kauriart · 5 years ago

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Sunshine in the Dark Chapter 5: Slake

A NSFW Dragon Age fic | Alistair x Bethany | Read it on AO3

The Wardens bed down for the night in twos and threes. Almost no one is left alone, and those who are, prefer their own company.

Alistair sets up their bedrolls as he has every night, a little apart from the others, and a little apart from each other. Then he stands over the bedding a moment, expression thoughtful before kneeling and sliding the rumpled quilts closer together, until the ends overlap and it’s one big space for the pair of them. He gives her a wide, sheepish sort of grin that makes her heart flip several times over.

They clamber in together, dressed and damp, into the little space they've built for themselves, and Bethany leans in towards Alistair, and he curls himself around her, pillowing his head against her breasts.

His hair is still damp at the back of his head, and she cards her fingers through the short spikes with a sigh, trying to remember when she’s been happier. It’s almost absurd. Here, down in the dark, hungry and cold and blurry with exhaustion; she is happy.

“And I don’t even know your last name,” she whispers almost to herself.

Alistair runs a hand over his face, barely visible in the darkness. “Technically I don’t have one,” he says after a long moment. “And it doesn’t matter anyway. You give up who you were when you join the Wardens.”

Bethany closes her eyes. What she gave up was everything. Her mother. Her brother. Even Gamlen with all his faults and flaws was family, and he'd taken them in when they had nothing.

And yet—

her heart gives a happy bump bump

—she found Alistair.

She found love.

Extraordinary.

“I almost didn't go with my brother, you know,” she says quietly. “Garrett… he wanted Aveline. He already had a mage in Anders, but no warriors.”

Alistair reaches over silently and takes her hand, holding it between his palms, thumbs stroking against her knuckles. It feels good enough that Bethany’s breath catches a little.

Just a little.

“I asked to go with him," she continues. "I was a brat about it actually. I thought… Carver would have been with him, if he could.” Her voice breaks a little on her twin’s name, but she pretends it doesn’t.

“He shouldn’t have let you go,” Alistair croaks. “He shouldn’t — Maker Beth, the Order is meant for people who have nothing else left. It shouldn’t. You had — have a family. People — a mother and brother who love you. It just isn’t — you shouldn’t have to give them up. You shouldn’t have to give anything up. You should have all the things people are supposed to have, Beth. Every one of them.”

He is so absolutely indignant that Bethany smiles. “What are people supposed to have?”

“A home,” he says promptly, “with a roof and windows, and a lock on the door. A proper bed, with a wood frame and extra quilts and everything. Wood stacked to the ceiling so you’d never be cold.” He takes a breath, and some of the indignation wears away from his voice. “Chickens maybe. Somewhere. Probably not in the house. Children. One or two perhaps. Probably have to keep those in the house.” He folds both his hands around hers, voice solemn. “And a… a garden. With flowers growing in it. Yellow ones, and the other kinds that smell nice. And just — food, and warmth, and safety, and family, and a future, Beth.” his voice cracks on the word.

Bethany’s heart clenches. It’s Alistair who dreamed of home, and family. She only ever dreamed of not having magic.

“You should have those things too,” she says.

“I was never going to have those things, Beth,” he says quietly. “The Order gave me more than it ever took. Purpose. Friendship. A place to belong.” His fingertip traces over the curve of her jaw. “Love.” The word is all quiet hesitancy.

“It gave me love too,” Bethany whispers back, and brushes a lock of damp hair off his brow.

His answering smile is small, but blinding and full of wonder. He kisses her forehead, and the tip of her nose, and then her lips, tenderly. "Say that again," he breathes against her mouth.

"I love you," she says between kisses. “I love you, love you, love you.”

Alistair kisses her through the blur of I love yous. Until each word is little more than a gasp of breath. He kisses her jawline, and her neck, and works his way down to her collarbones. He kisses her bare shoulders, and the slopes of her breasts, thumbs brushing at her nipples through the fabric of her tunic.

Something warm and syrupy stirs in the cradle of her hips.

Something bright, and eager.

"I haven't your excuse, Beth but…"

"But?" Something about Alistair's touch makes it difficult to focus on anything else. Maybe because it’s slow, and teasing, and he’s got his knee slotted between her legs. Or maybe it’s because her mana has been creeping back, and with it, the effects of joining. That hollow need that’s all heat and bottomless hunger.

The tips of her fingers tingle.

Alistair chuckles, the sound of it muffled against the fabric of her tunic. “But if you’d like… I’d very much like… to make love to you, Beth. Er… probably more than once,” he adds, cheeks coloring faintly.

“I want—” she cuts herself off with a frown, uncertain. That word has held them apart from one another for so long. And she's half afraid that if he knows it’s back—

“Hey,” Alistair says, curling his hand around her cheek. “I want, too.” He tucks a stray curl behind her ear. “So much. For so long.” His thumb catches her lower lip, teasing a smile out of her. He presses a kiss to her lips. "I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

"I do." And there's something there, a seriousness edge in his voice she’s so rarely seen. He swallows hard enough that she can see the bump in his throat wobble. “I love you, Bethany Hawke.”

His smile is tiny, all tremulous at the edges.

Hers is as bright as the sun.

She grabs his ears and pulls him down for a proper kiss. One that’s all breath and joy and swallowed giddiness and swallowed laughter.

“Bethany,” he husks. “Beth…Maker, Beth," and kisses her some more.

His mouth drifts down, across her jaw, pressing a line of teasing bites down her throat and the deep neckline of her tunic. One of his hands is at her breast, the other carefully crumples the fabric of her tunic into his fist, slowly inching it upwards. He skims his touch across her bare flank with a sound so full of wonder that she knows she’ll remember it for the rest of her days, and slides his body lower, planting an open-mouthed kiss against her stomach.

The faint stubble on his chin rasps, and she shivers at the sensation.

"Ticklish?" Alistair asks, delighted. He scuffs his face against her deliberately, just to be certain, and she writhes against him with a soft, swallowed laugh. “Oh,” he breathes.

He kisses her belly again, very carefully, and continues his slow, teasing journey down down down her skin, until he reaches the waistband of her breeches. He tugs at the laces with his teeth, and grins up at her. And Bethany’s heart does a ridiculous sort of flip that has little to do with the white hot flare of heat in her loins.

He uses his teeth to get her laces undone — nearly snarling them into a knot in the process — but he uses his hands to work her breeches and smalls off her hips. Inching them down as a bright flare of desire breaks out across her skin like a heatwave. He leans forward, breath gusting across bare skin and Bethany cannot stop a tiny sound of need from escaping her.

Alistair’s mouth quirks up into a lopsided smile as he nudges her thighs apart, slinging one knee over his shoulder. “May I?” he asks breathlessly.

She swears roundly, in desperate affirmation, and cants her hips up towards him.

Alistair chuckles, and bends to his task.

His mouth is wet heat. All suction and sensation and the deep, approving growl that thrums in the back of his throat like thunder. And it’s—

She grabs at his head. The pleasure is so intense that she doesn’t know if she means to pull him off, or hold him between her thighs forever, until fire inside her burns itself out.

"Oh, forever is good," Alistair says blearily.

The hands in his hair become a sharp tug as she grips him, desire spiking sharply. Starved for his touch though his hands are everywhere, and his mouth is everywhere, and the weight of him presses against her.

The heat Alistair stokes between her thighs isn’t low, or lazy, or blunt with exhaustion like it was at the pools. It’s a bright, terrible thing, all sharp-edged and desperate.

He comes up for a breath, grinning. “Like that do you?”

Bethany makes a wrecked sound.

“Oh? That good, eh?” His expression is too gratified to be deemed a smirk, but it’s close.

His hips rock back and forth a little, a tiny pantomime that’s part reflex and part anticipation. But he keeps the heat of his mouth between her legs, wet and bright, making deep, rumbly noises of approval as she dissolves into a puddle of pure sensation beneath him. There’s too much to feel, so she focuses on the tiny details of him to keep from being completely overwhelmed.

The scrape of his teeth.

The rasp of his stubble.

The stir of his tongue.

The deep slide of his fingers.

Her hips shift and flutter as he breathes quite praise into her skin.

Bethany tips forward against him with a silent cry, every nerve brightly overloaded. A rush of heat that builds and builds and builds until everything is outlined in fire.

A bright, blinding light.

A roar of bliss.

Alistair keeps his mouth against her as she comes. Keeps her hips steady. Keeps her heart beating as the whole world dissolves around her.

"Maker, Beth." He raises himself up, face slick. Shifting his weight. Reaching between his legs to the tangle of his laces and tugging them open, one-handed. He cups himself, all heat and hardness before pressing forward, against her, into her. He gasps, and stills completely. A breath and beat, as if he’s too overwhelmed to even think about moving. Then he makes a tight sound and begins to grind his hips, working himself deeper and deeper with every slow, careful thrust.

“Alistair,” she tugs at his hips, trying to urge him deeper still.

He smiles, and tangles their hands together. First one, then the other, and brings them to his lips, brushing a tender kiss across the backs of her knuckles.

“Alistair…”

“Shhh,” he presses each of her hands above her head and holds them there, gently. “I’ve got you.”

She squeezes his hands back, and rolls her hips against him, grinning. “I’ve got you, too.”

He swears. A quiet surussus of breath against her neck, and begins to move in earnest.

Alistair whispers to her through the bright staccato motion of his hips. Things like beautiful and everything and please and love. He whispers other things too, but the words fragment and fall away until there is just the sound of her name, over and over like a ragged litany. “Bethany, Bethany, Bethany, Beth… ”

Pleasure builds like the thrum of a heartbeat. Steady. Pounding. Driving on and on. Faster and faster.

She tips her head up to kiss Alistair, but it’s hardly a kiss, just another way their bodies slide together. Open mouths and harsh pants, and he breathes her name against her mouth, each syllable broken into its own little sound.

His thrusts speed up, then slow down, then speed up again. Rhythm suddenly as ungainly as his breathing.

"Gods. Maker."

Bethany's toes curl, and her heart bursts, and she can't tell which of them makes that fractured sound. But it’s loud enough to echo in the dark.

A cry of completion and joy.

Alistair is perfectly rigid above Bethany, carrying enough of his own bodyweight, one-handed so he doesn't squash her. A fine tremor runs through him as he bends his neck, resting his forehead momentarily against hers. Then he makes a broken sound as he slides out. Holds himself upright, breathing hard, arms trembling. A single drop of sweat slides down the bridge of his long nose.

And the world is utterly perfect and peaceful.

Bethany floats for what feels like forever, a single hand still clinging to Alistair. She’s too sated and heavy-limbed to do more than breathe. Certainly not think. She can’t even count their heartbeats, but she acknowledges every one, steady and slow and nearly in sync with one another. Tiny drums in the dark.

She feels Alistair shift above her, and instinctually grips him, fingers twisting around his in an effort to keep him close. He chuckles quietly, and carefully disentangles himself from her.

Bethany makes a flat sound of complaint.

“Greedy.” He murmurs, and kisses her on her nose.

She tips her chin up for a proper kiss, and he obliges, lips soft and sweet and faintly salt from their lovemaking.

He double checks the gear they have piled up next to their bedroll, then rucks Bethany's clothes back into place, and drags her against him, tucking them both into bed, pulling the fraying quilts high over her shoulders. He strokes the curve of her skull, fingers carding through the spill of inky curls.

How the world has changed in a single day.

"Beth, I wasn’t…" Alistair starts, voice scratchy with exhaustion. He falls suddenly silent, and presses a kiss to her temple, fingers still working soothingly through her hair. “I... wasn’t allowed a last name, because I was born a bastard,” he says very softly after a moment. “But… Theirin.”

“Oh, ha ha. I am Fereldan,” Bethany nudges him through the blankets. “I know what that name means.”

But Alistair is staring straight up into the darkness above them, body rigid, face blank but lined with a tense sort of misery.

He isn’t joking.

What?

“Alistair, you—” She rests a careful hand on his chest and sits up. Even through the fabric of his tunic she can feel his heart hammering. “But that would make you—”

“It would make me nothing.” He interrupts tersely, and grabs her hand. She thinks she might shrug off her touch, but he just folds their hands together, fingers interlinking. “It isn’t safe Beth,” he says softly. “Most everyone who knew I existed is either dead or… or rather happy to think that I’m dead. Or both."

She frowns, and leans over to plant a kiss on their interwoven fingers.

Alistair's hand lifts unconsciously to cup the back of her head. “The whole of my life I never fit anywhere. Not at court. Not with the Templars. But the Warden’s take anyone, don’t they?” He smiles at her, but there’s pain in his eyes. Bright and glimmering with a razor sharp edge. “Even unwanted nobody’s who pose a threat to Ferelden’s monarchy. And though no one has ever even bothered to ask me, I never wanted anything to do with—” he makes a frustrated sound through his teeth, “politics.”

And that’s Aveline to the bone. That ferocious disdain for a world that sets politics above people. And Bethany knows in that moment he'd make a terrible King.

And a fantastic one.

“Does anyone else know?” She asks quietly.

“No,” he shakes his head. “Not for certain, at least. I think Stroud suspects. He was a Chevalier for half his life. Grew up too close to court-life, the nosy git. The Order brought him in from Orlais when I wouldn't lead them. Poor man. The Fereldan armor isn't nearly as fancy. No griffon feathers or lacy underthings in sight.” His mouth twists into a smile, but she can see how forced the expression is. “I did petition Weisshaupt for the lacy underthings, though. They said no. Bloody cheapskates. That's gratitude for stopping a blight.”

“Alistair…”

“I’ve already decided to let the next one slip right through.”

“Alistair.”

“It’s thongs for the lot of us, or I won't lift a finger.”

“Alistair.”

He sighs, and brings her hand to his lips, suddenly serious again. “I know, Beth. Just leave it. Please. It’s a mess, and I don’t know how to begin to untangle it. And I don't need to. I'm right where I want to be. Or, almost..." He snags her around the waist and pulls her down flush against him. One hand threads itself back into her curls, the other drifts cheekily down to her buttock. "There. Now I'm right where I want to be."

Bethany sighs, a quiet happy sound, and slips her hand beneath the neckline of his tunic where she can feel his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. “So am I.”

***

It is four years, eight months, and twenty-three days before Bethany sees her brother again.

Kirkwall’s silhouette is unrecognizable whenever it is visible, which it mostly isn't. There’s enough smoke and silt in the sky that it nearly blocks out the sun, and the world seems to flit eerily from day to night and back again with each passing breeze.

And worst of all, the air is brimful of magic. Or, the aftermath of magic. It’s a spent husk, angry and desperate. An echo of the mage who cast it.

And Maker protect them all, it feels like Anders.

Or it feels like the parts of Anders that felt like Justice — all harsh and spirit-scorched. Like the wine at the bottom of the bottle that’s still the same wine, but is too intense to drink. There’s so much Justice now, it’s overwhelming.

(But Anders is still in there somewhere, faint and mellow. A note of elderberry lingering on the back of the palette.)

(Maker, she doesn't know what will happen if he disappears entirely.)

Kirkwall is on fire. Parts of it. Most of it, it looks like from here, though Bethany isn’t really sure where here is. Not Hightown, she doesn't think. Near the docks maybe, but she can’t smell the sea, only the sour reek of death by fire.

She needs to find her brother.

The Hanged Man? Uncle Gamlen’s house?

She closes her eyes against the smoke, and the bitter smell of the place. Where are you Garrett?

“Huh,” Alistair says behind her, pointing. “Isn’t that...?”

Oh shit.

It is.

It's a full-length, marble statue of her bloody older brother. About 10 feet tall, bearded and stern, with a ridiculous crimson streak across his nose, and a wicked pair of daggers in his hands , and his foot planted on — is that a Qunari skull?

“Huh,” Alistair says again.

The words Champion of Kirkwall are engraved in gold leaf along the bottom, and it’s as telling as the statue itself of how far Garrett has risen that no one's tried to scrape off the gold to sell. And oh Maker, please let it not be a memorial to her brother.

“He’s here, I’m sure of it.” Alistair grips her shoulder, and plants a reassuring kiss against her temple. “He struck me as the sort that's rather hard to kill.”

And well, he isn't wrong.

But if there was anyone who reached for death with open arms, and a smile...

She grips Alistair’s hand and tries to press down the rising panic inside her.

They walk past smoke filled streets, going up — she thinks — towards the heart of the city. They encounter no one, which is almost eerier than the smoke, and the fires, and the distant screams. Kirkwall is a city always on the verge of overflowing. Too many people shoved into too little space. But now it's so empty that even a corpse might be comforting.

Maker, what happened here?

The wind shifts, and Bethany gets a faceful of smoke, and then she sees him.

His back is turned to her. Head to toe in unfamiliar, blood red armor. Hair shaggy enough to fall well past his collar. But she'd recognize him anywhere. She'd recognize him in the pitch dark with only her heart to guide her.

“Garrett! Garrett!”

He straightens, slow and jerky like a man half-caught in a dream, and drops the oh Maker that’s a dead Templar in a heap at his feet.

A swoop of that old fear deep in her gut, and she freezes. “What— ?”

“Bethany!” He bellows from across the clearing and rushes at her, figure blurring and blinking across the courtyard, and she’s never understood how rogues can bend space like that without magic. But he's at her side in a moment, between the span of one heartbeat and the next. Their breastplates clang together together as he wraps her in a hug so enormous, it all but knocks her off her feet.

His armor is stupidly pointy, and not at all good for hugging, but she hangs on anyway, laughing and crying all at once.

“I knew it, Bethany. I knew you weren’t dead. I told Mother—” a choked sound into her hair. “I knew it.”

“There’s so much I want to tell you,” Bethany says helplessly, voice cracking on every other syllable.

“It was my fault,” Garrett mutters. And that heavy guilt in his voice might be anything. The Deep Roads. Carver. The fact that Kirkwall seems to be actively burning to the ground, and he's red to the elbows in dead Templar.

He mutters a blur of I’m sorrys into her hair, and she grips him even tighter, wrapping him in the protective shell of her magic because she can feel the exhaustion and terror winding around his bones, and he’s her brother, and she loves him, damnit. “I don’t blame you.”

“Idiot. Probably should.”

“Probably,” Bethany concedes with a wet sort of laugh. “But I don’t.”

He pulls away from the hug enough to eye her up and down. “So, they kept you.” He tugs at the shoulder seam of her uniform, where the blue gives way to a hint of silver. “You’re a Warden now.”

“And you’re a – a Champion? The Champion. I saw your statue.”

“Viscount, actually.” He scrubs his hand across his face, neatly smearing the streak of scarlet across the bridge of his nose. “Or the nearest thing to it.”

Bethany blinks.

Last she knew her family was living cheek by jowl in Gamlen’s foul smelling hovel, manhandling third-rate bandits, just to get by, and now her idiot older brother is Viscount of Kirkwall.

“What in the Maker’s name has been going on here?” She breathes, then coughs, waving away the smoke that wreathes them. Her voice drops. “And why are you murdering Templars?”

Garrett grinds his teeth together, jaw tightly clenched. “There isn't time to explain.” There’s something in his voice that is just so lost and bleak that for the first time she thinks to look for—

No Isabela.

No Aveline.

No Varric.

No anyone.

Her brother is a human magnet. He draws people into his orbit with an almost laughable ease. Garrett might have been twelve the last time she saw him alone — when there wasn’t someone hanging on his arm or his word or with bated breath.

She licks the sudden chill off her lips. “Garrett, where is everyone?”

“At the Gallows, Bethy. What's left of it, anyway. How are you at fighting abominations?” He grabs her hand and starts to pull her away with him, into the smoke of Kirkwall, but Alistair reaches out, quick as anything and snags her other hand, tugging back.

“Excuse me,” Garrett says, glaring, “but that's my sister you’ve got there.”

“Yes, and that's my wife you've got.” Alistair doesn't glare nearly as well as her brother does, but he manages a respectable level of sternness.

Garrett's glare shifts to a squint. “I remember you. Alistair, was it?” Garrett eyes him up from boots to cowlick in one neat flick of his hazel eyes. “Oh yes, you are just her type.”

“I don’t have a type.” Bethany huffs, because honestly, her brother is the worst.

And Alistair — traitorously — bursts into a snort of laughter that he doesn’t even bother to muffle, and Garrett gives her a smile that’s the same as it’s ever been, wide and white and charming when it isn’t menacing, and it’s always a bit of both.

Garrett drops Bethany’s hand with a tiny mock-bow, and grasps Alistair’s free one instead, swinging it back and forth as though he was a child on his way to a candy shop. “Well, come on then little brother, we've got to go save all the mages.”

Alistair blinks rather bewilderedly at Garrett’s hand in his, but follows all the same. “Am I the little brother, then? I'm older, I think.”

(He isn't.)

Garrett snorts. “So? I'm taller—”

(He isn't.)

“—and better looking,” her brother adds firmly. “So I’m the big one. Bethany agrees. Don’t you, Bethy-whatever-your-last-name-is-now? ” He raises his eyebrows expectantly at her.

“Hawke,” she offers.

“Then what’s his last name?”

“Also Hawke,” Alistair mutters.

And Garrett takes the world in stride. All the bumps and bruises and unexpected brother-in-laws. It’s what Bethany has always loved about him best.

“Three Hawkes in Kirkwall?” Her brother bursts out in a gusty laugh that's all rust around the edges. “The Knight-Commander is so very fucked now. This day is turning around quite nicely. ”

Which means for sure it’s going to be the worst sort of day.

And it is.

But…

After it is done, and the Gallows have been cracked open and bled dry, and Bethany herself has bled, and cried, and wondered — twice — if she might be killed; she sits in the on the floor of the courtyard. Alistair is at her back, his arms folded her middle, and his breath against her ear, and her magic on his skin. Her brother is in the background, bellowing orders at anyone with the energy left to listen.

“This seems an excellent time to remind you that I love you very much, Bethany Hawke,” Alistair nuzzles into her hair.

“You do?”

He squeezes her once, tightly. She can feel his smile against the curve of her neck. “Yes, I believe I do.”

The sun comes out over the husk that is Kirkwall. Bright and warm. Cutting through the smoke-dreary haze like magic.

Bethany turns her face to the sun, and squeezes Alistair back.

Things could be much worse, she supposes.

5/5 …… Read it from the beginning

#Dragon age #da2 #bethany x alistair #bethistair #Alistair Therin #bethany hawke #IT'S DONE!#This is only the third multi-chapter fic I have finished ever #bruh #praise me

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occasionalhumor · 3 years ago

Text

Makumakuren Chapter 1

Chapter Art by @corvaous (see below)

Also available on AO3

[CW: Blood, abuse+violence (various), illegal activity]

Summary: An AU where Keigo was born with his mom’s quirk. His dad is a notorious criminal and known for stealing precious jewelry and fine art. The Takami Thief is a small team that rules the underworld with valuable items and, with the help of the Tokoyami family, has expanded internationally. But what happens if Keigo grows up with a collection of golden pining eyes instead of large red wings?

Chapter 1: Yosuzume: The Takami Thief

Tucked away in the ceiling raft, keys clacked as Tomie’s nailed fingers formatted a 3D map of the building. A few floating eyeballs twisted and rotated like targeting orbs, watching for security as a few others zoomed down hallways.

“Almost done?” A low voice spoke over her earpiece.

“Mhm.” Tomie responded with a hushed moan.

The free eyeballs made their way back to her, floating back around her body. She closed the lid of the laptop, securing the 3D model of the building, as well as the target location. She slipped her way over the berm to find her husband, Takami Kanaye, waiting on the cement ledge.

“Took you long enough.” He grumbled, red feathered forearms puffing in from the breeze of the high tower. The 2AM city lights illuminated his hardened expression.

Tomie stared at him with dull eyes and spoke quietly, “...here’s the map.”

He snatched the laptop from her hand and opened the model. The detailed map gave them an advantage over the security measures of the building. Cameras and laser traps were labeled as well as the shortest distance to the target. Of course, the timing of patrols and a simulated dot to show their routes.

Kanaye smirked and ran his fingers through her plush hair. He gripped a fistful of her hair and dragged her limp head in circles, “that’s my downy girl. This pay out is going to be fucking huge. You've earned your share, Tomie.”

Tomie took his loving aggression as she always did. Something about the way he grabbed her, the way he praised the use of her quirk, the security he provided with money and a place, the way he took care of everything for her, she got off on it despite his abuse.

He released his grip with a small shove, pushing her head away from him, “Let’s rest up and get to work tonight.”

The Takami’s were suited in their stealth gear, fitted in matte black long sleeved shirts and blak cargo pants. Kanaye packed a duffle bag with tools, a case of wireless earpieces, and the computerized map. Tomie followed closely behind him, using her eyeballs to scan the area for security.

Kanaye leapt off the rooftop onto the next building, using his hardened feathers to stabilize himself on the structure. He reached his hand out for Tomie, who leapt off the ledge, and reached for his palm. He hoisted his wife up aggressively, tossing her over the edge onto the rooftop.

He climbed his way up and tossed the black canvas bag in front of her, “get set up.”

Tomie unzipped the bag gingerly, “not going to help?”

“No, I’m about to finish the job. Set me up and pull your weight, yeah?” He huffed before mumbling under his breath, “... worthless bitch. ”

Tomie flinched with a bout of anxiety at the comment, as she unpacked some technical instruments, the computer with the 3D model, a hand held small suction, and an amber marble with a red feather in the center of a black cat-eye.

She cleaned the concave piece with an alcohol wipe and lazily handed it to Kanaye. He stuffed the laser into a cylindrical pouch on his belt and scratched the marble from the ground. He rolled it between his fingers before chuckling and placing it into his breast pocket.

Tomie opened the computer and placed an earpiece around the cartilage of her ear. She handed Kanaye a matching piece and played some testing beeps.

“I don’t hear anything, Tomie. Don’t tell me you fucked up and broke the comms.” He gritted, grabbing the collar of her shirt, “I swear to the Gods, cunt , if you-...”

He was interrupted by Tomie handing him another earpiece. He shoved her forward by her collar and huffed. After he placed the tech in his ear, she played the testing audio again. He looked down at her disgusted and humphed while taking a few steps to the edge of the building.

“If this is an easy job, you’ll get a good fucking for all your hard work. If not…” He smirked over his shoulder, “...you’ll get a good beating. But you’d like that, right? You fuck up missions on purpose so I beat you? Like the whore you are.”

Tomie didn’t answer, she stared at Kanaye blankly until he turned to her. His chest puffed out and he furrowed his eyebrows, “not going to answer me? Then maybe I should beat you first.”

He took two large strides toward her before she spoke coldly, “I would like to be rewarded for an easy job.”

He stopped in his tracks and stood straight, “Good.” Kanaye closed the distance with soft steps and knelt to Tomie on the ground, “I hate punishing you, it hurts me more than it hurts you.”

“I know, everything you do is what’s best for me... For my health, my safety, and my security.” She mumbled as he planted a peck onto her forehead.

“That’s right, my downy little girl.” He gripped the back of her neck tightly between the pads of his fingers, “Don’t forget who you owe your body to.”

There was a long pause before Kanaye brought his hand across Tomie’s cheek in a small, yet forceful, slap. “Give me your eyes, bitch. We’re late.”

Tomie glazed over, floating a set of three eyes to follow Kanaye as he began his descent into the building through a vent. Tomie curled up, folding her legs, and resting the laptop in her lap. She watched as a dot moved slowly on the 3D model, showing where Kanaye is located.

A bout of static filled Tomie’s ear, “alright, GPS. Where to?”

Tomie fed him directions to the jewelry gallery. Kenaye paused, “where are the traps?”

Tomie took a moment, “pressure sensor rimming the case, take the glass with you. The floor has a rotating electric tripwire. Wait for my signal, I’m going to scout it to check the timing.”

“Quickly, Tomie.” He huffed in frustration.

Tomie’s eyeball glided across the open space, close to the ceiling until she spotted the green ray rotating slowly across the floor.

“From its current position, you’ll have….93 seconds.” She stated.

“That’s enough time.” Kanaye dropped from the vent with a thud of his heavy boots.

He ran his fingers through his greasy hair and hardened a crimson feather, plucking it from his forearm. He scraped the feather over the glass in a circular motion to score and pulled the suction from his pouch. He placed the piece of rubber over the glass and ran his sharpened feather another pass over the score. Kanaye applied a little pressure and the glass easily released itself.

Kanaye smirked and slid the glass off the suction, placing it in his pocket. He eyed the gold pocket watch in the blistering white case. The Breguet Antique Number 2667 glistened its $4.5 million watch face on the rotating pillow as he reached into the case and gingerly pulled the it from the pedestal.

“20 seconds, Kanaye.” Tomie’s static voice spoke in his ear.

“Package secure, Tomie. You fucking earned it tonight.” He mumbled placing the watch in a small velvet bag and into the crossbody satchel. He pulled the marble calling card from his breast pocket and placed it in the viewing case.

He jumped back up into the vent and was directed back to the rooftop where Tomie was waiting. The two packed their gear and made their way back to the hotel. But not without warranting some aggressively lewd statements from Kanaye.

Kanaye escorted Tomie into their modest hideaway and he dropped the satchel and tech bag on the table. He grabbed Tomie’s arm firmly, not allowing her to get too far and yanked her into him.

He squeezed her rear, taking her small cheek into the palm of his hand. He dug his nails through the thick fabric, while squeezing the back of her neck with his other hand. Almost unwelcomed, he shoved his tongue down her throat until he laid a resounding smack on her ass and she opened her mouth for him to ravage.

Tomie blanked, her body defaulted and allowed Kanaye to do as he wanted. He stumbled them to the bed, in a series of sloppy backsteps. Kanaye shoved her onto the stiff sheets and flipped her, forcing her hips up.

He tugged at her pants, pulling them over her small and bony structure. After he could see her skin, he pulled his half-erection from his pants and found a home for another slap on her bare body.

“It’s only good when you moan, bitch.” He tugged himself twice before slipping his head in raw and dry.

The thing is, it did feel good, only after a while. Tomie’s forced and faked whimpers turned into deep moans to accommodate his aggression and girth. She loved how he felt inside, but only after proper attention to her sex, which she never received.

Within minutes, he was quickening the pace and pulled her hair, bringing her neck into his palm. He got off on her gasping, the way her throat contracted in his hand as he applied more pressure.

He brought her close to hear her cries until he finished himself with a final pump inside her.

Uncaring he dumped her body, letting it hit the slightly wrinkled sheets as he undressed to shower.

Tomie gently tapped the traditional shoji door with a gold plaque etched Tokoyami , “sumimasen…Fumiko-San?”

A short and slender woman with a raven shaped face slid the shoji open and ushered her inside, “hello Tomie-San! Looking for another job? Is Kanaye-San with you because Tsukiya is at the meetup apartment.”

“I actually came to talk with you. Kanaye is out of town with another gang.” Tomie squeezed the hem of her cardigan.

“Of course, you’re a long time friend! Let me get some tea and we can catch up!” Fumiko disappeared into the kitchen to collect a Tokoyami custom tetsubin (cast-iron kettle), a large vase of water, tea leaves in a porcelain dish and two tea cups.

Fumiko brought the kit to the irori (sunken hearth) where Tomie sat. She filled the kettle with it’s first round of water, bringing it to a slow boil. The women sat in silence for a while, absorbing the company.

Fumiko’s porcelain skin peeked from her sleeves, her raven face analyzed Tomie’s body. She took account of the bruises that were barely hidden on her forearm.

“How have you been Tomie?” Fumiko asked, replacing the boiling water with fresh water and tea leaves. She placed the kettle back over the flame to officially prepare the tea.

“Fine. Lots of jobs, thanks to the Shadow Mafia.” Tomie smiled.

“Tsukiya does all the work finding the connections for you and Kanaye. You are the greatest thieves in the underworld. To be frank, you’re a hot commodity by some of the big names across Japan…” Fumiko paused, to flip the cups over, “...and with this new deal, maybe worldwide.”

Tomie chuckled, “it’s an honor to work with you. Do you really think we could get international contract?”

Fumiko scrunched her nose in disbelief, “oh absolutely! How could you not? You’re clean on jobs, efficient, and The Takami Thief is murmured as a thing to be feared. You and Kanaye will have so many jobs to choose from. Dealer’s choice!”

Tomie paused, taking in her compliments. She gripped her cardigan that lay over her thighs, “I don’t know how well that will work…” She leaned onto her knees.

Fumiko pulled the boiling tea from the flame and poured it into the cups. She gently handed one to Tomie and pointed to her bruised arm, “are you planning to leave?”

There was a dense bout of silence before Fumiko continued, “are you planning on getting out of your marriage, Tsukiya can help. We can have our prediction team, Dark Shadow, watch over you. Neither of us like that Kanaye beats yo-...”

“I’m pregnant.” Tomie muttered in a dry and cold tone.

Chapter 2 available August 20th

#hawks #bnha hawks #hawks mha #mha #bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha au #mha au #keigo takami #mha takami keigo #keigo au #keigo takami au #takami keigo #takami keigo au #hawks bnha au #tomie takami

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crystal-moon-101 · 4 years ago

Photo

Ehhhhh, more redesigns/rewrites! The Hong Kong Gang up here. And yes, I added Circe because I see her as part of the squad.

-Cricket-

I tried to make her a little more bug like. Adding a couple more details to the body, adding those palps to her face and changing the white in her eyes to black. Her outfit is slightly different but I changed her hair to a pixie cut, because I thought she'd suit a shorter hair style.

Notes:

16 Years Old

5'5 (When she is half cured, she becomes 5'4)

Real name is ‘Chen Tsui’

Because of her strange bug legs, she had to wear very short shorts. She didn't feel comfortable walking around with them on, however. So she ended up also wearing her skirt.

Before she mutated, she lived with her parents. They weren't the greatest of people, both extremely rich and successful in their businesses, expecting the same with their daughter. They constantly put her down and emotional abused her. The moment she became EVO, they kicked her onto the streets.

Use to have long hair, but Skwydd helped her cut and style it to a much shorter length. It was mostly so it didn't get in the way with the amount of jumping she did, but also a little rebellion against her parents. They would never allow such a look.

Excellent chief, food is often a ten out of ten.

Was the only one in the gang, including Rex, who was already in Hong Kong before going EVO.

When she is incredibly happy, the palps on her face will wiggle.

Emotional sponge of the group.

Because of her up bringing, she sometimes just does insane or stupid stuff out of nowhere because things use to be so uptight and strict for her. It strangely relaxes her.

Took her weeks to figure out how to walk with those legs.

Loves candles, especially scented ones.

Has a thing for street boys with a heart of gold (*Cough* *Cough* Rex *Cough* Tuck *Cough*).

Many don't notice it, but her and Skwydd have a sibling like relationship.

-Tuck-

I changed him the least. His original design is very simple so I couldn't think of much to do. I did rough up his shirt a little more, adjust his build and give him a loose belt.

Notes:

17 Years Old

6'0 (Later grows to be 6'3.)

Full name 'Tuck Byron Craig'

Leader of The Hong Kong Gang since Rex left.

Before he mutated, he lived with his single father, who was a car mechanic. They were happy together, but sadly, they weren't in the best financial situation. They ended up borrowing money from some dangerous people, and when they couldn't came back they came to their place. A fight broke out, Tuck's father was killed and he ran away, living on the streets ever since, eventually mutating.

When Rex vanished, he spent the longest time looking for him. Skwydd assumed the worst quickly and Cricket gave up after a few weeks, while Tuck looked for months.

No.1 Bro to all.

Quarry had made plans to give Tuck Rex's hold spot, but he trash the idea when he saw that he didn't have the same flare as Rex did.

Because of his father, he knows a lot about mechanics with cars or motorcycles.

The one most likely to want to talk things through than fight if there is a chance (Cricket is too quick on defense, Skwydd doesn't trust easily and Circe many issues.)

God awful at trying to speak another language. Cricket tried teaching him Cantonese, but his pronunciations were way off. He tries, he really does.

Would have gotten his ear pierces if he had ears.

He likes crappy high school films, they always just make him laugh.

He's had a thing for Cricket for a long time, but when it became apparent to him she liked Rex, he didn't make any attempt. But now, in the present, he's began trying since it's clear nothing will come between the two.

-Skwydd-

Small squish boy. Honestly my favorite out of the crew. But anyway, I made his tentacles a little longer, gave him little eyebrow things, a gradient on his hands and gave him a new jacket/jumper.

Notes:

15 Years Old

5'6

Real name is ‘Walter Milo Martin’

Emo with a secret soft heart <3.

Before he mutated, he was the child of a young couple who died in an accident, so he was giving to his maternal Grandmother, who was happy to raise him. Bit of an odd child, but he loved his Grandma and had a lovely relationship with her. Even when he turned EVO, she accepted him. However, in her older years she started having heart problems and died one morning. He, of course, called for help, but fled before anyone arrived. He knew very well that being an EVO will get him into trouble. Since then, he's lived on the streets.

He loves art, his favorite form being ink stuff, ironically. Him and Rex like to share drawings, one of the few quiet moments they have with one another.

Has a dorky crush on Circe.

Has a very squishy body and it's honestly nice to hug him, if he allows it.

While his ink spray is his main defense, his does have one nasty bite.

Also, his ink stuff stains, badly.

Has suction cups on his hand/fingers. It's the only way he can hold stuff with them.

Probably listens to My Chemical Romance or piano music.

Knows how the play the flute, a skill learnt from his Grandma.

The one you could vent to for hours without him having to talk too.

Has a really strange bone structure. Like, some parts of him has bones, some don't.

Had to painfully watch the love situation between Rex, Cricket and Tuck on the sidelines.

His real hair is quite long and he learnt early on how to cut, brush and manage hair, even style it. Sadly, he can't really do that anymore, and Cricket hair is too short to style, while Tuck has none. However, sometime after Circe joined and was comfortable enough, she lets him style it for her.

-Circe Kleiss-

You read that right, in this rewrite/reboot/WHATEVER!? Circe is the daughter of Van Kleiss. It was an idea me and my friend came up with, as a way to explain some of her actions and motives, but also for more dramaaaaaa, along with adding onto Van Kleiss's character. Yes, this also means her and Rex knew each other before the Nanite Event. Again, adds more drama. Her outfit changes were to be more practical, especially because of where the Pack lives and sends her on missions. I also made her a little muscular, because this girl has quite the training. Still a bit of a goth girl though.

Notes:

16 Years Old

5'8 (Grows to be around 6'0 in her young adult years.)

Fear this girl, she knows how to fight.

She was young when her mother died, roughly four years old, so she doesn't remember her that well. However, her father has always openly talked about her to Circe, so she knows her mother was a lovely person, with a personality that somehow made the cruelest of people smile. Sadly, she died to an untreatable disease, though this is was resulting in Van Kleiss joining the Nanite Project, after learning that it was suppose to prevent illnesses.

Biowulf was her primary training, so they have some respect for each other, but can get snarky at one another.

Her and Breach however? Not that great of a relationship. Circe does feel a little bad, as she understands Breach is not all there, but that doesn't stop them from bickering.

Skalamander and her have a rather peaceful relationship. She appreciates all that he does, even if it's minimal compared to the other two.

You could imagine her shock when she saw Rex, her childhood friend, alive. Gave quite the yelling at her father when she learns he never told her this.

Her and Cricket like to have little make up session, even if Cricket doesn't keep hers on afterwards.

She's really good a writing, often making little poems or short stories here and there. Horror is a favorite of hers.

In the past, her and Rex were the only kids around the labs during the Nanite Project. You can imagine the trouble they caused.

She has trouble standing up for herself, but lord forbid you say something about her friend.

She likes to watch murder mysterious, often getting really into the story and making predictions all the time.

Has the least knowledge of online culture.

Has a giant EVO worm thing as a pet (This one is actually in the show).

#GeneratorRex #GR #Generator Rex #EVO #Generator Rex EVO #Generator Rex Hong Kong Gang #Generator Rex Cricket #Cricket #Generator Rex Tuck #Tuck #Generator Rex Skwydd #Skwydd #Generator Rex Circe #Circe #redesign #Generator Rex Redesign #headcanon #Generator Rex Headcanon #My Art

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hoodoo12 · 5 years ago

Text

Beetlejuice Squared 2: You Asked For It (1/3)

Yinz are thirsty for this and I absolutely love it. As requested, this features the same characters from Beetlejuice Squared (read here), heavy on the Blumjuice. Also, just to remind, this one will feature your (you, the audience’s) choice of ending. I’ll provide more details to that when we get closer to it. Word count is ~7000, not including the endings. (Much and many thanks to @beejiesbitch! Reading through this, catching my typos, making suggestions that in turn made me cackle: every second you helped was much appreciated! 💖) @beetlebitchywitch @beetlejuicebeadoll @sapphic-florals @turtlepated @realmonsterboyhours @monsterlovinghours @witchyrem-ains @beebeyjuice NSFW. Beetlejuice/f!reader. Adult language and hardcore, heavy smut. Enjoy!

You wiped your eyes and nose. You were so sick of crying! At first you couldn’t stop because you felt like you were in the bottom of a hole, where it was dark, and sadness crushed you. But recently, something shifted inside you. Sadness was still there, the pathetic animal that it was, but a new beast reared its head. You were so angry about crying this much!

You didn’t need to feel sorry for yourself! It wasn’t your fault! It was his. You shouldn’t be crying over him. You weren’t crying over him any more! Besides, you didn’t need him. He left, but you didn’t need to be alone. As a matter of fact--

With a shake, you pushed yourself off your bed. You stripped the dirty sheets that you’d been crying into for so long, that still held a faint whiff of him. Earlier you hadn’t wanted to change them so you could still pretend that he was still around, but now? Fuck it. You balled up the sheets tightly, took great pleasure in punching them for a second, and dropped them down the laundry chute imagining the entire time it was him. After the bed was tidied with fresh sheets you cleaned yourself, using so much hot water you were surprised it didn’t run out. Leisurely you blew dry your hair. You went through your closet and scrutinized each bit of lingerie you owned, before settling on a black bra and panty set with white lace trim, a matching garter belt, and some black and white striped stockings. Over all that, you slipped into a black dress designed for clubbing and applied some light makeup. Finally looking presentable and feeling human again, you smiled to yourself. You didn’t need him. With your mouth still stretched into a grin, you called, “Bheteljuz, Bheteljuz, Bheteljuz!”

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

With the same flash that had burnt out your retinas before, he appeared in front of you. “Oh my god! Babydoll!” he exclaimed, excitement lilting his voice and lighting his face.

He held his arms out for a hug and you stepped into him, wrapping your arms where they were comfortable, around his waist, pressing your cheek against the tie on his chest. Beetlejuice 2.0--not that you would ever say that nickname aloud--hugged you tightly back, resting the side of his chin on your head. “Hi Beej,” you muttered into his shirt.

After standing in the embrace for an amount of time that would’ve been awkward if you both hadn’t already been naked together, it naturally paused. Not moving away, you looked up at him, dislodging his chin. “I’m glad you came.” “Of course I came, babydoll! You whistle and I come running! My name from your lips--it just makes me gooey on the inside and I can’t get here fast enough,” he said with a wink, then glanced up and around the room. “Where’s the short asshole version of me?” You wiggled your arm out from under his to take his jaw so he’d look down at you again. “He’s not here,” you said, and were pretty damn proud this time tears didn’t fill your eyes. “And he’s not coming back. His is an asshole, and after I found out--” You cut yourself off before explaining more by pinching your lips together; the wound was still fresh. “--doesn’t matter,” you finished instead, with a shrug. “I told him to fuck off and kicked him out, and decided I’d rather get to know you better.”

Beetlejuice’s eyes were bright. “Am I a rebound for you, babydoll? Is this rebound sex? Are you getting back at him? Because--” Immediately you protested, no, no it wasn’t, you hadn’t stopped thinking about him since the last time, you really did want to get to know him better, it didn’t have anything to do with him, he wasn’t coming back--

Beetlejuice leaned down and put his mouth right next to your ear as you babbled.

“--because I’m totally cool with that,” he finished in a husky whisper. He pulled back enough that you could see the smirk on his face, and then his mouth covered yours and his tongue was between your lips.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

There was desire and glee in that kiss, all flavored with a base note of desperation. This Beetlejuice took great pleasure in keeping you held tightly against him. You didn’t fight him on it; you’d missed the taste of him, and he was taller, so it was like something new but familiar at the same time.

This time, however, not being stoned made everything sharper. You’d never noticed his teeth were just a smidge less pointed as he nipped greedily at your neck, or his hands so much larger as they roamed your body. You were steadier on your feet, too, so standing tip toe wasn’t as taxing as it’d been before. Your hands returned the favor over his body, petting from shoulders to lower back to ass to crotch, squeezing him and groaning in anticipation.

It was obvious what you’d wanted, so he didn’t hesitate to flick away your scrap of a dress. His eyes widened at what you’d chosen to wear underneath, however. “You dressed up for me, babydoll?” he murmured, his black-nailed fingers following the edge of your garter belt, around your hip to where it hugged you at the small of your back.

“I wanted to look nice,” you agreed. “Something special.”

Beetlejuice smirked again, muttering something about how even that much clothing was going to get in the way. You grabbed him by the tie and yanked him downward, kissing his open mouth as he gasped. Then you took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom.

Once there, when you turned around again, you couldn’t help but laugh in surprise: he’d shed his suit without your knowledge and was wearing only striped boxer briefs. “Something special,” he announced, gesturing theatrically to himself.

You had to agree with his earlier assessment that even that one piece of clothing was too much.

Falling onto the bed, you ravished him.

You spent an inordinate amount of time sucking and playing with his nipples. You discovered you could just barely fit the tip of your tongue under the ouroboros shields and strum them lightly. Beetlejuice mewled with each tug on them and occasionally, when you took a larger chunk of his flesh around his nipple between your teeth but still continued to flick at his piercings, he grabbed the back of your head and held you in place, crying out more loudly.

When you finally left off his chest, both nipples were deeply colored, stiff, and shiny from spit. Your chin on his sternum, you grinned up at him before continuing down his belly.

You left a wide path of wet suction marks though the hair on his abdomen, winding your way down to his groin with no set pattern. Like the time before, he seemed a little sensitive, like this attention was just shy of being overwhelming. You could feel the tension in his thighs as you settled further between his legs.

There was a damp patch on his underwear and his erection strained the fabric. You stroked him through the barrier of his underwear for a second, before looking back up at him. Beetlejuice watched you with dark, lust-blown eyes. He’d hiked himself up on his elbows for a better view. “What’ll it be, Beej? Mouth or tits?” you asked him, although you didn’t exactly give him a fair chance to answer when you mouthed his shaft through the fabric.

He jerked a little at such a minor touch, and reached down to brush some of your hair out of your face. He followed that gesture with cupping your jaw, so you couldn’t drop your head to tease him again. “If I say both is that going to make me sound too much like a slut?” he asked in return.

You laughed and replied, “Not at all. I like that you know what you want,” and stripped him of his underwear before he could just snap it away. He returned the favor by making your bra disappear. You settled back between his thighs. His cock rested stiffly against his belly. A small bead of pre-come was already re-forming at the tip, and the line of hair that led from his belly button to his groin had taken on a decidedly pink hue. After taking all that in, you glanced up at him to find him still watching you with bated breath. His tongue touched the corner of his lip, but he was frozen besides that.

Keeping eye contact with him, you raised an eyebrow to him and smirked, then dipped your head and dragged your tongue up the underside of his cock. He gave a breathy, almost silent moan. When you reached the head, you lapped the pre-come from the slit delicately. He repeated the sound. Then, still watching him watch you, you opened your mouth, licked your lips, and swallowed him.

Because his cock was dry, you didn’t make it all the way to the base, but Beetlejuice didn’t restrain himself and jerked, driving it to your throat. As he was slightly lengthier than him, the Beetlejuice you’d kicked out of your life, it made you retch just a little before you could control the reaction.

When you had yourself under control, you glanced up at him but didn’t wipe the tears that had come to your eyes away. “Sorry not sorry, babydoll,” Beetlejuice told you. You rolled your eyes and sucked him, hard, as a response. He jerked again, involuntarily, but you were ready for it this time and chuckled around his cock.

Then you blew him in earnest, sucking and licking and occasionally keeping him so deep in your throat that your nose was crushed into his now vibrantly pink pubic hair. You liked holding him there until you had to pull off with a gasp because your lungs demanded air. You stroked him by hand too, for variety; holding the base of his cock while your mouth worked the head, twisting and pulling when you gave your jaw a break. In short order, his entire groin was dripping with spit. The lower part of your face was too. Through it all, Beetlejuice groaned and gasped. He trembled and once, when you glanced up, you saw that he didn’t know what to do with his hands: they clenched the air, then his outer thighs. With your free hand you grabbed one of his and directed it to the back of your head. Immediately his fingers tightened in your hair, pulling it a little. You gave him an appreciative little groan to encourage him more, and he took the hint. He pulled and released, and you followed his non-verbal directions, moving up and down his cock in time with his hand, at the pace he dictated. When his fingers became too tight and his hand immobile during another deep moment and his moans ratcheted upward, you fought against his quickly approaching, inevitable end by shaking your head minutely to dislodge his grip and dragging your mouth off him. A thin string of saliva bridged between his cock and your lower lip.

Beetlejuice cried out at the sudden lack of stimulation and opened his eyes, staring at you for a moment in a mixture of disbelief and relief.

“Shit, babydoll, your mouth is fucking amazing--” he started to say, but you didn’t give him much time recover. You hiked yourself up to kneel over him, pushed his cock between the valley of your tits, and rocked to fuck him that way too.

There was so much wetness on his cock it lubed your skin. He curled a little, at his core, and grabbed you over your own hands, pinching them and your skin too hard, crying out as his cock plowed between your tits. Looking up at him you saw his hair was deep magenta, his eyes screwed shut and his mouth open; his moan undulated as pleasure wracked him. You dropped your chin to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock and he stilled abruptly--

--with no warning you threw yourself backwards away from him. His moan choked into almost a sob as once again he was left hanging on the cusp of coming. This time had been closer; his cock, deeply flushed, bobbed against his lower belly ominously.

One of his hands went towards it. It was an involuntary reaction, you knew, but you grabbed his wrist and kept it away from his cock nonetheless.

Beetlejuice��s eyes opened, looking slightly vacant. “Fucking hell,” he croaked.

“Are you sorry I stopped?”

His gaze dropped to yours and sharpened. “Not at fucking all, babydoll. I needed a break. I want to return the favor--”

And in the next blink, you found your positions reversed: you flat on your back and Beetlejuice between your legs. Your panties had disappeared too, leaving you with just your garter belt and stockings. He shoved his hands under your ass to lift your hips a bit, and grinned up at you, keeping eye contact while he kissed the skin above your stocking on your inner thigh. You recognized that smirk; you’d given the same to him before you’d gone down on him. It made your breath catch in your throat.

“Your pussy smells so sweet, babydoll,” he murmured, and dropped his mouth onto you.

Just as he had, you gave an involuntary jerk and gasp. Beetlejuice ate you out like this was a competition and he was vying for the championship title. No dainty, perfunctory licks like was shown in some porn before the real action started. He was sloppy, using his entire mouth to engulf you while shoving his tongue deep inside your pussy. He dragged his tongue in a wide solid line through your folds. He nuzzled in and found your clit; when he sucked a bit too hard on it, you cried out more sharply in borderline pain and yanked roughly on his hair. He immediately backed off to blow gently on the sensitive nub instead. You writhed at that treatment, and, having learned your boundary, the tip of his tongue lapped at your clit instead.

Between the waves of pleasure that were threatening to drag you under, you somehow managed to pick up your head and look down at him. Although back to being tongue deep in your pussy, Beetlejuice glanced up and caught your eyes.

“You taste so fucking good,” his voice said, in your ear. It was smoother, more like raw silk than the gravel you were so used to with him, and you shivered. His thrown voice continued. “I could eat your pussy for hours, babydoll. Would you like that? Would you like my tongue to fuck you, would you like my lips to tease your clit till you were crying? I wouldn’t edge you. I’d make you come over and over until you lost your voice--”

You felt you were on the verge of that already, having moaned and gasped the entire time he’d been at your groin.

“--that’s be so delicious, babydoll, I’d like to lick up all your wet, I’d drink it all down if you squirted on my face--”

His wicked tongue--both physically and metaphorically--sent you over the edge. You did lose your voice for a moment, wheezing as you ran out of breath because the orgasm he drew out of you started as an explosion but stretched long and thin.

When you were finally able to focus on the real world again, Beetlejuice hadn’t moved from between your legs. He still glanced up at you, and his tongue was more gentle, slipping along your pussy now, but he continued to whisper in your ear.

“That was fucking beautiful, babydoll. You taste so good. Some people think it’s not fair that women can come multiple times in a row, but I like it, because I like being able to give them to you. Ready for another, babydoll? Want my fingers in you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, which was good because you wouldn’t have been able to reply anyway. You felt his fingers delve through your pussy, collecting the mixture of his spit and your juices before dipping inside your cunt. You arched your back and cried out as he opened you up, and when he began finger fucking you in earnest while using the tip of his tongue to make circles around your clit, you couldn’t control yourself as another orgasm rushed you.

Your legs snapped as shut as they could around his head and your hand once again tightened in his hair as you came once again. You also couldn’t prevent yourself from canting your pelvis to grind down on him at the same time, and over the blood pounding in your ears you heard his disembodied voice chuckle.

This time as you gradually relaxed and drifted back to reality, your limbs shook.

Beetlejuice was still stationed between your legs, ready to dive back in, but you needed a break. Gently, you pushed his head away. Your hand came off his head with strands of pink hair caught between your fingers; you’d yanked some of it out during the force of your orgasm, and you hadn’t even realized it.

“Sorry, Beej!” you apologized in horror.

“Don’t worry, babydoll, it’s nothing,” he replied with a grin to assure you. “I fucking loved that you couldn’t control yourself. Losing a bit of hair is a price I’m willing to pay for you coming on my mouth.”

He grinned at you, then crawled his way back up your torso. Laying belly to belly as he supported himself on his elbows, you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer. His mouth tasted like your pussy and you sucked the flavor of yourself off his tongue like you were sucking his cock. While he was distracted, you dropped your hands from his back to his front, slipping them gently between your chests to tweak his nipple shields again. Beetlejuice gasped and jerked, then groaned. He looked down his chest to watch your fingers play. He dragged his eyes away from what you were doing to say, “I wanna fuck you, babydoll. Is that . . . is that all right?”

He sounded so concerned. Like there was the possibility you were going to say no. You cupped his cheek. “Beej,” you told him, trying to convey sheer sincerity, “I want you to fuck me.”

He lit up then, as if he had seriously thought you were going to banish him back to the Netherworld with blue balls. Still, he fretted, “It’s just . . . just . . . I don’t get called on often, people call on the short asshole version of me because they want him more, and--”

You shushed him with a kiss before saying, “Haven’t you been paying attention? I called you here because I want you. Okay?”

He nodded quickly, like he was worried you’d get upset if he didn’t agree. He was such an odd mix of dirty and sweet. You decided you liked it. “So then . . .” you prompted, rocking your hips as best you could under him. The movement made his cock shift a little from where it pressed against your pubic bone. When he didn’t adjust himself quickly enough, you slipped your hand between your belly and his to give him a suggestive shove on his hip to move him lower. He lifted himself and complied, but seemed content to watch your hand do all the work positioning him correctly. He gave a soft moan as you ran your hand down his cock, then followed your hand with his eyes as you brought it back to your mouth to coat your palm in saliva before grasping and stroking him again. His moan was louder with that and you grinned. You wanted to hear it even louder.

Taking the base of his cock and holding him steady, you urged him forward with a gentle tug. The head of his cock slipped inside you then and, once started, he continued smoothly until he was sheathed deep in your cunt. You got your wish: Beetlejuice moaned the loudest at that. So did you.

He hesitated for a moment. You couldn’t tell why; he didn’t need to catch his breath because he didn’t have any. Then it dawned on you he paused for you, you were panting. His length inside you felt delicious, fucking divine, and you told him so. “Fuck, Beej, your cock--it’s so good, so good, please, please fucking fuck me--!” Maybe it wasn’t the most poetic, articulate sentence in the world, but it got your point across.

Beetlejuice grinned and started. His smile faded almost immediately, replaced by a slack jaw and a tongue that occasionally dragged itself over his lower lip. His moans were deep, reverberating in his chest. He thrust into you with single-minded determination, like once again he was afraid you were going to send him away mid-fuck. You’d have slowed him down, tried to make him realize there wasn’t any danger being banished. You’d learned from the other one to curtail your natural tendency to call out his name during sex. But feeling his cock so deep inside you, the friction he created as he thrust, him burying his face in the side of your neck and taking a hunk of skin between his teeth like that was grounding him--all of that increased your pleasure. He’d made you come twice already, which always primed you for more. You found yourself begging for his cock, pleading with him to fuck you harder, please Beej, harder, fuck me harder--

As little as you’d done, and even with the break he’d gotten, you’d teased and edged him too long. He accommodated your requests as best he could, but not long after he started he shoved himself as deeply as he could into your pussy. A sudden stillness came over him. You grabbed him at his waist and ass, squeezing, continuing to try and rock up onto him. He gave a small, involuntary judder of his hips, and gave the deepest moan yet as he came inside you. He was motionless for a moment as euphoria dragged him under, then he collapsed atop you. His weight, now fully pressing his pubic bone against your clit while his cock still throbbed the last stage of his ejaculation inside your pussy, was enough to make you tumble off the edge too. You came hard, holding him tightly as your pussy clenched around him. Beetlejuice felt it too, and gasped next to your ear. Then you were both trembling messes, in the afterglow. You made no move to push him off you. You held him in place and combed your fingers through his hair while you tried to catch your breath. Beetlejuice kissed the spot on your neck he’d grabbed with his teeth, and sighed contentedly. When he finally did unstick himself from your chest, he groaned as he pulled out of you. You did too. Even dripping with his come, you felt empty without his cock inside you. Beetlejuice lay down beside you and stared at the ceiling. You groped for his hand and laced your fingers between his, happy this evening had been so good. “So what did happen between you and him, babydoll?” he finally asked, breaking the silence. “I’m not complaining you called me up, but for everyone else, he’s their main squeeze.” If you hadn’t been in such a blissed out state, or if he hadn’t hit the nail on the head, you might not have answered. But as it was . . . “That was the problem. He’s their ‘main squeeze’,” you spat, using finger quotes around the last two words. “I found out he was fucking around on me!” Beetlejuice picked up his head and cocked an eyebrow at you. You continued. “He’s been fucking all these other people! Men, women, whoever! He’d just go and fuck them however they wanted, and, and didn’t think anything of it--”

“You know that’s what I--we--do, right, babydoll?” Beetlejuice asked. “People summon me--us--and we go. It’s part of the whole ‘say my name three times’ thing. Did you think you were exclusive?” You glared at him, a little. “Yeah. Yeah, kind of,” you admitted. “He always came back here. I assumed I was the one he wanted to stay with--” “Assumed?” Beetlejuice interrupted quietly. “You can’t assume anything when you’re dealing with a ghost or a demon. We like things--and it’s in your best interest to make things--very clear.”

You sighed at his damn logic. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. I kicked him out. I don’t want to be some notch on a bedpost, just some random lay. Or worse than that, just some place holder till something better comes along.” “Am I some random lay to you, babydoll? Am I a place holder?” he asked, his voice even more quiet. You looked over at him. He looked a combination of resigned of his lot in life but with the faintest air of hopefully eager that maybe, just maybe, he’d gotten luckier this time. His hair was shot through with purple. He was so similar to but different than the Beetlejuice you’d told to fuck off, and you realized you really did like him, minor insecurity and all.

“I’d like to think it’s not,” you admitted to him. “I liked tonight. Would you like to stay?” A smile broke over his face. “I’d like that a lot, babydoll! I think we’d make a great pair--”

He leaned in to kiss you sweetly on the mouth. Your hand automatically came up to his jaw, and your tongues explored each other. You were still mostly naked but felt flushed. Realizing that you couldn’t handle the other Beetlejuice’s popularity and reputation had turned out to be fortuitous. You’d enjoyed what you’d done tonight. You enjoyed summoning and having a good time with this Beetlejuice and, selfishly, you hoped he did too and would want to stick around. You were just about to say something more, something sappy, but from the other room a familiar voice that sounded like sandpaper in your ears called out, “Hey honey, I’m home!”

tbc . . .

#beetlejuice #betelgeuse #writing #fanfiction #musical Beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader

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parkeraul · 6 years ago

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right there

shawn mendes x reader words: 1.229 warnings: smut because haunted! you guys are haunted requested by anon: “blurb where shawn eats you out? just that”

You can’t help but squirm everytime Shawn’s tongue goes up and down again slowly. His touch against you is wet, warm and deliciously soft as he covers your heat with his mouth wide open, sucking smoothly precise and you let out a desperate moan, giving his whole body chills. Hearing you while he eats you out might’ve become his favourite thing in the world. Nothing can describe the sensation of you completely at his mercy as you shamelessly cry out his name and gives him directions. “Babe, please…” You beg and his eyes are instantly on you, attentively waiting for an instruction. “A little bit more to-“ His sight still deeply connected with yours until you throw your head back. “Oh! That’s it!” Your body jumps lightly at the feeling. “What is it, baby?” His tongue moves faster, massaging your entrance relentlessly and your head starts to spin. “Right there,” You tug his curls with your fingers, pulling him closer as his massive hands are squeezing your thighs and bringing your core nearer to his face. “Just keep doing like this.” You’re practically gasping for air and you can’t control your body anymore. Your chest is moving quicker, the spasms taking over your stomach are highlighting your curves even more and Shawn is studying every detail. He loves to see that he can make you feel good enough to be unable to stay still. You bite your lower lip and close your eyes shut as he directs his swollen lips to your clit, grabbing it in his rosy pout and caressing it carefully. Your back arches and you support your body up on your elbows to see Shawn’s face buried between your legs, enjoying the taste of you and making sure every inch of your skin is reached by his fingers. His tattooed hand goes under your (his) hoodie and up your belly… to the side of your body… to your rib bones and then to cup one of your breasts. Immediately, he pinches your hard nipple between his fingers cautiously, but precisely. Just when you let out a sigh of relief, he notices that he’s being too nice by giving you everything you want so fast and gets back to his slow pace again. There wasn’t a single part of you that was left untouched. The more he savored a part of you, the more he focused on giving the other parts the double of pleasure. “Go faster, babe. I’m so close…” You warn him with difficulty between low moans and whimpers, letting your body rest again onto the mattress. Every nerve of your body already tingling, sparkling and hungry to finally feel that wonderful sensation of the climax. Wrong decision. When he listens to your weak voice begging, he sure wants more. And he’ll make you beg for more. His face is now moving towards yours so his soaked lips can meet yours, moistening them after a long time getting dry due to the fact that you just couldn’t close your mouth and quit groaning. Shawn’s calloused fingers are going back down to massage you tortuously unhurried as he leans down to cling his forehead with yours. His index finger works with his middle finger to play with your entrance, making you tremble under him and quickly hold his biceps strong enough for him to feel your nails nearly digging onto his skin. “What do you want?” Shawn asks and his lips are softly rubbing yours, excitedly waiting for that delicious whining of yours supplicating for a touch. The universe knows how much his body fights to resist you when you’re so weak for him. “I want you to stop torturing me,” Instantaneously, you ‘chastise’ him. “Make me cum.” “Ask nicely.” Shawn stops touching you to smack his hand down on the side of your ass. Both his palms are now traveling under your thighs to pull them forward, your knees almost touching your chest. Your body shivers in anticipation as he hold your legs up, but you avoid from his touch to part your thighs again and give him all the access to your wanting heat. “Please, Shawn…” You look at him with the best angelic face you could wear so maybe he’d stop being so pitiless. “Just finger me in that way only you know.” “Fuck!” His body is completely given to the goosebumps showing up all over the extension of his skin. He smiles to the sound of your tone caressing his ears like good music. “So wet, baby…” His fingers are lingering the way down as they coarsely glide inside of you with ease. “And so tight…” He pumps a few times until they come out to fill his mouth with your taste again. You enjoy the opportunity to take off the last piece of cloth covering your torso and toss it somewhere away from you. You fall back and run your hands through the strands of your hair as soon as Shawn spread your wetness before thrusting his fingers back inside you. His tongue joins right after, moving up and down rapidly as his lips are wrapped around your bundle of nerves to give it a gentle suction every now and then just to play with you. Whenever Shawn notices that you are getting used to the steady action, he sucks to catch you by surprise. His fingers are sliding in and out, hitting new spots and increasing the throbbing sensation pulsating on your entrance as your orgasm starts forming. Your vision gets blurry and Shawn picks up the speed. Your hips are stirring, totally incapable of being pinned in place and aching for more. “Don’t stop, Shawn,” You beg him. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” The whining coming out of your throat gets louder and louder and it makes Shawn replace his fingers with his tongue inside of you. It’s so delightfully tender, soaking you more and more as it slips back and forth, earning a deafening moan out of you. When you look down, Shawn is trying to hold back a smirk and it only makes you feel even more desired. He had never measured any efforts to please you the way you want, no matter how long it was going to take. “M’gonna cum babe.” You let him know. “Then scream it for me.” The vibration of his lips against you is sending you near the edge as your whines are echoing throughout the room. But Shawn is still hungry for more. “Louder, baby. I want this whole building to know how good I’m making you feel.” He demands and you pull his face closer with both hands. Your body is shaking, your lungs are begging for air and your moans are turning into screams as your thighs starts clenching and shaking. Shawn sucks harder when his tongue comes out and that was enough for you to roll your eyes back and give your body one of the most intense orgasms you had ever felt. Even with you finishing, he keeps his tongue flattened and traveling along your pussy calmly like you’re not achingly sensitive with your nerves slowly coming back from the high sensation. His cheeks are covered by a deep pink colour and his curls are messy, falling onto his forehead as his greenish eyes meet yours, winking and smiling from ear to ear. “That’s my girl.”

#shawn mendes #sm #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfics #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes smuts #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes blurbs #mine #ficsofmine #requested

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ducktracy · 5 years ago

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141. at your service madame (1936)

release date: august 29th, 1936

series: merrie melodies

director: friz freleng

starring: tedd pierce (w.c. squeals), martha wentworth (mrs. hamhock)

the last cartoon to be scored by norman spencer (who did NOT die in 1936, contrary to an interview mel blanc gave) and the first cartoon to feature reoccurring characters: piggy and w.c. squeals! a different piggy than the rudolf ising character—he’d make another appearance in the sequel pigs is pigs, voiced by bernice hansen, whereas w.c. squeals would reappear in another freleng short, the coocoo nut groove, and a tashlin short, cracked ice. squeals of course being a parody of comedian w.c. fields (camp lazlo fans! fields is one of the voice inspirations for lumpus, the other being richard nixon.) piggy hamhock is far from obedient, much to his mother’s chagrin. however, his rebellious spirit may come in handy when a greedy pig tries to swindle mrs. hamhock out of her fortune.

a beautiful shot at dawn as the sun rises, illuminating the exterior of a house. inside, a line of little pigs are all asleep in their beds. their mother downstairs prepares the finishing touches on breakfast, ringing a bell and summoning her kids. they all rise slowly... except for one pig on the end. he jolts out of bed in a split, running to get dressed and wash his face. a nice little detail as he slides back down the hallway and halts, running into the bathroom once more to wet his toothbrush. he zips down the stairs and assumes his position at the table, knife and fork in hand, eagerly awaiting his meal.

his siblings aren’t too far behind, all rushing down the hallway. a callback to the harman and ising days as we get yet another buttflap gag! man, and i thought we were past these. a constant reminder of the brazen harman-ising days, with butts and outhouses galore! one of the pigs trips in the midst of his excitement, the buttflap of his pajamas spilling open. another one of his siblings lifts him up and rebuttons the flap, pulling on the pig’s tail and smacking it against his butt for good measure.

already the hungry piglet is indulging in his food (cleverly displayed in a mini trough). his mother snaps “piggy! now you wait for the others!”, and piggy glowers down at his hands in impatient frustration. thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait for too long. the crowd of siblings come pouring in, piggy motioning for them to hurry up.

the mother pig instructs her children to begin by counting off a cadence “begin, 2, 3, 4!”, eating a spoonful at the final count. not at all unlike the barrage of synchronized gags in the oh so memorable tom palmer cartoon i’ve got to sing a torch song. coy as it is, it’s a great opportunity for friz to show off his timing. all of the pigs eat in obedient unison, keeping time... except, of course, for piggy, who scarfs down his food twice as fast (great timing as he’s still kept in time, 1/8 instead of 1/4). his mother takes notice and smacks him with a wooden stick. she scolds him, lamenting that he can’t behave like the others and that she doesn’t know what she’ll ever do with him. piggy frowns at his trough and impatiently drums his fingers along the sides.

transition to a pig caricature of w.c. fields strolling down the streets. on the other side of the street sits a deserted cigar on the sidewalk, still smoldering. HILARIOUS timing as view lines from w.c. squeals hit the cigar, accompanied by the sound of a car horn (one of the many daffy nose bite sounds effects). like some sort of weird game of frogger, squeals zips through busy traffic just to get the cigar, placing it in his mouth and chuffing on it as he continues his stroll. i absolutely love this for reasons unknown. maybe because i have some weird niche fascination with cigars and think they carry a lot of comedic value. i’m not sure either.

squeals stumbles across the pig household, where he picks up a stray newspaper and reads the headline: WIDOW INHERITS FORTUNE — mrs. hamhock who resides at 13 pine street. squeals reads it out loud, droning “13 pine street, huuuuh? i’ll have to remember that, yeeeaahh.” he looks at the mailbox in front of him, which is conveniently labeled 13 PINE. squeals marches onto the porch and prepares to ring the doorbell, but stops. instead he peers through the window, hilarious animation as his snout gets stuck to the window like a suction cup (a reoccurring gag) as he moves his head around. he attempts to pry his face off of the glass, his snout slapping him back in the face after some struggling.

now ready to pounce, squeals pretends to chalk and aim his cane like a pool stick, ringing the doorbell with it. he plucks the flowers out of mrs. hamhock’s window box, fashioning a makeshift bouquet. mrs. hamhock opens the top portion of the door to see who her guest is, and we see squeals tip his hat, greeting “good morning, my little chickadee!” (a saying used by fields in movies such as if i had a million. how appropriate!) the scene is staged very similarly to another scene in porky’s romance where petunia answers (and shuts out) a very smug and prideful porky. mrs. hamhock is no petunia, however—she allows squeals in, who hands her the bouquet. “pretty flowers for pretty lady!” mrs. hamhock giggles, inviting him to sit down.

they both cozy up on the couch, squeals holding mrs. hamhock’s hand. he spots a diamond ring and puts on a loupe, clearly interested in the ring as he admires “what a beautiful hand you have!” once again mrs. hamhock giggles, the gag enhanced as the ring turns out to be a gag ring, squirting water right in squeals’ eye.

squeals butters her up, scanning the surroundings as he gabs about how lovely her home is, very homey, yeahhh. he spots a safe right next to a piano, loaded with cash. just what he needed. he asks her if she plays piano, mentioning that he sings a little, and of course mrs. hamhock answers in the affirmative. she moves over to the piano and begins to play, squeals standing next to her and flashing an excited grin at the safe behind him. thus launches the title song, accompanied with tedd pierce’s hilarious, nasally, talk-songy w.c. fields impression.

piggy overhears the piano and the stranger and peers out from the upstairs landing. he makes his way down the stairs and stands behind squeals, so as to get a good look at him. squeals dismisses him (“go along son, you bother me!”), giving the safe a subtle turn of the knob after he waves his fingers at piggy. piggy grows suspicious and scowls, standing his ground. squeals once more pushes him away with his foot, and piggy once more inches closer. very amusing setup with squeals’ interjections of dismissal, finalized by a final kick that sends piggy flying into a fishbowl, getting the bowl stuck on his head. he frees himself, spitting out a half eaten fish in the process. the fish continues to swim around in its bowl, its entire body reduced to bones.

squeals gives the knob on the safe a few more turns, attempting to discreetly flash a few looks in the process, all while under the observant eye of piggy. at last he manages to open the safe, and piggy, sensing what’s going on, darts away to take action. the entire time, squeals is singing, stuffing wads of cash in his inside pockets, flashing a cheesy grin as he desperately attempts to keep things discreet.

the entire hamhock family is crowded around piggy, who whispers a plan in their ears. they all disperse, squeals still loading himself. piggy creeps into the room, now armed with an electrical cord. like in into your dance, piggy ties the cord around squeals’ tail, giving the okay to one of his siblings, who yanks on the cord of a lamp. instantly squeals is turned to bacon as he leaps into the air in agony. the song is put to a halt as mrs. hamhock recognizes piggy as the culprit, pushing squeals out of the way to scold him.

while mrs. hamhock continues her lecture, two of the pigs on the above landing lower a hook, snagging it on the end of squeals’ jacket. two other pigs crank the handle of a wringer, which lifts squeals up to the landing, through the bars and across the hallway, sliding down the stairs and under the rug, bumping into furniture in the process. great animation of the pattern on the rug whizzing by. he’s spun around two support beams, finally hitting a chandelier and hanging in the air, suspended. two other pigs charge down the banister of the staircase, armed with a moose head mount and ramming it into squeals’ butt.

he’s now swung like an uncontrollable piñata, hitting the side of the wall, his nose struggling to get unstuck as it smacks him like a suction cup (accompanied by great treg brown sound effects.) the pigs give him another push on the opposite end and the charade continues. eventually, he’s swung towards the open window, where one of the pigs closes the window on his head. piggy pushes an exercise shaker towards squeals and fashions it around his waist. with a simple start of the shaker, all of the cash in squeals’ pocket is shaken loose. the force of the vibration catapults him out of the window, the entire hamhock family (mother included) crowding around to ogle at him.

mrs. hamhock kisses the heads of her children in gratitude. squeals, meanwhile, is still shaking, uneasily grabbing his hat and cane and bidding goodbye—something you gotta hear. it’s hilarious, it sounds like his voice is glitching out and skipping as he talks and sputters along. what a great detail! iris out as he shakes along, walking into the horizon.

while i think pigs is pigs is more cinematographic, this is a very clever cartoon with some great comedic timing. even if you don’t know who w.c. fields is, w.c. squeals is hilarious and pierce does a great job of voicing him. he totally steals the show. i love the gag where he picks up the cigar off the street, and the scene where he’s stuffing fat stacks of cash into his coat and grinning as if everything is peachy keen is great. and, of course, the ending where his dialogue is skipping as he vibrates is very clever. timing was definitely a pivotal part to this cartoon, in terms of musical timing (the pigs eating their breakfast) and comedic timing. definitely a funny cartoon that’s worth a watch, it doesn’t at all feel like your archetypical friz freleng cartoon (like bingo crosbyana or something like that. not that it’s bad, but it’s certainly formulaic.)

link!

#lt #at your service madame #reviews #long post #freleng

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saizoswifey · 6 years ago

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Hi there! I'm in love with your NSFW headcannons! They are so long and detailed and really help inspire me. If you're taking requests could I request and Ikerev Kyle NSFW headcannon?

Thank you so much! I’m so glad they inspire you! Sure thing. Kyle is my favorite so these were a joy to think about lol.

Under a cut, this is LONG and DIRTY fyi

{Kyle Ash} {N//SFW HCs}

He is weak so a lot of positions that consist of him holding you up while fucking you in the shower or against a wall end up failing miserably and you both just end up falling on your asses and laughing.

He’s actually a bit (a lot) of a doofus sometimes and can be hard to catch on when you’re making advances at him. Then when he finally realizes, he is blushing like crazy.

Playful in bed and doesn’t mind being vocal. Laughing during sex is a normal occurrence.

Studies your body the same as he would study a textbook and takes his time to figure out what you respond to the most before attacking it to send you over the edge.

Light spanking is a huge kink for him. (Him spanking you, that is)

Like any man, he thinks its really hot when you wear skimpy things or when he comes back to his room and finds you waiting in lingerie. However, the little moments where you aren’t trying to be sexy are what turn him on the most.

When he’s studying and looks over and sees you with your hair messily pinned up, drowning in one of his shirts you’re using as a nighty and peering over a book on the bed…it takes everything in him not to just drop what he’s doing and slowly push you down underneath him on the bed. Letting his hands trail up your shirt to knead your breasts while he kisses you and lets you feel his arousal between your legs. Most of the time, that’s what he does, though.

Gets a major boner when you wear his stuff.

Putting on his glasses, wrapping his stethoscope around your neck or maybe you’re just in the clinic and he’s teaching you about things like you’re trying to listen for his heartbeat with it.

Or you wearing his lab coat. He gets super aroused. And that goes for teaching you as well. If you’re actually interested in what he knows and wanting to gain more knowledge and listen to him teach you things he finds it incredibly sexy and will start to kiss you and get handsy sometimes without even realizing it.

Wouldn’t even dream of coming inside of you unless you’re in an established and serious relationship. He’s a doctor, after all, he knows how babies are made.

Enjoys teasing the hell out of you. He’ll play with the ribbons of your nightgown, tugging on them playfully and dipping fingers slowly inside to caress your nipples with feather-light touches. Press his knee between your legs and grind up to your pussy while whispering in hot breaths.

“You look like you’re feeling good, your cheeks are all red. Where do you want me to kiss you? Your cheek? *kiss* “Hm…your neck?” *kiss* “…your chest…” *kiss* “Or……here?” He moves down between your thighs, running a flat tongue over your panties, up your slit and pressing into your clit. “You want my mouth here, don’t you? Say it. Ask me to make you feel good with my mouth.”

His favorite thing is a late night/all night fuck fests. He’s dragging it out with teasing and foreplay, fucking you all night long and the next morning everyone will think he’s just tired from being hungover as usual but you both will know the truth. He’ll probably send you some knowing looks and cheeky grins over his coffee cup when your eyes meet.

His style of fucking is slow and sensual with random quick bursts where he’s ramming into you as he gets closer to coming

Like’s to tease you and edge you by going as fast as his hips can go, then slowing it back down again, pressing all the way inside and stirring you up.

An ass man. Through and through. He loves grabbing it at random when you’re out on dates, when he passes you in the hallway or when you’re brushing your hair or teeth.

Again, expect some spanking on your ass while you ride his cock or if he’s fucking you from behind. Even when he is eating you out.

If you’re 69ing expect a few playful bites along with sweet kisses on your ass cheek between him burying his tongue in your pussy

ESPECIALLY when he is drunk

He gets super handsy and open when he drinks. He’ll nuzzle up to you and whine desperately for you to stroke his cock.

He’ll hug you from behind all tipsy and clumsy and start to pull at your clothes with a pleasant hum, placing kisses down your spine and groping hard at your ass

“Mmm….god, your ass is so sexy,” he lightly bites your cheek as he slips your underwear down your thighs to expose your wet pussy to his hot breath, “I wanna be friends with it.”

Crush.Him.With.Your.Thighs. He loves eating you out and feeling the soft plush skin squeezing around his head.

Likes to use you to study, sexily. He’ll lay with you on the bed, place a kiss on a body part and ask you to name it. If you get it wrong he’ll playfully bite you or write it on you with a pen to make you remember.

When he’s in a teasing mode he’ll slip his fingers inside of you, press his lips to your ear while he finger fucks you and ask you medical questions. To make sure you really were studying.

“Ahh…that’s my girl, concentrate. Answer correctly and I’ll let you come.”

SUPER clingy when he is drunk. Expect PDA at the bar in cradle (which, of course, sends Oliver home before he’s even finished his drink). He’ll kiss you and hold you and drunkenly lean on you. Tell you how pretty you are. One time he couldn’t stop staring down your shirt and when he had no problem lapping up a bit of beer that dripped between your cleavage you had to excuse yourselves immediately and rush him home.

His fucking world was ROCKED the first time you gave him head. It had been a late night at the clinic, followed by an even later night of studying and practically falling asleep over his books. You knocked on the door with a tray of sweets and some strong coffee and he was too tired to know how it led from that to you on your knees under the desk in front of him. Massaging his thighs and removing his belt. His breath caught in his throat when you pulled his cock into your hands and ran your wet hot tongue from the base to the tip. Every tense muscle and tired frustration tight and weighing on his body melted out of him when you started to suck. He didn’t know if it lasted 10 seconds or an hour, but he bit his lip and came down your throat. And the image of you, pulled back from his still hard cock with lidded eyes and hair debauched and a mess from the grip of his hands and his cum wetting your lips which glistened by the faint crystal light….It was one of the hottest fucking things he’s ever seen. And even now when you have to travel or he’s horny in his morning shower he thinks about that and jerks himself off, desperate for even a fraction of the pleasure your mouth can give him

For someone drunk and careless so often, he’s surprisingly well taken-care of and groomed. He’s super hygenic, as a doctor should be. He smells like betadine or rubbing alcohol or soap, normally. And he is very trim and proper downstairs. He takes care of himself.

Wasn’t experienced, like, at all, when he met you. You’re his first sexual partner. His life was steered into a direction he wasn’t ready or prepared for and he had no time or interest in being intimate with someone until he met you

Favorite position is you on top, esp reverse cowgirl as well so he can see your ass move back and forth as you fuck yourself with his cock. He can grip your hips and push you up and down or give you little spanks. It’s also convenient for sitting up when he is close to coming and holding you close so he can thrust into you hard, or push you down to your hands and knees and fuck you from behind while talking dirty into your ear

Isn’t super big on PDA when he is sober. Also rather against fucking you in the clinic unless he has no other choice. If you’re both going to be stuck there all night, and he has no patients, and there’s an empty bed you both are sleeping in…..he sometimes can’t help but get hard when he’s spooning you and feels your ass press against his cock. He’ll kiss your ear and neck and hike up your skirt to your waist, humping himself against your slit until you’re wet enough and hold a hand against your mouth to muffle your moans when he finally pushes inside of you and starts to fuck you.

It’s a bit of a secret kink to get dirty with you in his place of work where people might be able to stumble on you guys fucking. But he controls the urge 80% of the time

A switch with a tendency to dom. He doesn’t mind or object when you want to take the lead in the bedroom, but he prefers to be the one to take care of you and handle things. He wants to be the one to make you feel good.

Would enjoy using sex toys on you or watching you use them on yourself. Watching you naked, body glistening with sweat as you pant and use a vibrator on your clit to bring you to climax as he strokes his cock faster and faster, torturing himself with the thoughts and desires of plunging inside of you but restraining himself from doing so….he loves it. Butt plugs in you while he fills your pussy with his cock. Or if you ever wanted to try anal, placing a vibrating bullet inside of you while he does so or using a clit suction on you to get you off faster.

Not shy about moaning, and he can’t help but do so during sex. Mostly when he is close to coming. It’s a super hot, low growl of a moan. His body will shake and he’ll pull you close while snapping his hips up rapidly, moaning into your skin or the crescent of your neck and telling you he’s about to come.

Would be all for you ordering him around every now and again. Place your foot on his chest when he’s about to climb on top of you in bed. Tell him he’s not allowed to enter you until he gives you a full body massage. Get the oils out and instruct him on where you need him to massage the most. Make him do your shoulders and feet and lower back. Scold him when he tries to massage over your ass. Turn over and let him do your upper thighs, saying more, more, more, until he moves in closer and closer. He’ll cup your pussy,

“What about here? It feels tense…” he dips his fingers in and out of you, rubbing your clit

“Mmm, yes, there, harder-”

“Don’t worry, miss, I won’t stop until I am certain you’re feeling muuuch better.”

He is slender and small but his cock is surprisingly above average length. A jaw-dropping size you would never expect when he pulls his boxers down the first time and it springs forth. Which makes him blush in embarrassment, of course, and he yells at you to stop ogling him like he’s some circus freak.

That being said, he has seen so many dicks as an army doctor and he understands how he compares, so he always makes sure to take things slow with you and get you plenty wet before he penetrates you

Also has no problem just getting each other off orally or manually. He thinks it’s so hot to get creative and make each other cum without penetration on the table.

Rubbing his cock between your ass cheeks as he lays on top of you, or between your thighs from behind as he plays with your clit and sucks on your neck. These are more than acceptable ways to leave him satisfied

Or just jerking himself off while he licks and sucks your pussy

Sex doesn’t make him sleepy it actually wakes him up. It gives him a burst of energy and gets his adrenaline pumping so a majority of the time he will hold you close and cuddle you after sex, he’ll stroke your hair and wait for you to fall asleep then slip into his PJs and start studying again, until he sees dawn break.

So so so good with aftercare. He gets really sentimental after sex and he’ll grab your hands and kiss them, and look livingly into your eyes while caressing your cheeks or nuzzling his nose to yours. Lots of pecked kisses between words of devotion as he tells you how much he loves you and how beautiful you are.

Most of the time he wakes you up early with him the next morning

He’ll slap your ass “Wake up doctor sexy, time for work.” And hold a fresh hot cup of coffee out to you

He knows how much your work together means to you so he doesnt interfere or presume to know what’s best, unless he feels you absolutely need rest and have been working too hard.

He’ll let you sleep in and when you make it into the clinic with a sour face asking why he didn’t wake you he’ll just say,

“You looked tired and you’ve been pale lately. Don’t act like you haven’t been up past midnight the last week and a half with your nose pressed in a book. Get a big breakfast and then come back, take your time, doctors orders.”

#ikerev #ikemen revolution #kyle ash #ikerev kyle #ikerev headcanons #my writing

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curiositydooropened · 5 years ago

Text

Will’s Day

He caught his reflection in the full length mirror and paused to run fingertips along the scars of his abdomen. It was a daily occurrence, itching odd bits of skin that prickled, scrubbing himself in the shower, occasionally enjoying his hot tub alone, but since today was what it was, they struck different.

[In which Will is inundated with memories of a day he’s been trying to forget.]

Word Count: 5,116 words

Characters: Will, the Byers clan, and the rest of the Party

The buzzing of his cell phone against his writing desk indicated several texts coming in at one time, and Will stared at it over thick-rimmed glasses, graphite pencil poised in one hand. He regretted bringing it into his office, having done so out of habit. He’d answered e-mails from clients that morning while sipping his coffee, and he’d read the news after that. He was currently using it to broadcast ambient sounds around his studio while he sketched out his latest piece. He was annoyed at how dependent he’d become to the tiny hunk of metal and glass.

He supposed he wouldn’t have been annoyed if it wasn’t that day. That day, it came up every year, November 6th, the anniversary of the day he went missing. He tried to forget it, push it back into the recesses of his mind, lock away the horrors he’d been forced to speak about his entire life, the horrors that inspired his comic book series, made him famous. He owed his career to that day, and yet he wished it never happened.

It was also impossible to forget about that day when, like clockwork, every November 6th, he’d been inundated with texts of love from people he’d rarely spoken to since they went to college in different cities, had careers across the world, learned to distance themselves from their tortured pasts.

So, tossing his pencil gently aside, he took a deep breath, leaning back in his squeaky wooden chair, and he grabbed for his cell phone to read the latest well-wish from someone he missed who’d moved on with their life. Surprisingly, his first message was from his brother.

Jonathan: Mom said we’re going to yours for dinner. Want me to talk her out of it?

He loved his brother’s astute sense of awareness, but he knew there was no use. Mom would pound the door down just to see him. Especially today. He couldn’t do that to her.

No. Don’t want to upset her. Come on over around 6. Bring the family.

It had been a while since he’d seen his niece and nephews. Maybe having family around was what he needed to rid his shoulders of tension and his dreams of rows of teeth and growing vines.

On days like today, he hid his comics in a chest in the corner. It felt childish, but on Halloween, he’d rolled up his posters and pulled down his shelf of accomplishments, locking them away in the oversized trunk with his old purple wizard’s outfit and the super comm. He couldn’t have flower-shaped faces and the ghostly face of a teenaged girl staring back at him while he worked.

Another buzz in his hand startled his focus from the chest in the corner, and the device in his hand notified him of an incoming phone call from his mother. He removed his glasses, rubbing at tired eyes, and answered her call for the third time today.

“Will?”

“Hi, mom,” he sighed. The room around him went quiet from the lack of music, and there was the faint buzz of static in his ear, sending chills down his neck. His mom’s voice went in and out of the receiver. “Mom?” He felt frantic. He pushed off from his chair.

“Will, honey, can you hear me?”

“Mom, where are you?”

“Sorry, we’re at the grocery store. I never get any damn service in here.”

His breathing regulated, relief coursing through him. So it was going to be like that today. He sighed, exiting his office to find the pill cabinet above the kitchen sink. “What’s up?” He asked over the phone, filling a glass of water.

“Jonathan texted and said he’s bringing Nancy and the kids. Mike and El are coming too, is that okay?”

He sighed. He supposed he couldn’t avoid seeing his adopted siblings either, even though their faces haunted his dreams worse than the others. Their relationship had been strained in the past few years, not wanting their stories told as detailed in his comics. He understood it was for El’s safety, but they had to understand his need to tell his truth, his full truth, even if the general public thought it was a brilliant work of science fiction. “Of course. The more the merrier.” Did she want to invite Dustin and Lucas too?

“Is there anything you want us to pick up at the store? Hop’s thinking prime rib.”

“Sounds great, mom, as long as he’s cooking it.”

“You know I don’t let your mom cook anything,” Hop yelled over the noise of the store. “Don’t want to burn your nice house down.” Lovely, she’d dialed him on speaker phone at the grocery store. He supposed he should be grateful it wasn’t a video chat.

“Good call, Hop,” he grit his teeth, downing his dosage of anxiety medication and chugging water to wash them down.

“Listen, sweetie, we’ve got to go. We’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay, love you.”

“Love you too.” Click.

Once again, his house was drowned in silence. He hit play on his music and waltzed back into the office. The trunk continued to stare from the corner as he hunched back over his work, throwing his glasses on to sketch small details for his latest client. Oftentimes, he’d do artwork for several ghostwritten comics. He did an issue of X-Men once, which had been his ultimate dream. Getting the news of that was probably the best day of his life. He didn’t have anything else to compare it to, no weddings, no babies.

He glanced upward at the picture of his family rooted to his shelf next to a myriad of awards. His mom and Hopper took up the center, one massive and one tiny, hands intertwined on her shoulder. Mike and Eleven were to the left, cradled in each other’s arms with beaming faces. Jonathan and Nancy were clutching at her swollen stomach. Their other two kids made funny faces at the camera, striking goofy poses. Will was in the back, a half-hearted smile on his face, wondering when he’d have a partner to show the family. That was ten years ago, before Teddy had been born.

Two hours into his work, desk vibrations signaled a new message. He stretched his hands, cracking at tired knuckles. He’d made some significant headway on his drawing, allowing his art to distract from the day or the time or even the real world around him. He supposed that’s why he’d turned to art in the first place, as a distraction.

Now, grappling for his phone, he glanced to see the familiar name pop up with a photo.

Dustin: Look who I stumbled upon! Miss you, buddy!

Dustin’s curls had been cropped short and tight, but he had the same infectious smile, one arm cocked around the shoulders of an aged Steve Harrington. The older man still had the hair, though it was graying significantly, and wrinkles had formed around his brown eyes. The selfie was cropped too tight for Will to make out a location, and he wondered if Dustin had gone to visit Hawkins that week, or perhaps Steve was in DC. He realized he wasn’t sure where Steve was living now, what he’d done with his life.

Blast from the past. Miss you too. Hope they haven’t kicked you out of Washington yet.

The response came quicker than he anticipated.

I would say ‘never’, but with this administration, who the hell knows? Hope Chicago’s treating you well. Any good comics to watch out for?

Dustin always was his biggest fan. Although he didn’t appreciate the portrayal of the loud-mouthed, chubby kid, Will knew Dustin was ecstatic to be the star of a comic book. They always geeked out together about X-Men among other things. They’d drifted apart of the years when Dustin moved away and had a family, but they’d always have long nights perched under Cerebro, making calls to Salt Lake City.

New volume closer to Christmas. I’m actually working on something for DarkHorse at the moment.

Awesome, man. I’ve gotta head back to work. Maybe I’ll call you later.

Will knew he wouldn’t hear from him again until his birthday in March, except for the family picture Christmas card, Dustin’s wife, Jody, will send in December. He had a growing pile stashed in one of his drawers, ready to pull out in case any of his friends visited. They never did.

He paused his work to eat some lunch, a haphazard egg salad sandwich that had somehow dribbled down the front of his t-shirt. He’d have to change before mom showed up or she’d worry he wasn’t taking care of himself. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, setting his phone down on the couch-side table, and walked down the hall to his bedroom. He pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it into the laundry pile, auto-walking into his oversized closet for something more patterned, in case he spilled his snack later. He didn’t want to change twice.

He’d had a few scars from his first trip to the upside down, mainly under his jaw, from where that feeding tube had suction cupped to his face. He had a burn scar in his side from where Nancy prodded him with a white hot iron fire poker, Thanks Nance. He had several scars on his knees from glass shards on the floor of Starcourt Mall and a burn on his hand from a mis-placed firework fuse. All of these injuries paled in comparison to the long claw mark leading from the collar bone to his navel. It had been over thirty years, but he could still feel the frigid sting, could still see the open mouth, rows of teeth, playing with its food.

The loud ring of his phone down the hall startled him back to reality, and he threw on a nearby black t-shirt, scurrying past any mirrors until he reached his phone. MADMAX flashed on the screen. He sighed and clicked to answer.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

“Today’s the day, right?” Ah, yes, the ever-tactic Maxine.

“Yeah,” he sighed, crashing back into his leather sofa.

“How’s Joyce handling it?”

“Same as every year. The whole family’s coming for dinner.”

“Well that’ll be nice. Wish I was there.”

“Wish you were too.”

They’d had an unexpected, and somewhat tedious, relationship after Billy died. Max asked Will a lot of prying and personal questions, but he understood she just wanted to know what her brother had felt, how he couldn’t have been in control of his body when he carried all of those people to their deaths. Will could give her that feeling, explain what Billy was experiencing.

They developed a friendship beyond that, discussing comic books. Max taught him how to skate board and ace arcade games. For a while into puberty, Will thought Max could be the one. She and Lucas had broken up for good, and Will knew he loved her, knew he got along with her better than almost everyone in the group. She knew what it felt like to be an outsider. She’d experienced trauma in ways the others would never understand.

They shared other fundamental qualities as well, they learned the closer they got, such as deadbeat dads and protective older brothers. Neil was a lot worse than Lonnie, and Max spent nights without Billy asking God why the Mind Flayer didn’t take Neil instead. Her prayers were answered the following year.

“Are you moping today or being productive?” Max asked, in the way Will was sure she’d ask her children on a bad day of classes. Were they in college now?

“A little of both,” he chuckled. “What about you?”

“You know me, always working. I’m on call actually, so I might have to go soon. But I wanted to make sure you were you know... not missing.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Tell Joyce and the family hi.”

“Will do.”

“Love you, Zombie Boy.”

“Love you, Max.”

The house fell silent once more.

At promptly six o’clock, a ring at the door signaled the first group of family members. Will turned the volume down on the Jonathan-centric playlist he chose and padded toward the door, socks catching slightly on the carpet in the entry way. He toyed with a few smiles before settling for the least-extreme and opened the door to greet his brother and sister-in-law.

“Hi, how are you?” Nancy asked, promptly kissing both cheeks before shoving past him to put her fruit salad in the fridge.

“Great,” he lied. “How are you guys?”

Teddy stood in front of Jonathan, staring at the device in his hand instead of greeting his uncle, and Will moved out of the way to let them in as well.

“We’re good, right Teddy?”

The ten-year-old harrumphed in agreement. Will glanced over his shoulder to see he was playing a game about the living dead, how apt.

“What’ve you been up to today?” Jonathan asked, waltzing into the kitchen behind his wife to find a bottle of scotch. He always knew where Will hid his favorite stash. He pulled two, “three?” “I have to drive”, two glass tumblers from the cabinet and poured a glass for them each.

“Just working on this project for DarkHorse.” Will sighed, taking the beverage from his brother.

“That’s right, the anti-hero one, right?”

“Yeah. Nancy, can I offer you anything?”

She waved him off. “Teddy, want a coke?”

The kid made a noise that sounded like “uh” in agreement, and Nancy pulled two sodas from the fridge, popping the tabs.

“What should we toast to?” Jonathan grinned, holding his glass up to cheers. “To... finding you?”

Will made a face. “To mom?”

“I like that,” Jonathan smirked. “To our crazy ass mom.”

Will didn’t like the addition, but he clinked glasses anyway. Nancy threw her can in absentmindedly and the three of them took a long swig before Nancy flittered back to the living room. The whisky burned its way down to a warm pocket just below his rib cage. It sat there, ruminating. He wondered if he’d need more anxiety medication to survive the night.

The doorbell rang again. Nancy opened it, and around the corner he heard the chirps and cries of greetings that signaled the arrival of mom and Hop and Mike and Eleven. He cursed under his breath.

“Oh, Bea’s running late, by the way. Nancy think she might have a boyfriend and that idea makes me want to die. So he might come too, hope that’s okay.” Jonathan threw in as an aside.

Will shrugged. “That’s fine, whatever. What about Mickey?”

“Oh, Mick’s at school. You’ll probably see him on Thanksgiving.”

“Right, okay.” Mickey was probably Will’s favorite nephew. He grew up fascinated about Will’s comics and was going to school to be a writer himself. They’d grown distance in the past couple of years, but Will held a fondness unmatched in the boy’s siblings, although he obviously loved them too.

“Will?” Joyce called from the living room. The chatter had grown tenfold in the other room, and Will figured there was no use trying to avoid it any longer. He took another full gulp of his drink before tip-toeing to greet his house guests.

“Hey, mom-“ Immediately, he’d been crushed in a rib breaking embrace from his mother, who kissed at his cheek and commented on his appearance. “Okay, mom, okay. Missed you too.” Since last Saturday. He chuckled, gently pushing the woman away, and she stepped back to reveal Hopper’s uncomfortable stance.

“Son,” he held a hand out to shake and Will returned the awkward gesture. They’d been through so much together, he and his stepfather, but Hopper never quite fell into the fatherly role as he had with Eleven. He was protective sure, and caring. He was understanding and kind and strong, and he took amazing care of Joyce in their old age, but he was always a little distant. Will supposed Russia did that to him, and New York before that, and Vietnam before that, and hell, probably Hawkins before that.

“Where’d you get that whisky?” Hopper asked, a familiar twinkle in his eye, alleviating the tension between them.

“Jonathan’s in the kitchen,” Will laughed.

“Oh, Jonathan!” Mom called, leading her husband into the next room.

Before Will could process what was happening, a pair of slender arms had been thrown around his neck, and a soft bosom heated his chest. “Hi, brother,” Eleven sighed into his ear, sending shivers down his spine. With his free hand, he knelt into the embrace, squeezing her around the middle. He buried his face in chocolate curls and breathed her in. This wasn’t the greeting he was expecting from her, but he was glad it was the one she’d gone with.

She pulled away, holding him at arm’s length, and tears had sprung in her brown eyes.

“Don’t do that,” he groaned, attempting a grimaced smile. “I’m fine, really.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she laughed, waving away tears. “I’ve just been thinking about you all day, and I love you is all.”

“I love you too, freak,” he smiled, kicking at her sneakered foot. “Shoes off at the door though.”

She swatted at him, but retreated to the door to pull off her shoes, trailing November soil and leaves with her. He made a mental note to vacuum once everyone had left.

“Hey,” came a timid throat clear as Mike stepped forward from his spot watching Teddy play video games.

“Hey,” Will responded.

This was more of the greeting he had expected. He hadn’t spoken to Mike in months, and he was shocked he even agreed to show up. They’d had a fight during the latest issue release, when Mike read the manuscript and all of the details about Eleven’s past. El was sour too, a little overwhelmed, but Mike, who always had El’s well-being in mind, threw a fit. He threw words too, so many hurtful words, words that still stung as Will looked at him now.

He was the same Mike Wheeler he’d always been, too tall, gangly, freckled. Only now his unkempt hair was speckled with grey and glasses round his dark eyes turning his furrowed brow into the spitting image of ole Ted Wheeler, though he didn’t have kids of his own to ignore.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Mike sighed, peeling off toward the bustling sounds of the kitchen.

“Michael!” Nancy hissed, sounding eerily like Karen scolding down the basement stairs.

Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out. He definitely needed his pills.

El came over and linked her arm with his, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

“You too,” he smiled softly when she pulled his drink from his hand to take a swig.

“How are you?”

“Good.”

“How are you today though?”

He was getting frustrated of the question, wanting desperately for today to be like any other day. “I’m good.”

She cocked a knowing eyebrow behind his tipped glass.

“I got a text from Dustin today. I guess Steve was in DC. Max called. It was a good day.”

El nodded, seemingly satisfied with his response, and sandwiched her palm into his. “Let’s join the party.” Despite his groan of protest, she tugged him toward the kitchen, leaving Teddy in the living room with his video game. Jonathan found the controls to crank the music.

Hopper’s prime rib was delicious, as usual, and the alcohol and food had the family in a near coma scattered around Will’s living room furniture. Hopper had moseyed off to his favorite armchair, pulling the lever to recline, snoring almost immediately. Joyce lovingly posted herself on the mantle at his feet, warming herself on the wood burning fire.

Teddy’s eyes hadn’t left his phone the entire meal, much to Nancy’s chagrin, and after dinner, he somehow found his way back to the couch to continue his game. Bea stumbled in midway through the meal, brown hair a mess and neck wrapped dutifully in an oversized scarf to hide a hickey. Nancy and her had quite the fight in the entryway while everyone listened on with knowing smirks. After the meal, she found herself posted up next to Teddy, the two of them kicking ankles and making annoyed faces. They truly were the spitting image of Nancy and Mike.

“So, Bea, Jonathan tells me you’re taking the year off school?” El started, tucking herself into Mike on the opposing love seat.

“Yeah,” Bea chewed on the inside of her cheek, anxiously eyeing her mother. “I just don’t know what I want to do yet, so why waste the money?”

“It’s not a waste-“ Nancy started, but Jonathan stopped her with a hand to the knee and a kiss on the cheek.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Will challenged, alcohol lighting the fire within him like a hot poker to his side. “I mean, I didn’t go to college and look at me now.” He gestured to the grand house around them, empty except for special holidays like this one, the anniversary of the time he was kidnapped by an inter dimensional creature.

“Yeah, look at you now,” Mike spat from beside Eleven, his eyes narrowed behind thick glasses.

“Mike, not now,” Eleven wrapped her arm around her husband’s wrist.

“Yeah, Mike, not now,” Will spat. “I’m fragile today. Didn’t you hear? Dustin did, Max did. You’re all here for a reason!” He was standing now, he didn’t know when that happened.

Mike stood too, pushing off from his seat. “Yeah, we get it, Will. You’ve been fragile for the last thirty years. Not too fragile to compromise the rest of us, but at least you’re doing fucking better.”

“Michael!” Eleven and Nancy chided in unison, but Hopper had beat them to it, fisting each of the boys on the back collar like they were thirteen again.

“Alright you two, let’s take a walk.”

“Whoa, what’s up with them?” Will heard Teddy pipe up, the first real word he’d said all night, as he and Mike were lead out of the room.

Hopper had surprising brute strength for a nearly 70-year-old, and maybe it was the alcohol lingering between the two younger men that had them stumbling into Will’s office. “Now, stay in here and talk about it like men, or don’t. I don’t give a shit. I just don’t need you upsetting your mother. Not today.” Hopper prodded at Will’s chest before backing out of the room and slamming the door.

Will ran a hand through a mop of hair, huffing out a breath of frustration.

Mike paced the room slowly, carefully taking in the shelved walls, stopping at the family portrait above Will’s drawing desk. Beside it was an empty spot where Will’s portrait of “the Party” would have sat, the frame now tucked safely into the trunk in the corner.

“I’m sorry, okay,” he started, slowly. “You’re right. You’ve always been right. I ‘compromised’ Eleven, or whatever you want to call it, and it’s shitty, and I’m sorry. My company wanted more storyline, more science fiction...”

“Shut up, man,” Mike scoffed. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done, it’s published. We’re fine. I Just wish you had... I don’t know, asked us first. Or drudged some more of your own trauma.”

“Oh believe me, that shit’s endless. My publishers wanted something more interesting than Will the Wise.” He rolled his eyes, staring into the blank space beside Mike’s arm.

“What’s this?” Mike asked after a long silence, pointing to the nearly complete sketch on the table. He had one hand in his pocket, and Will knew it was clenching and unclenching into a fist around his car keys.

“It’s a comic I’m working on. It’s about this girl who is more of an antihero. She fights this vigilante guy kind of like Indiana Jones.”

“She looks pretty cool,” Mike mused softly.

“Thanks,” Will felt his cheeks warm at the unexpected compliment. He’d always struggled with drawing women, refusing to objectify them the way comics of their past had. He always saw woman as strong, mighty beings, like his mom.

“Listen,” Mike turned to him finally, leaning his lanky frame against the drawing table. It tilted slightly, graphite pencil rolling to the ground. “I’m sorry I’ve been a dick. I know you didn’t mean harm. You never do. These past few years have just been... Getting old is bullshit.”

Will knew what he meant. It’d never been easy for them. In their late twenties, they struggled to conceive. In their thirties, they spent years in court trying to pass legislation to stop the funding of projects such as those she’d been apart of. In their forties, her hormones caused her powers to go haywire. She’d accidentally set their home aflame. They’d been through enough.

“It really is,” Will sighed.

“I should probably take her home. She gets emotional when she’s tired.”

Will laughed dryly. “Yeah, I better say goodbye to mom and Hop.”

“Should we go out holding hands?”

Will felt the familiar lump in his throat, and he blew out a sort of snort in protest. Mike slapped him on the back and exited the room first. He’d never told anyone but Max about his feelings for Mike, probably never would. They’d changed by now, melded into the brotherly love they shared in elementary school, but for a while, a long while, Will looked at him differently.

He’d pushed the thoughts away, thwarted by constant name-calling from his dad and classmates. He thought he was in love with Princess Leia, thought he was in love with Max. It wasn’t until he tried to kiss Max, planted a big one on her that she corrected him, holding him at arms length to tell him the truth about himself.

He wasn’t sure how she knew, when he himself didn’t even know, couldn’t be. She said Billy had been into guys, back in California, that he was the reason they had to move. He and Will had more in common than a name and a shit dad and a possession. She said she saw Billy with a boyfriend once, and it was the happiest he’d been. She said it was the same way Will looked at Mike.

Mike didn’t hug Will goodbye that night, but Eleven did, bleary eyed and warm. She pressed a kiss to his forehead on tip toe and told him to call her tomorrow. He probably wouldn’t. Jonathan was next, a tight hug and a firm slap on the back. Nancy kissed his cheeks again while ushering Teddy to the car.

“Bye, Uncle Will, thanks for having us over,” Bea threw an arm around his neck. She smelled like Nancy in high school, gun powder and cigarettes.

He grinned. “Anytime, Bea. Come over anytime you need to hide out from your parents.”

“Bea!” Nancy called from the driveway.

“Thanks,” Bea smiled, rushing out the door toward her own clunker of a car.

Last was Mom and Hop. Hopper gave the awkward handshake again before bursting into the snow to start the car, heating it up for mom. She turned to Will with tears in her eyes that mirrored El’s, and Will felt the lump growing in his throat.

“Mom,” he groaned.

“I know, honey, I know. I just love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

It was somehow harder to see an elderly woman tear up. She’d aged well, but remained the same perfect mom shape to hold. She wore the same things she wore in 1983, a flannel layered over a dark t-shirt, and her leather jacket smelled of Hop’s cigarettes even though the two of them quit smoking years ago. It was the same smell she had the morning he said goodbye to her before heading to the Wheeler’s for a campaign of D&D. It was the same smell he came home to in a panic, searching for his mom and Jonathan with that thing hot on his heels.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair, taking one last breath of her before composing himself and holding her at arms length. “Better not keep Hop waiting. Call me tomorrow?”

“Always,” she kissed his cheek before carefully stepping across the drive to Hopper’s car. Will waved to her as she got in, seeing her blow a kiss from behind the passenger side window.

The house was quiet, too quiet, only the crackling of the fire keeping time with the song playing at low volumes. Will had poured himself a night cap, the last of the bottle, and was sunken into the brown leather of his sofa.

The familiar guitar riffs of an old haunt chimed over the sound system, and despite the tickle at the back of his neck, he reached over to turn up the volume. The oversized house was suddenly drowned in the familiar British lyrics of The Clash. He nodded his head to the tune, shaggy hair covering his eyes, alcohol warming his face.

No lights flickered, no monster chased him. His mom was safe at home, Jonathan probably snug in his bed with his beautiful wife. Will chased his whisky with music and the taste of childhood trauma.

His eyelids felt heavy, chest heated with exhaustion, and he thought he might fall asleep there with his black t-shirt covering the scars on his chest and the scary things locked away in a trunk in his office.

A buzz on his rib cage brought his attention to a new message, and he opened it with a fond smile.

Lucas: Drove past the Quarry today, and your old house. They haven’t changed a bit.

Sounds like Hawkins.

Lucas: You’re not wrong. Hey, me and kids are coming to Chicago to visit Erica for Thanksgiving. Mind if we stop by?

Will smiled. He hadn’t seen Lucas in years.

Lucas: Up for a round of D&D?

Stop in whenever. My door’s always open.

Will set his phone on the couch-side table and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off. He had no demogorgons to fear, no razor sharp claws to cut him in the night, no army of the living dead knocking on his door, just a trunk full of memories and a family to check in on him at his time of need.

[Author’s Notes: Hope you enjoyed my first little fanfiction for Stranger Things Day 2019! I’ve written plenty of ST fic before, but this is my first time posting any on this platform. Please let me know what you think! I’m excited to be posting more of my work here in the future. I basically just have all the feels and need someone to talk to about it. I ship all the ships and I love all the characters, I could go on about it for hours (and I do, and my husband thinks I need friends.) so come chat! xo]

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spookyspaghettisundae · 5 years ago

Text

The Gospel of Blood

A black SUV rolled down the street. The quiet vehicle moved with an eerie slowness. Despite being night, the driver kept the car’s headlights switched off. Despite the tinted windows of the massive car, moonlight and illumination from street lamps made it easy to see the road, and for other drivers to see the SUV.

Not that it mattered here. In the suburban outskirts of this city at this time of night, there was no other traffic. All other cars were parked on the roadsides or in driveways to the single-family homes that all looked alike to her. The driver pulled her vehicle over, parking it in an empty spot.

Her leather-gloved hands glided over the leather of the steering wheel, rustling with a sound that pleased her ears. She gazed into a large window of the home nearby. The lights inside that house showed a typical living room and a man pacing around in a circle, speaking on the phone. The most important detail she looked out for: whether or not this man was alone.

The night was young, so she was patient. Her work had just begun, so she never broke her line of sight into the home’s window while unzipping the duffel bag on her passenger seat. She removed a welding mask from inside of it and rested it on her lap. She had painstakingly painted a grinning skull onto the mask, an embellishment she always loved but had no eyes for right now.

The man ended his phone call and sat down on a recliner. He switched on his TV and started flipping through channels. She continued to watch, barely ever blinking. She sometimes caught a glimpse of the shows he cycled through, noting a bias towards him lingering on shots of attractive women on screen. It reminded her of someone and made her cringe even though she always pushed the memories back down. The rest of the details in this man’s living room, however, occupied most of her attention.

The only family pictures she spotted on some shelves were of the man’s siblings and parents. A bunch of books. No paintings or other flourishes on the naked white walls, nor any feminine touch to the interior decoration. The furniture appeared to have no aesthetic rhyme or reason to it, nor did it suggest the presence of anybody else living here. The single beaten up city car in the driveway underlined that.

Maybe he had a partner without any superficially discernible personality, but it seemed unlikely. Instead, she had found a bachelor living all alone here. Hard to tell what he did for a living, or if anybody would miss him.

Not that it mattered to her. She preferred it if someone missed him.

She waited more, noting how his eyes slowly opened and shut with drowsiness. Time mattered not to her—when she checked her clock soon after, she learned that she had only observed him for little over an hour, drinking in every little detail that she could spot through this window within his brightly-lit living room. Every thriller and crime novel on the shelves, the tacky Buddha statue in a niche, the synthetic and very generic-looking plant in the corner, down to a tiny speck that must have been a mustard stain on his shirt.

He had drifted off into sleep and she bit her lip. But then his hand drooped over the armrest of his chair and hit the coffee table, and he jerked into an upright position. He rubbed his eyes and stretched.

The man switched the TV off and got up, shuffling through his house like a zombie. He disappeared into another room, though she could not follow his movements there. Because a milky window obscured him to the point of being a dark blurry silhouette in what was probably a bathroom.

After some minutes of unreadable motions, he switched the bathroom lights off, then those in the living room, and vanished from sight once more. A dim light remained on for the next few minutes, deeper within the bowels of his house, until that too went out.

She inhaled deeply. She exhaled sharply. She put on the welding mask and flipped it down, concealing her face behind it. She then flipped up the hood from her sweatshirt, hiding her hair. She grabbed the duffel bag and got out of the car through the passenger seat door, emerging into the shadows cast by a street light and a palm tree’s leaves. She shut the car door behind her as quietly as she could manage.

Then she approached this man’s house with a grim certainty. Her heart raced. This was her favorite part. The excitement of intrusion. The danger of getting caught.

She had never been caught, and the mere thought of it always sent her mind spinning, trying to picture all the possibilities. Like crazy little movies, all worthy of their own Oscar nominations. Would the standoff with the authorities be dramatic? Or would be it quick and quiet? Would one of them have a gun and be able to fight back, and shoot her? There were so many stories she could imagine, flashing before her mind’s eye.

Instead of further entertaining those fantasies, she crept through his backyard and towards a back door of a patio there. She knelt down and removed a glass cutter from her duffel bag, standing back up to work on the door with cold and surgical precision. Once she had removed the circular piece of glass with the device’s suction cup, she reached inside and unlocked the door.

No alarm. Why did they never have alarms? It was like the devil had her back. Every single time.

With a gentleness that only a tentative lover would ever display, she opened the patio door with utmost care and slowness, operating in absolute silence. Not a single sound greeted her from inside this man’s home. She knew nothing more about him than whatever she had observed tonight.

Placing the glass cutter back into her bag, she replaced it with a long, sharp hunting knife. Then she entered his home.

Finding his bedroom was easy. It always was.

Watching him lie there in bed was the most exhilarating. As usual, she wondered if he could hear her breathing underneath the welding mask, if it disturbed his sleep. The light from outside the house left the inside of the room dim, just enough that he might see the grinning skull on her mask. She wondered what his thoughts would be once he saw the face of death underneath the hoodie. She just stood there, her knife in her hand, held close to her own chest.

He stirred, turned from his side onto his back. His eyelids parted. He looked through her until he focused on her mask. Then his eyes went wide.

Then she started stabbing. Muffling him with her left hand, he bit into the leather of her glove, and it stung a little bit, but no more than usual. Jamming it in enough did not give him enough leeway to really bite down, and by the twentieth stab into his chest region, his strength failed him. His flailing arms did little to stop her and his entire body went limp.

She always wished this part would be less hectic. That she could take in the details better. But it always went so fast. It was almost as if time itself contracted in these moments, as if the span between the first and the last stab took place within less than a second, even though she knew better. The terror was always so fleeting—so unsatisfying. She hated the dead eyes—that lifeless stare—so she shut them for him.

Returning to her duffel bag, she put her knife into a plastic bag and stored it away, trading it for a medical needle, a plastic tube, and empty unmarked plasma packs. These items she brought to his body. She pondered how many other people got to deal with pleasure before business and considered herself lucky in that regard. She attached the needle to the tube, the tube to the first pack, and then pierced his arm with the needle. Then she placed it on the floor so his blood started flowing into the plasma pack at a steady rate.

She pulled up a chair from his dresser and took a seat, watching the process play out on its own. Even without switching anything on, her eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness and she could discern the details of his bedroom in the dim light. Indeed, nothing indicated any sort of relationship. A truly lucky find, once more. Number eight in her series.

Once filled, she exchanged packs, spilling only few drops onto the hardwood floor.

The pay for this work was good enough that she could live comfortably with only little income from her day job at the fast food joint. She considered herself fortunate. Sometimes, she would read or see something about her victims on the news, but never anything big. An added bonus, for she never was one for standing in the spotlight. Though she fantasized about being caught after so many kills, the thought of fame filled her with a deep dread, making her stomach knot.

The phone in her pocket vibrated, startled her. She removed it and stared at the display.

Unknown caller, it said.

But she knew who it was. His timing was always perfect. Just like their business relationship—orderly, regular, reliable—just the way she liked it.

She tapped the phone and wordlessly took the call.

The voice on the other end almost sang a single word when he asked, “Is it done?”

She flipped up the mask from her face so her voice would not be muffled.

“Yes. Please, I invite you to join me in here,” she replied. A rehearsed line he had taught her, which she found odd but never objected to.

The other end of the call went silent. Then the caller hung up. They exchanged so few words, something that always comforted her. Whenever she had talked enough, she could tell him so, and he would spend time in silence with her until their business together was concluded.

While she exchanged another filled pack for an empty one, someone stepped into the house, entering the same doors she had traversed to get inside.

Without turning around, she could feel his presence. Like a gargoyle, he loomed behind her, standing tall and dark and motionless. He moved with a quiet to rival her own. He waited with a patience that eclipsed even hers whenever she observed a potential victim.

She had studied him often enough to know the fashion in which he stood there. Clad in his black leather jacket, hands folded behind his back, black hair slicked back—as calm as a still pond. They never exchanged each other’s names. She only thought of him as “the handler.”

“May I ask you something?”

She blinked upon hearing him ask that question. It had billowed out of him like smoke. As much as it was smooth and cool, something about it stung and radiated pure danger. She did not fear him, though. She always sensed the symbiosis between them. A strange sort of understanding and respect.

“Yes,” she said.

“You are different from the others,” he said. Though he had posed no question, now she had one, burning in her mind.

What others?

“You enjoy this,” he breathed. “Or at least some of it,” he quickly corrected himself before she succumbed to the temptation of turning to look back at him. She sensed him smiling throughout the length of these sentences.

“The motives of the others are clear, while yours are not. What do you see in your work for us?”

She exhaled deeply, surprised by the question. He shared her precision, his question cut down to the essence of things. The answer was loaded, it contained many things she had thought through carefully, and many times over.

She saw no reason to keep it from him.

“I started before you approached me and we—you and me—before we connected. I looked for reasons, for a rational explanation, but those always seemed so—contrived. Maybe I’m working through some trauma. Or maybe I’m just broken. Or maybe the world is broken, and I am here to fix it—maybe this is what I’m meant to be, what I was always meant to be,” she said. The words spilled out of her, flowing in a steady stream like the blood exiting her victim’s arm, flowing into the blood packs.

“Whatever started me on this doesn’t actually matter, y'know? What matters is that I started hearing voices in their blood. Before you even approached me, I knew that whatever I was doing was necessary, and right.”

She spoke and he listened. He smoldered with curiosity, drinking in every word she shared. Although he was one with the darkness, his presence burnt like a fire behind her. He never interrupted her until she finished speaking. And this time, she had more to say than ever.

“The voices told me that I was releasing something and creating something greater through destruction. I’m not insane, y'know—I never actually heard voices, but what I mean by that are—y'know, these are my thoughts, thoughts that started crossing my mind. Nothing in this world is eternal, even the strongest walls eventually crumble, and eventually even the biggest men must collapse under the weight of their own egos.

"By killing them, I am building something greater than any of us are as individuals. The fear that their neighbors feel upon learning of their deaths is a thunderclap from the heavens, driving them to question everything and to live better lives. The absence of their lives leaves a void that poses questions without answers, giving many people new purpose.

"What I do could be considered divine. If I was religious or insane, I’d say that I am doing something godly. That my work is an act of god. But I’m not like that. I am just another person, doing what I feel is right, and it fulfills me. Still, I like to think of these thoughts as my own personal gospel—the gospel of blood. That sounds so cool, and it really fits my aesthetic.

"Uhm, I’m sorry, I’m rambling like crazy. What was your question, again?”

She looked over her shoulder and read curiosity written across his face. There was something strangely handsome about his features, though she felt no attraction to him whatsoever. His gaze burned into her eyes, piercing the night and peering into her twisted soul.

He shook his head.

“Never mind. I admire the beauty in your thoughts, the purity in your action. You were born in the wrong age. What magnificent things you might have done in the old days,” he whispered. The sheer reverence in his voice sent shivers down her spine.

In her gut, she knew exactly what he meant. For the first time, she felt the weight of millennia resting on his shoulders, and the mysteries and knowledge he must have possessed now intrigued her.

Yet she had spoken too much already for that night. Exhaustion draped itself over her like a blanket, and her heart raced away from a pounding anxiety. She needed more silence to weather the storm within.

“I need to take a break,” she said. She tried to smile at him, and her smiles never reached her eyes anyway, but she knew how sad her weariness must have made her look right now. “I’ve talked enough for now.”

He raised his chin and never broke eye contact. For the first time ever, she noticed: he never breathed. The realization frightened her. The reality made her feel like she was standing beside herself, as if she was watching something on TV.

“Yes, of course. I will take over from here. Feel free to leave. I deeply appreciate your work, and bid you adieu for this night.”

She motioned to pick up the items she used to harvest the victim’s blood, but the handler reached out and motioned for her to leave them. Grateful, she nodded and walked past him without saying goodbye.

Neither of them turned around to face each other again that night.

She picked up her duffel bag and left the victim’s house, returning to her car. Gingerly placing it back onto the passenger seat and starting the vehicle, she drove away at a low speed.

She occasionally looked through windows into other homes, on the lookout for her next month’s target.

—Submitted by Wratts

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hazzasgayvodka · 6 years ago

Text

23 * THE WAY I DO * 23

Impact: Chapter 23

Chapter title song: The Way I Do - Bishop Briggs

JESS

I walk back in the door from class and drop my bag on the couch. The house is nearly silent, but the mustang is parked in the driveway. I make myself another cup of coffee despite it being nearly noon knowing that it'll be a late night tonight. I hear a noise coming from down the hall from a room I've never been inside, the room that used to be Louis's before he moved into my dorm. I grab my coffee and follow the noise, the inconsistent thuds growing louder with every step. I push the door open and my eyes land on him, his back facing me. There's a black punching bag hanging from a hook drilled into the ceiling. It swings back and forth every time he hits it, making the unstable hook shake.

He has earbuds in his ears and his knuckles are wrapped with white tape rather than boxing gloves. His hair is pulled up in a bun under a hood from the jacket over his shoulders. It's steaming hot in here from the heat pouring through the vents, but he's still dressed in a hoodie and long sweat pants. His forehead is dripping with sweat.

It's mesmerizing to watch him, the way he creates a rhythm of hits between his hands and feet. He moves fluidly, kicking his knees up easily and making the bag rock harshly back and forth. I turn to leave before I hear his voice. I face him again and he throws his hood off, tugging the earbuds out of his ears.

"Hey baby, what's wrong?" He pants, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

"Nothing," I say, moving back towards the door, "I was just wondering where the noise was coming from."

"Oh, sorry." He says, reaching down to grab a bottle of water and chug some of it down.

"It's okay," I nod, "Aren't you hot?" I ask gesturing to his outfit.

"Yeah, all the time." He smirks smugly.

"Not what I meant." I sigh, shoving him as he comes closer.

He unzips his hoodie and throws it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. His entire chest is dripping with sweat and bruises still cover his torso, looking almost worse today than they looked yesterday. The bandage is no longer across the bridge of his nose, only a large bruise remaining. There's pads taped to his stomach with wires attached, leading to the pocket of his pants. They look like electroshock pads, suction cupped to his skin. He wraps his sweaty arms around me, his veins bulging from his forearms.

"What is this?" I ask, touching one of the pads.

"Electroshock therapy," He breathes, still clearly out of breath, "They help with the soreness."

I nod, my eyes scanning over his chest and stomach where five of the pads are all stuck. I wonder if it hurts, especially with the bruises covering him.

"Are you okay?" He asks, tilting my chin up to meet his concerned eyes.

"Yeah," I sigh, not wanting him to stress about me, "I'm just worried about you, and tonight."

His eyes break away from mine as he stares at the wall behind me, gritting his jaw. I know the last thing he wants to be reminded of is the fact that I have to go to this fight tonight, but I can't seem to get the thought out of my mind.

"It's gonna be okay," He assures me, giving my arms a squeeze, 'I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you," I say seriously, reaching my hand to his cheek and rubbing my thumb lightly over the bruise on his jaw, "How bad do you have to lose for everyone to believe it?"

"I'll be okay," He says lightly, "I've been in some bad fights, this isn't even the worst I've been roughed up, dollface."

I frown, moving my hand from behind his ear to his split lip, running my thumb along his bottom lip and making him wince. I wonder how many times he's torn the same skin. I miss the ring that used to sit in the corner of his mouth, he took it out for the fight and it hasn't returned since.

"How many times?" I ask, my voice coming out in a whisper.

"What?" He asks, his eyes searching mine for any indication of what I mean.

"How many times have you split your lip?"

He sighs, looking to the ceiling with squinting eyes. I see him mumbling to himself, his lips moving only slightly as he counts in his head.

"Probably about twelve?" He says, but it comes out sounding more like a question.

"What else?" I ask him, taking his hand in mine.

"I've broken my nose twice and my hand four times, but I've only had one concussion and it was a really long time ago."

I can feel my face fall as he goes on. What if it happens tonight? What if he breaks his hand and he can't write at work or his nose and he's in the hospital to get it fixed. What if he gets knocked out to the point of a concussion and he's unable to do anything for weeks? My mind flickers to Zack's mischievous grin and the unsettled feeling in my stomach grows. I have a horrible feeling about this, about all of this. I know that there's more to this, something I haven't been told.

"Don't let that happen tonight," I say, wrapping my arms around him, "Please."

He pulls me into his chest and sets his head on top of mine as I feel the tears piercing against the corners of my eyes. He holds me tightly against him, I can hear his heartbeat echoing in my ears and his chest heaving as he breathes.

"I'm gonna be fine, baby," He says, running his hand up and down my back, "We're gonna be fine, I promise."

HARRY

Ryland shows up in a black range rover around nine o'clock. He parks it outside and comes to the door with the same guys from dinner trailing behind him. He looks scared out of his mind and it makes my heart beat faster in my chest. His eyes are wide as he walks inside, and I can't tell if he's trying to communicate something to me or not.

Jess comes out from my bedroom dressed in another pair of jeans and my old track and field jacket. Her hair is still curly, just barely touching her shoulders. I love the way it looks when she doesn't straighten it, untamed and fiery, curling around her face and ears. I can't help but laugh as I look at the hoodie she's dressed in. She turns around and I realize why she chose it, although it appears to be a plain black jacket from the front Styles is printed in bold letters across the back like a jersey. She takes my hand in hers and gives it a reassuring squeeze. I grab my duffle bag and throw it over my shoulder as we follow the two guys outside to the car. They stuff us in the far back, Ryland and the brunette sitting in the immediate backseat and the blonde driving.

When we pass by Berkeley Hall, my heartrate skyrockets. He changed the location. No promised texts from Ryland and no notifications from the ring. It can't be a closed match, it defeats the entire purpose, but he wants me in the dark, he's left me out of the details on purpose. He wants me to walk in completely blind.

The car pulls up in front of an abandoned shopping center and stops. All of the store fronts are barren, forgotten 20% off signs still hanging in a few windows. The Kmart logo still stands, only two of the letters actually lit up. Ryland pulls the door open and folds his seat up, ushering us out quickly and across the parking lot to the front doors. The car screeches as it backs up and turns roughly, speeding back towards the road we came from.

As soon as we're being shoved through the glass doors, Jess grabs a hold of my hand tightly, pulling herself into my side as we walk across the concrete floored empty space. It's eerily quiet but as we're walked closer to the back, I can hear the muffled sounds of screaming.

"Where are we? I thought we were going to Berkeley Hall?" She asks quietly, leaning up to whisper in my ear.

"I don't know," I quip, keeping my voice low as I speak through my teeth, "Stay next to me."

She breathes heavily, grabbing onto my forearm with her other hand. I know she's scared, I can hear her heartbeat in the deathly quiet space. We finally reach a door at the back of the store and Ryland pushes past us with a key to unlock it. He turns the knob and kicks it open, shoving both of us through it before closing it back behind us and locking it again.

Suddenly we're standing in a pitch-black room, the screams nearly deafening. Music is coming from somewhere, bass pumping loud enough to rattle the walls. Ryland walks us down the black corridor and into a tiny room at the end. My duffle is already sitting on the couch against the wall and I realize the two henchmen from the car must have come in a different way and left it here.

He slams the door closed behind us and tells me to get ready through the door. Jess is shaking in my arms, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as she stares at the room around us. The walls are painted a dark red and the couch in the corner looks like it's had its fair share of use. There's a mini fridge in the corner, plugged into the wall on the other side of the room from an extension cord. I release her and walk over to it, kicking it open to see it stocked with beers and water. I grab one of the water bottles and hand it to her hoping that it will help calm her down.

I want to say something but the only words that will come to the tip of my tongue is I'm sorry. How could I do this? How could I get her so wrapped up in this so quickly? Because of me, she's standing in an abandoned Kmart on the verge of tears. I know that she's scared, she has every reason to be. The fear is creeping into me too, the louder the screams get the more my blood runs cold in my veins.

She sits on the couch, her body caving in on itself. I grab my duffle from beside her and start to dig through it for my tape. I take it out and unwind it, placing it over my knuckles and wrapping it around them to keep them stiff. She stands from the couch and takes my fist in her shaking hands, finishing wrapping the tape around my knuckles and ripping the tape with her teeth.

She looks up at me expectantly as she starts to wrap the tape around my other hand, waiting for me to say something. She finishes and rips the tape again, pressing it against my skin. I flex my hands, balling them into fists and relaxing them to make sure the tape doesn't affect my range of motion.

"Perfect." I sigh, both of our eyes staring at my roughed-up knuckles.

Ryland walks back in, kicking the door open with his boot, "Five minutes." He barks, shutting the door again.

She grabs onto me suddenly, burying her face into my chest. I can feel her heart racing under her sweashirt. Her hands reach to my neck and thread through the back of my hair before reaching to cup my face. I can tell she's trying to hold it together, she's scared shitless and it's entirely my fault. I wrap my arms around her securely and press my lips to her forehead, wiping my thumbs under her eyes to rid her cheeks of tears.

"Baby, don't cry," I say quietly, knowing I need to get ready but I can't bring myself to leave her right now, "Please don't cry."

"You need to go, put on your gloves and stuff." She breathes, sniffling as she pulls away from me and hastily wipes her eyes.

I walk over to the couch and slide my hands into my gloves, velcroing them across my wrist as tightly as I can handle. I grab my mouth guard and shove it in the pocket of my shorts until I need it. She watches me with close eyes, already bouncing on the balls of my feet to get into the mindset. I have to lose, but I'm not going down without a fight.

The door swings open once again, and Ryland appears behind it much less enthusiastic than he was the last time. He holds it open and nods to me, gesturing outside.

"Game time." He says halfheartedly and the solemn look in his eyes makes me nervous.

I step behind her and walk her in front of me, resting my glove against her lower back to lead her outside. It's then that I see Zack beside him, standing with crossed arms and a wicked grin on his face. He puts his arm in front of Jess, stopping her from walking any further.

"Sorry babe, this is as far as you go." He smirks, reaching to pull me past her.

"No!" I shout, shoving him off me, "She comes with me or I don't go."

His grin grows wider, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He seems to be in contemplation, looking between the two of us.

"Fine, you want her in the ring Styles?" He asks, expecting me to say no.

"Yes, in my chair, the whole time." I say through gritted teeth, wrapping my arm around her waist.

She leans into me, her body still shaking. I tense my jaw against my cheek as he keeps walking, leading us through the continuous hallway of corridors until we reach a black double door at the end.

"Break a leg." Zack grins, patting me on the back as he turns back the way we came.

As soon as he's out of earshot I turn to Ryland and have to restrain myself from shoving him against the door and knocking him out as a practice run.

"Who am I fighting?" I ask.

"I-I can't-"He stutters.

I grab him by the shirt and shove him against the wall behind him. He turns his face away from me, pressing against the wall behind him and waiting for my fist to make contact with his head.

"I said who am I fighting, Ryland?" I shout, shoving him harder against the wall with every word.

The double doors are thrown open and I'm nearly blinded by the flash of light coming from the next room after being in the dark hallways for so long. I walk out onto the vinyl floor, dropping Ryland abruptly, my eyes adjusting to the burst of color around me. It takes me a minute to take it all in; the crowd and the lights and the ropes. I look all around me and realize I'm standing in a real boxing ring, an elevated square surrounded by rubber ropes and a crowd of people three times the size I'm used to.

I turn to look at Jess and her mouth is gaping, everyone's eyes on us as we're thrown into the ring. Ryland grabs my shoulders and drags me across to my corner where a metal chair sits next to three bottles of water and two towels.

"Ryland, what the hell-"

"He wanted to make it big, broaden the publicity."

"What publicity? It's an underground ring!" I shout, shoving him.

"He said it's a new wave, he doesn't want the ring to be exclusive anymore-"

He's cut off by the screams of the crowd as Zack enters the ring, his arms spread wide and his usual smile on his face. He has a microphone in his hand and his voice booms through the speakers on all four corners of the ring.

"Good evening!" He grins, "Is everyone ready for a fight?"

The screams in reply are deafening. Jess covers her ears and looks around, still just as confused as I am about the entire spectacle.

"Good, because we have a great match for you tonight!" He smirks, turning to me with that smug expression on his face, "In this corner, Harry "Mayhem" Styles!"

The crowd shouts a chorus of cheers and boos evenly mixed. I step to the center of the ring, leaving Jess behind in the metal chair. I can feel her eyes on me as I face the crowd beside Zack.

"And in this corner," Zack says, turning to the opposite side, "Jackson Jacobs!"

My head snaps to the other side of the ring when the name booms throughout the concrete room. I lock eyes with him as he walks out into the ring, his fists raised in the air. He feeds off the crowd's energy, getting too caught up in the hype as he skips around the ring, raising his hands and joining the crowd as they start chanting his name.

He turns back to me and meets me in the center of the ring. Of course, he would agree to this, he probably jumped at the chance to tell everyone he beat me in a match. He would never have the balls to go against me if he didn't already know I was predestined to lose.

"Would you look who it is," He snaps, narrowing his eyes at me, "Big bad, Styles."

"Shut up, Jackson." I huff, restraining myself from beating his face in.

Zack shoves between us, looking us both over excitedly. I'm sure he's loving this, putting me against someone I could beat in three seconds but forcing me to lose. They share the same wicked look in their eyes as Zack walks back to the front to address the crowd.

"Are we ready?" He shouts, and the crowd lets out a sonic boom of sound that makes the ringing in my ears intensify, "Bump gloves, gentleman."

I lock eyes with Jackson to see him already narrowing his at me. He walks toward me, nodding his head over to Jess sat in my corner.

"So, I was right, wasn't I? About you and little miss party animal?" He smirks, stepping in front of me.

"Shut up, Jackson." I warn him again, tensing my jaw against my cheek as I reach out and bump his gloves with my own.

"How is it? Fucking her? I bet she likes to give, doesn't she?"

I tune his words out, focusing on Zack's voice in the background. I watch his mouth move, not daring to listen to a word coming out of his mouth. I can't let him get to me, not now. I know what he's doing.

"In three-" Zack shouts, counting slowly to build tension.

"She's a real slut isn't she? I mean going between two guys? Sleeping at your house and dating that Miles guy. I bet she's wild isn't she, she's a screamer-"

"Two...one, fight!"

As soon as the words are out of Zack's mouth I'm charging him. I take him to the ground in seconds, sitting on top of his chest and constricting his air flow. He's coughing, the wind completely knocked out of him as my gloves repeatedly pummel his face. I watch as his eyes grow redder and swollen with every hit, his nose starts to bleed, smearing against my white gloves. I repeat his words over and over in my head and the room starts to spin. I can't hit him enough, nothing can put the words back in his mouth. I hear shouts around me as I split his lip and his nose starts to deform, clearly broken. Suddenly, hands are grabbing me and pulling me away, lifting me off of him and dragging me towards my corner. I'm still swinging, my arms won't cease until my eyes land on him from a distance. His body is unmoving and bloodied, his entire face and the vinyl floor around him smothered in it. Ryland drops me in the chair, screaming in my face but I can't comprehend any of his words. I only see his mouth moving and his eyes wide as he points at Jackson being picked up and dragged out of the ring, completely unconscious. The whole world feels fuzzy and the sounds around me are underwater. I shake my head, trying to clear my head and get his voice out of my mind. I shut my eyes tight and open them again to see her in front of me. My eyes flicker to her lips and I watch her mouth the one word I would be able to recognize from a mile away.

"Harry."

She wraps her arms around my shoulders and presses her face into my neck. I want to hold her, but I can't get my arms to move. I can feel the world slowly coming back to itself, my numbness disappearing and the sounds around me starting to make sense. She pulls away from me and meets my eyes, her own watering with tears.

"Harry! What the fuck? He's going to kill you!" Ryland shouts, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me.

Suddenly, I'm ripped from my sedated state. The sounds around me turn back on full volume and my head is throbbing. I'm painfully aware of the soreness of my arms and the blood splattered on my skin. I feel like I can breathe again, hear again, see again. Ryland reaches up and smacks me in the face, getting my attention.

"Are you even fucking listening? Zack is going to kill you!" He shouts, my eyes finally meeting his.

He's livid, acting insane. He's shouting and throwing his arms in the air and shoving me up from the chair. When I stand I look into the crowd and my eyes land on his tall figure sat in the front row. The rest of the crowd is alive, jumping and screaming but he's still. He's stood with his arms across his chest, his cold blue eyes trained on me. I can tell he's not happy, his eyes are narrowed and menacing. Before I say anything, Ryland is shoving me and Jess back into the corridor of hallways. She grabs my hand and my body jolts with electricity, knocking me from my daze.

"Harry, come on!" She cries, tugging me towards her and running back down the halls following Ryland.

I catch on, breaking into a run beside her and never letting go of her hand. She's keeping me tethered to the present, my anchor from my dazed state where the world is red. Ryland stops once we're outside, hunching over to catch his breath. He stands back up and grabs me by the shoulders, shoving me backwards.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He shouts.

"I wasn't." I breathe, running a hand through my hair.

"Yeah, no shit!" He barks, turning away from me and grabbing his hair in his fists in frustration, "My god, Harry, you fucked up so bad! He'll have you back driving to make up for this one by next week!"

"I thought you were supposed to lose?" She asks, taking my face in her hands and making me look at her.

"I was, I don't know, he just kept saying," I can't bring myself to tell her that it's because of her that I knocked him out, "He kept talking shit and my temper gave out."

Ryland paces in front of me, shaking his head as he tries to think things over, "Your temper gave out? That's it? Harry you almost killed the guy! He tapped out ages before you got off of him!"

"Listen Ryland it's over, it happened, now I need to get her out of here before shit gets ugly!" I shout, shoving him away from me as I finally return to myself.

He grimaces, turning away from me and looking around the corner of the building. I should have put up a bigger fight about being driven here, now how am I supposed to get us home?

"You still remember how to hot wire a car?" He asks, turning back around.

"Well, if it's anything like riding a bike-"

"What? We are not hot wiring a car!" Jess huffs, looking between us incredulously.

"Baby listen," I say, taking her by the shoulders, "We need to get out of here, I'm sorry, just trust me, do you trust me?"

She nods her head, her eyebrows pulling together as she tries to read my face. I can tell she wants me to tell her what's going on, she hates being on the outside of everything, but I've already dragged her in this deep and I don't want to drown her.

I take her hand tightly in mine and follow Ryland around the back of the building to the range rover we came here in. I try the door handle to find it locked and heave out a sigh.

"Ryland-"

I hardly get his name out of my mouth before he's passing me his locksmith kit from his jacket pocket. I shuffle through the tools inside until I wrap my hand around a screwdriver. I place it in the space between the doors and shuffle it in as far as I can before roughly snapping it to the right. I hear the car-lock click and grab the handle again. The door opens, and I hit the unlock button inside so Jess can climb in.

She sits down beside me with wide eyes as I toss the kit into the cupholder between us before leaning down to get a look at the steering column. I knock off the plastic cover and toss it back to Ryland as he hands me his phone with the flashlight on.

"Jess, hold this towards the steering wheel." I instruct, handing her the phone.

She takes it from me in her shaking hands and I start looking for the wiring harness connecter. I duck my head, trying to get a better look to see where each bundle of wires connects to. I grab the group in the middle that lead straight up the steering column and disconnect the two red wires. I put the ends of both wires in my mouth and strip the plastic from around them with my teeth, about an inch down, and twist the now visible metal together.

I can hear Jess' breath puffing out beside me as I do so, the light of the flashlight still shaking due to her shaking hands. I grab the last red wire and connect it to the green ignition wire, twisting them together. The dash lights turn on and I heave out a breath of relief at the same that Jess swears under her breath. Ryland passes me his multitool and I strip the starter wire carefully, holding it as far away from me as I can.

"Lean that way." I tell Jess, nodding to the window behind her.

She shrinks back into the corner of her seat and watches me warily as I touch the end of the starter wire to the two connected battery wires. It sparks, and the car comes to life. I drop the wires and rev the engine quickly, so we don't stall out and have to start from square one. She stares at me in awe or in disgust I'm not sure but the feeling of her looking at me like that makes my stomach turn.

"Thanks Ry." I say, passing him his phone and he smiles.

He closes the door, shutting us in and I put the car in drive, taking off through the parking lot. I can feel the tension between us, she wants to speak up, but she doesn't know what to say. I try to decide where to drive, I can't take her to my apartment, they know where I live, and they'll be knocking on my door before tomorrow morning even hits.

"You know how to break in and hotwire a car," She says uneasily, her voice shaking, "You fight people for a living-"

"I know what it sounds like, my god I know, I didn't want you to be in any of this, I swear." I say, cutting her off and shifting my gaze between her and the road as I try to determine how freaked out she is.

"Harry you just hotwired a car!" She shouts, her calm demeanor finally shattering and her panic taking over, "We just stole a car!"

"We didn't steal a car, I'll give it back, but I have to make sure you're safe first." I assure her, trying to get my bearings as I drive after not knowing where we were.

"Who cares if I'm safe, they're not mad at me! Ryland said he's going to kill you, Harry!" She shouts.

She's hysterical as I pull into her dorm building. She's not crying, only screaming at me. She has my hand in a death grip as I finally stop the car in the parking lot. She's tears her eyes away from me to look around.

"Why are we here?" She asks, her voice finally relaxing.

"You can't stay with me tonight, they know where I live, and I don't want you there when they show up." I explain, rubbing my hand up and down her arm.

"So, they'll come after you, you need to stay here too." She says, grabbing my face in her hands.

I place my hand over hers, holding my cheek. Her whole body is shaking and it's all because of me. It makes me feel sick to my stomach knowing that I caused this, that despite promising to myself that I wouldn't fuck up like this, I did just that.

"I'll be okay, I promise." I assure her.

She meets my eyes, hers watery and glassy from being on the verge of tears. The feeling of not knowing and worrying about me is encompassing her. I want to take her in my arms and tell her that everything will be alright, but I don't know if I'd be telling her the truth or not. She brings my face to hers, pressing her lips to mine and my entire body relaxes with the feeling of her mouth against mine. She pulls away much too fast, letting her forehead lay against mine as she breathes, trying to calm her racing heartbeat.

"I don't want to stay here." She says lowly.

"Come on, let's get you inside." I say, running my hand through her hair and pretending like I didn't hear her.

I move away from her and open my door before running around to grab hers. She steps out of the car and barely glances at me as she walks to the front door. I grab ahold of my jacket over her shoulders, but she shakes me off, pushing past me.

"Jess," I groan, reaching for her hand, "Please don't be like this."

"No, you can't say that," She says, raising her voice as she finally turns around to face me, "I will be however the fuck I want because you expect me to just sit here and wait for you to call me to tell me you're fucking alive later tonight!"

She rips her hand away from my grasp and storms towards the door, not even bothering to glance at me over her shoulder. My chest feels like it may nearly give out, the wind knocked out of me from her words.

"I just want to keep you safe." I whisper just as the door slams and suddenly I'm surrounded in silence.

JESS

I walk in the door to see Sam already waiting inside for me. She runs a hand through her hair before opening her arms wide and it's then that I feel the warm tears burning my eyes. She instantly wraps her arms around me and lays her chin on top of my head. I expect her to ask a million questions and demand that I tell her why I'm crying but she stays still and silent and I sigh with relief.

Her hands are wound tight around my torso, holding me to her, cradling my head in the space between her chest and her neck. She rubs up and down my back with one hand as the tears start coming faster.

"Sam I-"

"I know, he texted me." She says, saving me from explaining myself.

I close my eyes tight and wish I could take everything back. I wish I never told Niall to take me to the fight, I wish I never moved in with him. As soon as I mind starts to whisper I wish I never met him, I stop. It's not true, none of it is. I could never regret running into him at that shitty party, I could never regret all of the car rides flooded with music and mornings wrapped in his arms or kisses across the console of his car.

"So, it's him," She speaks up, continuing to rub my back, "I always knew it would be him, from the minute you walked in the door complaining about him."

"What do you mean?" I ask, standing up to meet her eyes.

"It's him, out of all your wild cards." She says, chuckling a bit to lighten the mood around us.

"What if," I sigh, looking away from her, "What if I don't want it to be him?"

"It doesn't really work like that," She explains, running her hand through my hair, "You don't get to choose, but it's different with him, I can tell. You don't feel the same way about him as you do that Miles kid, I see the way you look at him and the way you look at Harry."

I wish I could shove the words back in her mouth as the tears start to run down my cheeks once again. They repeat themselves over and over in my mind until they're nearly engraved. My head is in a hundred places but ninety-nine of them are Harry. He frustrates me so much. He changes from hot to cold in a matter of seconds, making it impossible to ever keep up with him. He acts stone cold when in reality he's like a blazing inferno, taking everything in his path down with him. He pretends to not have emotions although they're always raging, encompassing him in a whirling of mood swings and rash decisions. He's insane, but maybe I'm insane too. Maybe we make each other insane.

HARRY

As soon as she's inside I get back into the car and pull out of the parking lot before it stalls out. I know she's right, I know it's not fair to her and she's just worried about me, but I've already dragged her too far into this part of my life. I never wanted her to know that it existed, let alone for her to be a part of it.

As I drive back towards my house, anger fills me. They've ruined everything. Zack always seems to come around at the least opportune times and fuck up whatever I have going for me and Ryland has been his right-hand man for as long as I can remember. I've paid my debts to them both and I'm finished running in circles for them. I couldn't fight my way through this if my life depended on it and something tells me that if I tried to slip my way out of this one, that's exactly what I'd be left to do.

Suddenly, I'm driving towards Ryland's house where I'm sure Zack is staying. Why should I wait when I can come to them? I pull up in front of his apartment building and get out, finally disconnecting the wires and letting the rover come to a stop. I take out my phone and text Louis to meet me here in ten minutes. I walk into the building and ride the elevator up to his floor. When I come to his door, I slide my key inside and let myself in.

I'm instantly greeted with a thick sluggish haze that invades my nostrils. It reeks of marijuana and sweat, the smell of gluttony and laziness. Instantly I'm thrown back to age nineteen spending nights in Ryland's bike shop on old striped couches with spliffs in both hands blowing spoke rings in the basement. We'd laugh at nothing, our brains wasting away in the wallowing self-hatred we exuded and welcomed with open arms. We'd listen to our favorite songs, always mellow and much too sweet for my taste. We'd drink until we couldn't remember when we started. We'd dance until we fell on our ass in a pile of our own vomit or worse. We were...happy? I thought it was happy. I thought that was what happy felt like, but then I met her. She makes my face light up in a way I didn't know it could, she makes me want to dance in the living room and sing in the shower. She's my ray of sunshine and I won't let her be dragged into the hurricane I'm living in.

I grab the door handle and swing it open with such force it hits the wall behind it with a loud crack, the sound of a new hole in his dry wall. He comes barreling out of his bedroom, his eyes bloodshot, dressed in nothing but boxers.

"Harry? What the hell are you-"

"Where's Zack?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"Zack? Get the fuck out of here before he hears you!" He whispers harshly, shoving me back towards the door.

I push him off of me and walk further into the apartment, looking around in the dimly lit living room. He's still trying to get me to leave but I'm not going anywhere without finishing this.

"Zack! Get out here and let's get this over with!" I shout, waiting for him to come out of hiding.

"Oh, Harry, I thought you'd never ask." He smirks, strolling into the living room from the other hallway and switching on a lamp.

"I want out," I huff, my heart pumping as I try to look around me to make sure no one else is here, "I'm done fighting."

"Oh, has little miss priss wrapped you around her finger already?" He teases, his eyes menacing in the limited light.

"No," I quip, "I'm doing this for me, I'm done playing these games and being your fucking puppet, now just give me my money and I'll go."

"Your money?" He laughs, raising his eyebrows, "I'm sorry but you were supposed to lose tonight! You're costing me thousands with this fight! After seeing you take down Jackson in all of five seconds, no one is going to volunteer to fight you for weeks!" He seethes.

I watch his two henchmen appear from the opposite corners of the house and I wonder if I could actually take them. They're at least twice my size and it would be two against one, the odds are the furthest from being in my favor.

"This is your thing, you're Harry "Mayhem" Styles! You're going to throw that all away for some girl?" He laughs.

"She's not some girl!" I shout, taking a step closer to him.

Suddenly, the henchmen are springing into action. They grab my arms behind my back and twist them in ways I didn't know joints could allow. I'm struggling against them, my heart beating in my chest as I remember the last time I pissed Zack off. Zack walks up to me and grabs a fist full of my hair, yanking my head up to meet his eyes. There's pain piercing my scalp, but I don't let it phase me, I only let my eyes drill into his.

"What is it about her that makes you soft? Have you let her get too close, Styles?" He chuckles.

"I'm not soft, I'm the same person I was before her," I scoff, "You're just mad that I've moved on, realized that I'm better than all this."

He laughs, letting go of my hair and pacing in front of me. He holds his chin in his hand as he thinks over my words in careful contemplation.

"Better than all this? Is that so? Well by all means then, go, be better." He chuckles, waving his men off and they disappear back down the hall into separate rooms.

I look at him incredulously. It can't be this easy. Last time I could hardly pick myself up off the ground when he was done with me and now he's going to let me walk right out the door?

"She must really be special for you to drop everything for her," He smirks, his words not matching the mischievous grin on his face, "I can't imagine what a girl could do to make me do that, maybe someday, you can let her change me too."

I don't have control of my body as I tackle him against the wall, shoving his head against the dry wall, my breathing already ragged with adrenaline. He laughs as I hold his head back against the wall by his throat.

"I knew it," He chokes out, his throat constricted, "I knew you fell for her."

"Shut the fuck up, Zack!" I shout, my hand tightening around his throat.

"Why? Because I'm right?" He laughs, his eyes maniacal, "I knew she was your trigger, you can't control yourself when she's involved."

"You're not right! I'm done! Just give me my money and fuck off!"

He smirks again, his head rolling back in laughter, his whole body going limp against the wall behind him. He looks actually fucking crazy as he laughs to himself, my hand around his throat.

"You see, this is where we're different Harry," He chuckles, his eyes rolling back to mine, "I'm not scared of anything because I have nothing to lose but you have her, she's your Achilles heel Styles, and one day she's going to realize what you are, and she'll be gone."

I don't realize what I've done until he's on the wood floors clutching his stomach. He's still laughing, rolling on the ground and bleeding from his mouth. He's choking on his words when I leave, writhing on the ground as his maniacal laughter bounces off the walls of the giant apartment. My eyes meet Ryland's as I leave, his are wide even in the dim lighting of the room. I wait for the twin tanks to reappear, but they stay down the hall, leaving Zack coughing up blood.

"You're going to regret this, Styles! This isn't over!"

JESS

"You're thinking about him," Sam sighs, "Right now."

I quickly look up to meet her solemn eyes, slipping from her comfortable embrace. My stomach flips at the thought of him and it's then that I know she's right. I know that I won't relax until I'm in his tattooed arms with his lip ring against the corner of my lips, his warm hands cupping my cheeks, his forehead pressed against mine as I stare into his dark viridian eyes. My heart swells just thinking about it, the thump of my heartbeat already quickening as his face appears in my head.

"I need to go." I think aloud, turning back towards the door.

"I know you do." She says, nodding her head.

I give her a small smile and thank her for being there for me. I open the front door and run down the steps, the cold air hitting me but making me feel alive rather than making me shiver. I turn back towards the street and break into a run. I know his apartment is at least ten minutes away if I'm running but I don't care. The air is cold on my face and I can see my breath puffing out of my mouth, but I keep on running. My heart is racing in my chest with the thought of seeing him and my knees are already weak.

I'm frozen to the bone when I see his apartment around the bend, but it instills a different kind of energy in me and I run even faster. I pass his car in the parking lot and memories of music and driving around at midnight flood my mind and make my heart swell. I reach the door with shaking hands and numbing fingers. I grab the door handle and swing the door open, walking inside.

He comes around the corner from the kitchen with angry eyes until they land on me. His eyebrows lift, a small smile now turning up one corner of his mouth. I look down to his hands where he's holding a rag to them, dabbing at his knuckles.

"Jess, what are you doing here?" He asks.

"What happened?" I ask, disregarding his question and taking his hands in mine.

I look over his busted knuckles and take the rag from him, dabbing against them myself. He sucks in a breath as I do so, and I can tell he's in pain.

"I went over to Ryland's and took care of Zack," He sighs, "I told him I'm done fighting."

I look up to meet his eyes to see him smiling at me. It's a sad smile, I can tell he feels bad about everything but just knowing that he's safe and it's over is enough.

"I'm sorry, god I'm so sorry dollface, I didn't mean to drag you into all of this-"

I close the gap between us, taking his face in my hands and pulling him impossibly close to me. I can feel his smile against my lips as I press my mouth to his. His arms wrap around my waist almost instantly, holding me to him and encompassing me in his warmth.

"Jess, you're freezing." He mumbles against my cheek, pulling away to look at me.

A flood of relief courses through me when I pull away and look into his emerald eyes. I can feel the smile on my face and the lightness of my heart as I drink him in, taking in every aspect of his handsome face. He may be bruised and scraped but he's gorgeous and he's mine.

"Why don't we warm up then?" I suggest, tossing the wet rag behind me and throwing my arms around his neck.

He laughs, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer to him. I can finally breathe when I see him smiling, really smiling, the kind of smile that reaches his eyes and makes them sparkle. He grins as he picks me up by the back of the thighs and my arms wrap around his neck. I twirl his curls in my hands as his lips move against mine. He walks us around a corner that I know all too well, kicking the door of his bedroom open and carrying me inside.

Suddenly he's laying my back against a bed and crawling on top of me. His smile never leaves his face as he leans back down to me, his eyes looking more magnificent than ever with the light of the moon being the only light shining in the room.

He brushes his lips against mine, his hands rubbing up and down my arms as they have many times before. I bite my lip when I feel the chill of his lip ring against my cheek and I'm reminded that I really am here with him.

"Are you warming up yet?" He laughs, running his fingers through my hair.

I nod my head, taking his warm hands in mine and placing them just beneath the hem of my shirt. He presses a lingering kiss to my lips as his hands continue to rub small circles into my hips. I feel the electricity in my veins as soon as his hands are on me, the fiery inferno we create in each other, the constant energy bouncing off each other and never resting.

"Tell me when you want me to stop." He breathes, letting his head fall to my shoulder.

I keep my hands ruffling through his hair as his mouth works its way down my neck and his hands massage my torso in ways that I never knew could feel so sensual. His hands are so careful and slow as he lifts my shirt off my body and slides my jeans down my legs. He takes his time, always looking up to me to make sure that I'm okay but I know that I couldn't wipe this smile off my face if I wanted to.

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #one direction smut #one direction fanfic

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capaldisrighteyebrow · 6 years ago

Text

Unorthodox Auto Repair - A Reylo Fic

That time this video came up in chat and @mnemehoshiko made me have cracky Reylo thoughts about fixing car dents with dildos.Thanks to @spacedarcy for reading this over and helping me fix that pesky problem!

Links: FF | AO3 (ETA: Link added!)

Rey has a split second to make her choice: take the fall or chance an impact. If she swerves now, she'll have to lay down the 200 kilogram bike—not the best option under any circumstance, but a full-blown Bad Idea when sporting a mini dress and heels instead of proper leathers and boots. Damn Rose and her insistence that her bachelorette party should feel like Vegas despite taking place at the Tico family farm.

Option two doesn't give her much better odds: if she brakes now, she may not have the distance to spare before hitting the jackass sitting at the crossroads without so much as parking lights. Her only saving grace is that her heels paired with the unfamiliar country roads have tempered her lead foot. She's kept the engine between her thighs at an even purr instead of coaxing it to the delicious growl she loves to hear, because she does want to show up to Finn's wedding alive come morning.

Gritting her teeth, Rey makes her choice.

In the Porsche's insulated cabin, he almost doesn't hear the screeching tires. By the time he does, it's too late. The car lurches forward from the hit, though it only moves a few inches while parked. Ben scrambles up from his reclined seat, the stars he was observing through the windshield utterly forgotten, and throws open the door.

This night just keeps getting better and better, he thinks sourly. First, the disastrous corporate banquet; now, this.

The air smells like burnt rubber as he circles round to the back of the car. An accented voice scares away the songs of nearby nocturnal creatures concealed in the cornfields surrounding the intersection.

"Shit," the voice exclaims as the girl flips up her visor and starts to remove her helmet with shaky hands. "Fuck."

He casts a cursory glance over the two vehicles. The headlight of the motorcycle shines on his back end, the only light for miles and miles just inches from his bumper. There's a dent, but nothing looks cracked or scratched on his end; her bike's front wheel didn't fare as well. The popped tire sags, making it look like the aging Triumph is bowing to his car.

Insurance details can be hashed out after manners have been met. "Are you okay?"

She swings her right leg backward, dismounting the bike. The black fabric bunched at her hips falls down to her upper thighs, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take in how much skin stretches between the hem and her black pumps. Legs. Legs for days. Toned and smooth and. . .the absolute last thing he should be focusing on right now.

"I didn't ask to see my life flash before my eyes," the girl answers after running her hands over the front of her leather jacket and up again to grip the back of her neck, "but yeah, I'm fine."

Now that manners are dispensed with, his voice takes on a harder edge, "Are you drunk?"

"I've had drinks," she throws back, "but that's not the problem."

He holds the shock of anger in his fists, squeezing it up his arms and through his neck, before finally gritting it out around his teeth. "You rear-ended my car."

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, kicking up dust from the road as she steps toward him, an accusatory finger pointed at the loosened knot of his tie. "I bumped into your black car that didn't have any fucking lights on in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere at night," she counters. "If anyone was a hazard on the road, it was you."

He's both impressed and horrified by her words. The sharks he swims with usually conceal their teeth around him; seeing them bared and ready to bite is oddly refreshing. "Are you always this eloquent at three in the morning?"

"Only when my best friend is getting married tomorrow, and his fiance will kill me if I end up in jail," the girl goes on.

"I didn't say I was going to call the cops," Ben remarks. He has every right to. Taking his car in to be looked at by the dealer for underlying damage will cost him more than what her bike is worth. Still. . .the truth she hit upon nags at him: he is at least partially responsible for the accident. Parking at an intersection without hazards—even on a back road no one should be cruising through on a still-dark Saturday morning—wasn't the best choice on his end.

Her eyes snap up to his, hopeful. "You mean that?"

Ben groans inwardly. Considering the age of her bike and the sudden calmness in her tone, he assumes it means she has no insurance. He doesn't care much; money has never been a concern on his radar. But her bike is inoperable, if not totaled. How is she going to get it fixed without coverage? What would have happened had she been thrown from the bike and injured?

He puts aside the what-ifs to focus on the present. His jaw eats around the lie as his hand waves off the entire accident, willing to sweep it under the proverbial rug seeing as neither of them are hurt. "There's no damage."

Her eyes narrow. "Are you blind? Or do you really not see that dent?"

"It's nothing major," he corrects.

She's already shaking her head at him, not accepting his words even though she's the one that benefits from him not making a fuss. This girl seems determined to hold on to something he's ready to move past, to forget.

She crouches next to his bumper, hands smoothing over the impact site, whispering her apologies. "I'm so sorry, gorgeous. I'm gonna fix you up in no time."

"Are you talking to my—?"

"Shh," she hisses. "Let me think. I can get this dent out. I know I can."

She'd give anything to have her tools. Normally, she keeps the essentials in her saddlebag at all times, but she'd needed the space to transport party supplies tonight. For a moment she considers offering to fix the dent at her shop on Monday—even goes so far as to visualize the sleek, black 911 model nestled into the single station she calls a garage—but brushes off the thought.

The G-Man, whom she's upgraded from jackass due to his offer to forego a paper trail, would probably laugh at such an offer. He's dressed in navy Tom Ford pants and a tailored white shirt that knows every curve of muscle in his upper arms and chest intimately. This is the kind of man who doesn't work for the government so much as is the government. He doesn't come to businesses that break half a dozen OSHA laws unless he's there to give a citation.

Better not to invite trouble, Rey agrees with herself. Even so, she can't leave his beautiful Porsche looking like this. If only I had something with suction. . .

"Ah!" she cries, startling his spine straight in her eureka moment. Spinning dangerously on her heels, she bends over to dig through her saddlebag. It's a crazy idea, but the physics of it should be the same no matter if the pull is coming from a traditional suction cup or from the more unorthodox tool she has on hand thanks to Rose and her ridiculous party favors.

Her hand finally closes around the soft shaft of silicone and she whips it out into the country air.

At first, Ben isn't sure he's seeing what he's seeing. It can't possibly be that.

She straightens and holds the electric blue dildo aloft like it's some award. A delighted laugh at her ingenuity turns into a fit of giggles as she considers the obscenely large phallus, pressing the base to her hand several times as if testing it out. Whatever simulation she's running, it passes. "This should do the trick."

He intercedes before she can reach his vehicle. "Wait," he tells her, "You're going to fix my car with a. . .with that?"

Her smile falters slightly as she looks from him to the intimate toy—how anything so imposing can be called a toy, he can't begin to fathom. Flipping the dildo so she's holding the tip, she shows him the end with the concave cup. "It's just like a plunger," she explains. "It'll work just fine. These things have some incredible suction."

He's at a loss for words, but his eyebrows must speak for him because her eyes cringe shut and she runs her tongue along her bottom lip. "Not that I would know," she mutters, clearing her throat.

"This really isn't necessary," he protests. "I can have a mechanic work it out tomorrow."

"I am a mechanic," she returns with a proud smile. "And one that won't charge you a fucking pound of flesh for an easy fix."

Without another word, she brushes past him and kneels down on the road, clenching her jaw against the bite of the asphalt on her bare knees.

"It's just. . ." he begins again, gesturing at the thing he can't seem to name without his cheeks threatening to catch fire. "Why do you even have it?"

She shrugs as she lines up the base of the dildo with the center of the dent. The thing is so large that even her two hands don't cover all of it. "It's from the party. No need to worry," she adds, "I haven't used it yet."

Rey remembers learning about spontaneous human combustion in school and thinks it might be happening to her right now, starting at her ears. Haven't used it yet? she repeats to herself with an internal groan she wonders if he can hear. You don't plan on using it at all, Rey. It was a gag gift.

She goes silent with embarrassment and hopes he thinks she's concentrating on her task. There's not a chance in hell that she can meet his eyes right now to check. Instead, she secures her hold around the dildo and presses it firmly against the dent. She feels the air compress beneath it, gives the dildo a slight twist to lock it in place, and then yanks back with a determined pull.

The dent pops out with a hollow thunk, and it's over. Easy, peasy. She's probably just saved him a grand with a five second job.

His remark is a dumbfounded whisper: "I can't believe that worked."

She's still flushed from her previous comment, but she can't help grinning at the skeptic. "I said I could fix it. I'm good at fixing things. Always have been."

"Even with your skills," he starts, "I don't think there's a way you can fix that tonight."

She follows his gaze to her busted front tire, and Rey scrunches her nose at the sight. It really is a miracle that she wasn't bucked from her seat when the rear of the bike popped up. Having opted for two wheels all her life, Rey's had her fair share of scary situations and taken one or two trips to the ER; tonight marks the first time she's ever been truly afraid of not walking away.

"I'll have to call for an Uber," she remarks, tucking the dildo under her arm to retrieve her phone. "Finn will give me a tow to my shop in the morning."

As she unzips a pocket on her leather jacket and removes her phone, Ben scuffs the asphalt with his cap-toe Oxfords. Getting an Uber to come all the way out here at this hour is going to take forever and cost her an arm and leg. He would extend an offer to drive her home, but he can't think of a way to express it without coming off sounding like a creep. They are relative strangers, after all. He doesn't even know her name.

"I'll wait with you," he says instead, leaning against the side of his car and tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants. "It's the least I can do."

"You might be out here until dawn," she comments as she scrolls through the app to contact a driver.

"I insist."

Her thumbs stop moving across the screen. The girl peers up at him, cocking her head to the side. "If you're willing to wait that long, why not just give me a lift?"

Ben thanks the stars that she is the one who asks, and he pushes away from the vehicle. "I'd be happy to, if you're comfortable with that."

She looks from him to the car, an odd sense of longing in her glance. In the eyes of a mechanic, the sleek Porsche must be an awfully big temptation. The hunger in her gaze isn't focused on him, that's for sure. He fleetingly wonders if it's possible to be jealous of his own car.

"On one condition," she states, then changes her mind, "No, two."

Tentatively, he nods in agreement. He did say he wants her to be comfortable with him driving her home. "Make your demands."

"Show me your ID."

Of all the things she could have said, that isn't what he anticipated. "My what?"

"Your license," she repeats. "I don't make a habit of getting into cars with men at three AM. You could be a serial killer."

His eyes go wide and his jaw slack in mild horror—these are the conclusions women leap to?—but he's already digging into his back pocket for his wallet. In a moment, he produces it and slips his driver's license out of the clear window, holding it out to her between two fingers while questioning her logic, "Even if I was out to kidnap beautiful women, how would having my license keep you safe?"

She shrugs, snapping a picture of it and tapping out a message he presumes she's sending to a friend. "It wouldn't," she answers, "but at least if I go missing, the police will know where to look first."

"A bit morbid, don't you think?"

"I like to think of it as pragmatic," she responds, finally reading his name from the card, "Ben Solo."

He watches the way her mouth forms his name, how her pink lips kiss together before curving around the vowels. "What's your other condition?" he inquires as he plucks his ID from her hand.

She moves past him and ghosts her free hand an inch over the car's shell, headed for the passenger side door, as she makes her second request: "I want to hear her roar. I may never get the chance to ride in one of these again, and. . .it'll kill me if I don't find out what she can do."

He mirrors her movements as she speaks, meeting her on the opposite side of the car. He was right about the hungry look in her eyes as they feasted upon his car. "I think I can make that happen," he agrees with a wide grin, adding, "But he prefers to be called 'Kylo.'"

"Ben and Kylo," she repeats with a smile. "We had a rough start, but I'm glad to have met you both. I'm Rey."

#reylo fanfic #reylo #reylo crack #rey and ben solo #modern au #humor fic #capaldiwrites #rffa writers

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mindmeafterdark · 3 years ago

Text

An In Person Hang Up with @OneCheekyGal

Kai:

-The evening with Maxwell was long gone from my thoughts, seemingly eons ago, replaced by something much more enduring, and in a shocking turn, transformative. There truly hadn’t been anything like it since I’d suffered the loss of Cora. I had remained rooted in the past, as much as I tried to run from it, I could never escape the weight of her death. Though there were times my languishing had waned, it was a constant backdrop, training behind me for longer than a lifetime.

That was until I’d happened to call for an appointment at the Toy Box and reached Camille. Her voice and its every inflection had been identical to Cora’s, my physical and emotional responses had confirmed it. Despite this haunting similarity, I felt unweighted and firmly rooted in the present instead of lost to the past. That was most notable in my expanding interest in Camille.

Though the sound of her voice had initially initially hooked me, I realized there was something more that was luring me. The conversation may have been ordinary to any observer, insignificant even, but it was nothing of the sort. The underlying nuances may have escaped anyone else, but once her voice had captured my attention, I was entirely engaged. The evolution of her reactions, from distracted to considering to flustered to laughing and finally the abrupt farewell, she seemed to be affected as well. Without having seen her or had any true personal exchange, I was at the genesis of a building attraction, something I thought was an impossibility for me. I’d repeated her name several times during the intervening hours, reveling in how it felt on my tongue.

And we were about to meet.

The sun had burned away all cloud cover as the hours passed by or I would have left to arrive at the earliest opportunity. Instead, I had too much time to mull over how to present myself for this second first impression with her. It may have been lunacy to feel such a way before laying eyes on a person, but I was not going to take for granted this rebirth of feeling captivated. I finally landed on a brighter, blue t-shirt and casual slacks as opposed to darker attire. It suited my new locale, especially given the heat and proximity to the ocean. After a shower, a shave, a taming of my hair, and a very light application of cologne, I’d dressed and headed to my car. It was a short drive away and I parked just around the corner from Camille’s shop with five minutes to spare. I walked up to the door, anticipation peaking, and used the back of my knuckles to knock.-

Camille:

*Somehow, as the day moved along, I worked to find a way to put Kai and his coffee voice out of my mind. I filled my day with cleaning every single display that was set up in the shop, straightened and re-straightened bottles on shelves, I even wiped down the water feature wall. The few customers who came through the store in person, I scrutinized the sound of their voice only to end up disappointed when I concluded none of them belonged to him.

I was beyond curious and as the hours ticked by I began to worry. I didn’t want to lose my cool when he was here the way I had over the phone. At least over the phone he wasn’t able to see embarrassment on my face. I needed to take back control, if for nothing else than to feel like my normal, confident self.

After checking the clock for the millionth time, I knew that was a lost cause. Time had started off with moving entirely too slow even while I had been cleaning as a distraction, and then suddenly, without any warning, it sped up like it was the white rabbit...late for a very important date. I scoffed at myself for that particular train of thought and went in search of my own white animal. Betty had kept her distance from me all day which was odd for her, then again, she always had been a good judge of my moods and must not have appreciated the energy I had been putting out in my efforts to forget the way a certain conversation had affected me.

Time had ticked down to minutes now, and my nerves had returned in full force. I didn’t like the way it made me feel. In my search, I found Betty curled up asleep on top of my desk next to a sample box of novelty masks that had been sent to me by a company in the hopes that I’d place an order with them. Originally, I had been on the fence about them, but now, as an idea formed, I could see their appeal.

Choosing the female version, I returned to the front of the store and removed the mask from its plastic, slid the loops over each ear then checked myself out in one of the changing room mirrors. My laughter at the sight of the pink-lipped mouth and black ball gag printed on the front of the mask was immediate and left me feeling more like myself. This was exactly what I needed...there was no way he’d be able to disarm me like he had earlier on the phone while looking at this.

As I adjusted the wire nose piece to fit better, I continued to laugh. All humour ceased when I heard a knock at the door, because of course he would knock! I had left it open for him, but given the way he spoke, I really shouldn’t have been surprised he was the proper knocking before entering type.

After one last glance in the mirror, I moved to the door and swung it open with a smile...not that he’d be able to see it beneath the mask.* Hello, Kai? *snorting at myself, I shook my head and stepped aside, purposely not looking too long at him out of fear that I’d lose the return of my normal self.* Of course you are, duh. Nobody else asked for an appointment tonight. Please come in.

Kai

-Anticipation mounted as I waited for her to open the door and just when she did… muttering about my name, I broke into a chuckle on sight of the mask she was wearing. It was an instant reminder I’d forgotten one, not that I needed it. It had been easier in Texas to roll around without one for the sake of appearances. I couldn’t help but continue to laugh as I stepped in. The ball gag mask commanding my attention for its bold humor.- Camille… I don’t even know your safe word. -dropping my lips close to her ear as she closed the door behind us, I whispered one more word.- Yet.

-Not the best of lines, but not the worst either, at least I hoped. While she finished locking up behind me, or attending to whatever business she had at the door, I had the opportunity for a better look . Her stature would have her tucked perfectly below my chin, just where Cora would fit. Her hair was also the same, rich color Cora had pinned into curls, though Camille wore it straighter, the light catching the nuances of natural highlights. With every detail a piece of the puzzle filled in for my wishful heart. I wanted her eyes… needed her eyes, but I knew no image of her could be complete so long as she wore that mask. Even with part of her face undercover, I was moved by something unseen, an electricity in the atmosphere, something beyond comprehension, but definitely sensed. I was determined, one way or another, to get the full picture before I left.

As I stood in the store, my eyes scanned the area to see what I could see. The place was impeccably kept, I could even scent the cleaner in the air, though it wasn’t at all off putting like a hospital. From the water feature wall adorned with some suction cup sex toys, to the candid and organized displays, nothing appeared to be placed without thought or careful consideration. I absolutely loved the idea of Camille owning a shop brandishing all the wares for proper kink, and sexual indulgence. I awaited the attractive proprietor before venturing any further into the store, after all the visit had become as much about her as procurement, if not more.-

Camille:

*The sound of Kai’s laughter upon seeing my mask was enough to convince me they deserved a spot on my shelves, it had done exactly what I had hoped for, slid me straight into a familiar ease. I was used to making people laugh, I enjoyed it, and I enjoyed the sound of Kai’s particularly when it continued as he stepped inside.

I had already turned off the OPEN sign so I took my time making sure the lock was twisted into place after closing the door. I was feeling proud as a peacock until he spoke. Thank the gods of kink my back was to him when he made mention of not knowing my safe word. UM WHAT?! That was not a normal thing to say to someone even if that someone happened to be wearing a ball gag mask. And holy hell, his voice was right there. Next to my ear. He had gotten close enough I could just barely smell the scent of whatever cologne he was wearing through my mask.

My mind went completely blank, offline, blue screen of death level inoperable. I was back to the phone call from this morning speechless all over again. Shitshitshit.

How does a person even reply?! Should I pretend I didn’t hear him? No. Only a deaf person could claim that. And more importantly, since when does Mr. Speaks-Like-He's-From-Another-Time-And-Knocks-On-Doors talk like that? He was nowhere near flirting with me on the phone this morning...wasn’t he?

So. Many. Questions. Zero answers. I was in trouble.

Fortunately, as I turned around from the door, his attention was not on me. I took the reprieve to shake my brain back online only to realize...DUH, of course he would know about safe words, everyone and their mother knew what that was. And really, thanks to the 50 Shades of Trash, safe word talk was far from uncommon. Maybe he was just messing with me. I blamed the mask. Definitely was not going to order those fuckers. Absolutely not.

Control. Where had it gone? I needed to regain it, at the very least of myself and return to being a professional. If that was still possible...Likely not, but I was willing to live in my own delusions for as long as Kai was in my shop. Deciding the shock value of my mask had worn off, I removed it and stepped closer to the counter to set it aside, and in the process, found my cheeky side...not exactly the professional I was aiming for but far better than the bumbling mute I had just been.

My smile was still in place as I spoke, this time I made sure to take a proper look at his face since my previous avoiding tactic hadn’t worked at all.* Can’t say I remember the last time I had a need for a safe word, Kai. *I held back a cringe at my far too honest answer, I couldn’t take it back now. Not wanting to leave him too much time to interpret that confession, I spoke again.* So...what can I help you find tonight?

Kai

-Even with my back to her, I could sense Camille’s fluster; I thrived off of it. I liked having such an impact on her, mostly because I had been bewitched by her in the course of a phone call. I could feel her movement, she was closer to me but to my right. My grin widened into a lopsided smile when her confession slipped, providing me insight. I was emboldened, confident, ready to get her out of that mask.

I turned and stepped closer simultaneously, bringing my eyes up to find hers, and that was when the world flipped end to end. Everything engaged all at once, realization dawning that if my mind was playing tricks that it had executed to perfection. The atmosphere was sparking like a live wire. I stepped even closer.

The world stopped then spun.

Stopped.

Spun.

Blurred out of focus.

Zoomed back into clarity.

My vision tunneled, magnetized to her. Gods...by the air I breathed, her every flawless feature was there. From the warmth of her eyes flecked with mischief, to the sweet bow of her lips with the slightest, unique upturn at their corners and her perfectly auspicious nose, she was the very image of the love I’d lost. I was sucked into the vortex of my past, her name on the tip of my tongue but I would not speak it. The beautiful woman who stood in front of me was very well, breathing, and undeniably of modern times.

I’d been stricken by the familiarity in her voice, but seeing her identical resemblance, there was no passing it off as the fantasy of a wishful mind and a weary soul. With everything in place, the sight of her ignited a backdraft of reactions, and urges I had to immediately suppress. I did not want our first meeting to end up our last. I wanted to be her last first. My hope had been dismantled when Cora’s soul had dispensed…but now it was as if I could see that I was standing on the precipice of something that defied explanation.

I was curious. Did she feel anything at all stirring in her bones? Was I alone in this welcomed haze of déjà vu? I wanted to ask her. I wanted to know. I was fighting my own impatience. My heart stuttered in my chest, beating some erratic rhythm I couldn’t quite call to order, but I found a raspy form of my voice and did my damnedest to call my sanity to order.-

I am quite finicky about this particular item...perhaps you can show me to your stock of nipple clamps?

Nothing novelty. -a slight command had returned to my tone, praise the Gods.

Heart. Hammering.

I was unused to being caught off guard, but I waited for her answer like she was on the cusp of revealing all the mysteries of the universe and a free round trip to the seven wonders of the world.-

Camille:

*I didn’t know what to make of the silence that followed my question. Was he suddenly feeling shy about what he wanted to look at or was he mulling over my admission and coming to realize my sex life had been as stagnant as a murky puddle on the side of the road. I hoped it wasn’t that. I could work with coaxing out what he wanted to see, but I didn’t think I could recover from the alternative.

Embarrassment began to burn my ears but before it could creep onto my cheeks he answered and relief flooded the blush, washing it away like a candle being snuffed out in the rain.

Nipple clamps.

He wanted to see nipple clamps. I almost laughed. In all my years, I never would have guessed he’d say that. It was a rare occurrence when I couldn’t figure out what someone might ask for prior to them telling me. It was a weird feeling to be taken by surprise like that, but the weirdness gave way to a thrill of the unknown akin to the way it felt when riding a rollercoaster for the first time.

My lips twitched and I nodded as I moved past him, still keeping a mindful distance while heading toward the room hidden by the heavy black curtain, I spoke to him as I drew the curtain back and tucked it behind a hook.* Do you know what style you are looking for?

*Moving deeper into the room, I grabbed a few varieties off the display on the wall as I listed the types for him, figuring if he decided upon staying where he was, I could bring them to him to look at, though something inside me I couldn’t exactly identify hoped he’d be curious about what else was behind the curtain, and might want to look at more than just nipple clamps. Not to make a larger sale, but to lengthen his visit.* Alligator clamps, with and without teeth, tweezer clamps, string and bead clamps for longer wear, magnetic clamps, spring tension rings that work with piercings, nipple suckers. Vibrating clamps.

*I grinned proudly at my variety as I turned around and found he had definitely followed me and was practically next to me, so I used my hands as a table to spread all the styles out for him to inspect, curiously waiting to see which he would be drawn to.*

Kai

-I couldn’t help myself from following her into the room I knew had been partitioned because of the types of items found there. I was lured to her in a way that failed definition, and was for more than her being a doppelgänger. I felt like I could breathe for the first time in damn near a century. I looked around the room while she plucked some of her wares to share, impressed that her inventory was definitely quality over novelty, not that her shop was free of those items. It was the balance she struck that I respected. I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, but my instinct was screaming not to back off. Her scent was… subtle, cherry blossom-esque, earthy, delicately floral and faintly sweet, too.

I could tell she took care in selecting the clamps she did, my mouth hooking up at one side in a grin as she held them out. I picked up the vibrating clamps, setting them aside on the nearest shelf. I brushed my fingers over the nipple suckers, though I admired their mechanics, I set those aside, too. My eyes raised to hers, noting she was concentrating on what I picked, and I wanted to draw out all the suspense I could. In the end I left the Alligator clamps with teeth, black-tipped tweezer clamps with a weighted chain and… a stunning and expensive looking pair of butterfly clamps. I was not permanently discarding the other options, but I was engaged and had particular intentions that hopefully would result in extending our evening. Lifting the butterfly clamps, they struck a particular cord in this moment with her.-

I’m sure you know that most instruments of pleasure and pain have a history that came before their current use? -grinning, turning the clamps in my fingers, pleased with their weight-

These I have a true affinity for. They were invented by women, Japanese seamstresses, and originally called clover clamps. They were used to hold fabric in place so that the hand stitching was impeccable. I love their simplicity and strength. How the tension increases as you pull on their ends. The way they can bring about pain with a slow burn, like a good whiskey down your throat, is also divinity.

Now, tell me, Camille, what is it that I set aside you would add back to my selection? -I raised a brow, awaiting her reaction and further insight into what her own taste might reveal-

Camille:

*Never before had I been so curious as to what someone might choose from my offerings. With each item Kai had put aside, I felt a tiny bubble of excitement grow and grow, like air being pushed into a piece of gum. Would it pop all over my face or would I be able to suck the air back in my lungs and control the gum without embarrassment. I wasn’t sure. Most customers checked the back of the packaging where the price sticker was always placed when considering items they were wanting to buy, he didn’t even bother looking. I couldn’t decide if that meant he was trying to impress me or if he actually cared about what he purchased, and that the price wasn’t part of the decision making process for him.

It was as he began describing the history of a particular set of clamps that I decided his interests were that of someone authentic and not just some guy who thought a kinky lifestyle was the next cool thing to do. I was impressed. The bubblegum bubble in my stomach threatened to blow wide open, stretching dangerously thinner when he asked his question.

The tone was one of someone who was used to being in control and the subtle command wasn’t at all off putting. In fact, I smiled at him as I sat down his choices, away from the ones he made clear were not to his liking, and moved back to the display wall.

I hadn’t originally shown him everything I stocked. My initial selection was to gauge his true interests. Now that I had rather safely assumed price point wasn’t a concern for him, particularly after he kept the more expensive items, and discarded the lower end, entry level clamps, I knew what I wanted to show him. I took my time browsing my selection, I knew exactly where they hung on the wall, but if he was wanting to see what I would add to his options I needed a couple steadying breaths before turning back to his scrutinizing gaze.

I wanted to impress him, now. I wanted my choice to go home with him and earn a place among what I was starting to imagine was a rather extensive collection of items he knew how to expertly wield. And if I was really being honest with myself, I wanted him to remember this appointment tonight every time he looked at this particular item, and be reminded of me.

As I turned away from the display wall and popped open the packaging, I slid one of the wide flat disks out and held it up. To anyone else it would be mistaken for a delicately designed nipple shield, but I knew the secret it held.* I think you did a great job weeding out the clamps I showed, and instead of putting one back in the pile, I’d add this instead.

*Returning to stand in front of him again, I reached for one of his hands and lined up the opening of the shield to his pinky finger.* Most people overlook the use of a nipple shield. It’s usually designed for comfort of the wearer and generally chosen for personal expression with all the different types of designs you can get them in. But these ones are different. They can still work with any of the clamps you’ve picked out but…you see this outer ring right here? *I slowly twisted the ring I knew he was watching and waited until he felt the tiny circle of points close in around his pinky finger. Gradually, I twisted the ring a little further to demonstrate the degree of control he could have with them while showing how they could add another layer of pain when combined with any clamp he wanted to use.*

Kai:

-She. Was. Stunning. Every reaction she offered complimented mine before it with a remarkable ease. I could sense her anticipation and it only multiplied my own. Her smile held an enigmatic allure, one I was sure came natural and was not practiced.

When Camille set aside the clamps I’d selected and seemingly the options I’d discarded, the urge to say “good girl” was hard pressed to die on my tongue. I hadn’t taken her for anything less than savvy, but when she turned to go seek something new, the tension in the smaller room stretched like a rubber band, escalating my ambitions. She’d held out, and didn’t that just whet my appetite.

It was in that span of drawn out moments, I became aware my attraction was not to an unfinished past, or a recollection of love. Time had changed me. Experiences had forced my growth. Modern influence had weighed in on my adaptation. I realized I had shed the Kai I was a near century ago, evolved into a different man, and with that my understanding deepened. It was Camille who drew the man I had become.

My eyes followed her and only her. I wasn’t trying to see what she was looking for, and when she turned away, my staring was unabashed. I blew out a quiet breath on sight of her pert and curved ass, small waist, and the strong shoulders of her petite frame. Her body cinched and swelled in all ways enticing. The opportunity to admire her physical attributes was both a privilege and an indulgence that only served to elevate my attraction.

She multitasked as she turned back in my direction, opening the packaging while she walked, then revealing what she’d chosen. A sleek, brushed metal, thin disk, simple in design, a nipple shield of some variety. Curious, I raised a brow. Behind her casual words I sensed something more, and she did not disappoint that expectation.

When she took my hand, a surge of blood rushed through my veins as if her touch could conduct electricity. My grin hooked up at one corner as she slid the shield onto the tip of my finger, providing me explanation in a tone of voice that was sensual, and pleasing. When she turned the ring in demonstration, the points pressed into my skin, the biting sensation against the nerve endings of my finger inciting a riot of reactions.

I was impressed.

I was aroused.

I was captivated.

I was admittedly a little smug at her reveal. I wanted insight into what turned her on and she had delivered beyond my wildest imaginings. Not only had she shown me something about her tastes, she had nailed mine. It didn’t matter that the clover clamps may have indicated my own preferences, making it less than a guess. What mattered was that she had paid attention, and what that exposed. My grin widened as my eyes raised, getting caught on another unintentional moment of show-and-tell. In subtle outline, under her green blouse, was most definitely a pierced nipple. My gaze quickly darted to the opposite side to answer my next question. And, yes, she had completed the set. I swallowed a groan, wanting to explore the entire landscape of her mind and body. My eyes finally made it to hers as the ring continued the pinch at my finger, and her hand had not dropped from mine.-

I am thoroughly taken with these. First, I’ve never come across them. Second, they pair with my taste consummately. Third…

-I paused, knowing what I was about to say was more dirty than gentlemanly, but time was of the essence.-

Don’t you find that far too often the nipples are overlooked as an erogenous zone?

Camille:

*I had never been one to seek out the approval of another. EVER. Not as a child, or teen, or even as an adult and absolutely not in any of my relationships, platonic, familial or romantic. It just wasn’t who I was as a person. I have always known who I was and had always been content with that. My self-awareness was strong, and stronger than that was my inability to yield to the approval of others. I had always taken the approach of if someone didn’t like something about me, that was their problem, not mine.

And yet...

With the look in Kai’s eyes as I showed him how the nipple shield worked on his finger, and the way he spoke about them fitting in with his tastes, I felt the bubble of gum explode inside my stomach, leaving behind a desire to seek more of his approval. I didn’t know what to do with this feeling or myself, and so, I continued to stand there, staring into his eyes, listening to him speak in that coffee voice I found oh so irresistible. Until he asked a question I normally would have side-stepped like a landmine because I was still a professional, and knew better than to get tangled up in the inappropriate with a customer.

And yet…

My head was nodding immediately and my mouth was running away with my agreement before my brain could even find the emergency break.*

OH MY GOD. Yes. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times my nipples have been disappointed in the past. I mean, what is the point of a gal piercing the damn things if she doesn’t want them to be played with?! That alone should be an open invitation, if you ask me! They are not an ornament you put on display on the mantel above the fireplace, never to be touched and only appreciated. And they are certainly not meant to just be looked at because they are pretty! Nipples deserve so much more than to be overlooked. They are not wallflowers. *I ended my single-breath tirade in a huff then laughed as I shook my head, feeling the burn of embarrassment high on my cheekbones.*

Shit. I did not mean to unpack all of that *my hand moved in the air between us* on you. I’m not apologizing though, because it’s true...I’m just usually a lot better at filtering my thoughts around clients, but damn, if you didn’t hit a sore spot for me. Hell, I have even said those exact words before.

*As I came to that realization, my eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.* You don’t know any of my exes, do you? *Speaking more to myself, I shook my head and muttered my own reasoning of that away before I went with the next most ridiculous reason on the list of how he could say something exactly as I had myself.*

I can’t imagine any of them knowing you and not mentioning it to me at some point. Mind reader then. That has to be it. There is no way you could ask a question so succinctly worded that it sounds like I was asking it myself.

*I was so singularly focused on his question, I didn’t have time to consider all the revealing things I had said, least of all being the fact that I admitted to having my nipples pierced, I could die of mortification over that later, when I was alone like a normal girl would.*

Kai

-Camille continued to impress and my amusement was instantaneous, expressed in a low chuckle, as she revealed her own frustrations. I was not a spy, nor a friend of an ex, or otherwise positioned to have known how my question would affect her. I had stumbled onto rose gold, which was somehow the color that bloomed in her cheeks, probably at the realization of her disclosures.

The animation in her features only heightened her beauty, the way her eyes widened in kindred recognition, the way she huffed in exasperation as an exclamation point on a valid argument, and the casual dismissal of her assumed oversharing with a wave of her hand.

I was taken with her candor and how her thoughts poured out without reserve. There was only one stutter, and not in her speech, but when she referred to me as her client. A fact for certain, but one I was immediately intent on changing. Camille deserved someone who could show her nipples proper attention. By the sounds of her venting, she’d suffered a string of disappointments and lackluster attempts in this department.

Excitement tightened my jaw and stiffened my cock at the mere thought of an opportunity to show her how good it could be if she were put in the proper hands. My past relationship had been chaste; despite her aplomb, Cora and I had remained fairly traditional. My expanded experience only came after, and was predominantly male-oriented.

Here and now, I was every ounce the modern man and not at all bound by antiquated formalities. Something cemented in me at the realization. In a world of possibilities that encompassed reincarnation and biologically immortal super humans, we should be unbound, and not destined to repeat the preceding cycle. It was a divergent path, one I would take without hesitation into undiscovered territory.

I laughed easily, nodding my head in agreement to all she said, laughing more when she suggested I might be a mind reader, if I wasn’t an acquaintance of one of her exes. Comfortable, emboldened, all ice obliterated, I was ready to delve into every point she had left me to answer.-

I’d have a difficult time being a friend to anyone who neglected any nipples so egregiously, Camille. And while I credit your powers of deduction, I am not a mind reader, either. Admittedly, my eye for detail did reveal something before you confirmed it...I am a sucker for pierced nipples. -A sideways smirk hit my lips as I chanced another glance, making sure she caught it. It was well worth the risk of getting smacked to reveal my interest.-

We do have a problem though, if I’m being upfront. You have everything and more I want to purchase, and I would certainly and solely support your business as a matter of taste. But, you see, I would rather ask you out. -leaning in, I wanted the weight of my inhale and exhale to register- And, if I were so fortunate to have you agree, I’d make sure your nipples were never wallflowers, or adorned with piercings for naught. -I stepped back, wanting to give her the physical space to consider my words- I don’t want to be a client, if it means a conflict of interest.

Camille:

*His reaction to my unsolicited tirade made me laugh. A lot. The formal speech paired with the topic of pleasuring nipples was a dichotomy enough that I almost missed him admitting to already knowing I had piercings. The realization brought some levity back to the moment and I fought hard not to cross my arms over my chest. I felt exposed despite being covered though the smirk that followed his confession left me feeling more empowered than embarrassed, and my grin up at Kai was a genuine one.

The curve of my lips faltered when he spoke of a problem, and my brows knit together as I quickly went over in my mind how things could have taken such a turn for him. I thought things were going perfectly. He liked the product samples I showed and even seemed pleased when I tested the nipple shield on his finger.

Much like when we had spoken on the phone earlier, he got straight to the point before I could even ask what the issue was, when he was done, my mouth fell open in surprise. He wanted to ask me out?! Not even if I was psychic could I have seen that coming. More to the point, he was willing to shop elsewhere despite liking my product lines just to prevent any kind of conflict of interest for me.

I was stunned silent for a few seconds, overwhelmed by the way he had moved in close and spoke low, reminding me of the way he had sounded earlier through the telephone. Except now, I had the added benefit of catching the scent of him and seeing his face and watching the way his lips moved as he spoke. Oh boy.

I licked over my lips and pulled the bottom one between my teeth as my heart hammered away erratically in my chest. I knew my answer, and I offered another smile to him as I reached out to remove the shield from his finger.* Well. It’s a good thing I am the boss, isn’t it? While I normally say no to these kinds of situations, I’m finding it really hard to follow my own rule at the moment.

*I slid the shield back into the packaging, closing it then waving it between us a little before picking up the rest of the items he previously said he wanted.* You don’t have to shop anywhere else unless that’s what you want, though I don’t see anything wrong with you supporting my business and us going on a date. *I moved past him, making my way toward the cash register and speaking over my shoulder to him as he followed behind.* I have no doubt with all of these items you are going to buy, my future nipples will be very happy.

Kai

-I loved her laugh. Adored it. I wanted to record it so I could replay it. Of course, it wouldn’t bear the same effect if I did. It was that it was in reaction to me and its unforced quality laced together by the bell-like tone and uninhibited sound of it. Apparently we were done in the backroom, but I didn’t have time to raise any objections. I had a grin plastered on my face for a multitude of reasons. She had said yes, but it was not that simple. It had flustered her, I had noted it in the quiet that preceded the drop of her bottom lip, followed by the press of her teeth into it before she landed on her answer. She wasn’t done then. She took the shield off the tip of my finger, repackaged it and waved it in front of my face, a silent admonishing for even the consideration of me shopping elsewhere. Finally, there was the admission that I was essentially an exception, worth breaking a personal rule for. I did not take that lightly. I turned on my heel as her petite yet curvy body easily slipped by me.

I normally did not follow, but she was also an exception for me. She might even succeed in getting me on my knees and under her command, were the circumstances optimal. That was a self-revelation I wasn’t expecting, as I had never submitted or even considered it. Those cards were going to be held close to the chest. For now.

She earned a laugh that ended on a groan when she mentioned her future nipples being very happy. Even in jest, that told me she was thinking about me in a certain way, I welcomed the innuendo. As I met her at the counter, I had to resist joining her behind it. Instead, I remained a gentleman, ignoring the instinct to behave otherwise.-

Does the fact that you’re ringing me up also mean you’re kicking me out? Early bedtime, Camille? -I wasn’t about to let the night end so easily, but would respect any request she made. While I watched her carefully add up my tab, it dawned on me why she had hung up during her call, I must have flustered her then as well. That small epiphany increased my heart rate. If she felt an attraction just during the course of our discussion, maybe there was more than just coincidence to our meeting. Now, standing in her store, she couldn’t end it as she had abruptly done with our call, but she was giving it the most valiant of efforts with the move to close the sale. Toying with a small vibrator on a counter display, I kept my tone purposely casual.-

And after you answer that, tell me, do you like to be the boss in every aspect of your life? -my eyebrow lifted as I awaited her eye contact, along with her reply.-

Camille:

*Hearing his laughter behind me when I joked about my nipples had a smile growing on my lips. I couldn’t help it now that he had made his interest in me known. I wasn’t sure that he was finished browsing, however his request earlier had been about nipple clamps, and we had successfully taken care of that. If he wanted something else, he could book another appointment. I had reached my limit of trying to maintain my professionalism while under such a scrutinizing set of eyes.

I needed fresh air and food and to be out of my shop. It had been quite the day, that was for sure. As I scanned each of the items and set them aside, I gave him his total and pushed the card machine toward him, assuming he wouldn’t be paying by cash, before starting to bag things up. It was customary that I added a few sample items when someone made a larger purchase, and I wasn’t about to let Kai go without his. I rummaged through the box of samples below the counter, choosing the flavoured lube packets and condoms I thought were the best of the bunch as I answered his questions.*

Yes, I am kicking you out, but no, not for early bedtime. *I smiled as I dropped the freebies into his bag then grabbed one of my business cards, flipping it over to the side that was blank, then grabbed a pen from the cup beside the register that was in the shape of a naked female torso.* It’s been a long day, and because I hadn’t planned on staying late, I didn’t bring dinner with me when I came in this morning. We can arrange another time for you to browse the rest of the shop, if you’d like? I’ll be better prepared then.

*I lowered my gaze to the business card and wrote my cell number on the back before dropping that into the bag along with the receipt that shot out the top of the debit machine once he had entered his card and PIN. I held out the bag for him to take, and grinned because I had yet to acknowledge his last question. It felt like my answer would be one that carried some weight for him.* Do I like to be the boss in every aspect of my life? Not really. I mean, I am pretty type A with work, but outside of this shop, I’m less so. At least that’s what I like to think. I guess it just depends on the situation, really.

*Nodding to myself as I finished answering his question, I reached below the counter to grab my purse and fished out my keys. He hadn’t said anything yet, and I wasn’t sure what to make of his silence. I hoped I hadn’t answered in a way he thought was boring like the nipple clamps he’d discarded earlier. Then again, I hadn’t asked him any questions, maybe he was insulted or simply didn’t have anything to say now that he had his answer. I blew out a breath and summoned up my lady balls. I could ask questions, too.* Do you want to join me for dinner? Have you eaten? It will only take a couple of minutes for me to close up.

Kai:

-I watched Camille’s every move and as I did so, it occurred to me she was literally doing it, an in person hang-up. I refused to display my shock as she filled my bag with various accessory items either out of habit or propriety, slightly stunned. A part of me found humor in her blunt and verbal kick to the curb as it reminded me of my past love, and the spine she possessed. I almost laughed when she said that she was indeed kicking me out, confirming what I had thought. Perhaps I had been too forward...

That thought was quickly quelled and my ego soothed as she disclosed why she was actually booting me, and a pang of upset struck me, as she clearly stayed past closing time at her own expense. I would find a way to make that up to her as I never wanted to inconvenience anyone, let alone someone I was interested in pursuing. While she wrote what I presumed was her number on the back of the business card, I weighed the idea of asking if I could take her for dinner but before I could offer, she answered the question I had forgotten I asked. A grin tilted my lips up on one side as she satisfied my curiosity about her out-of-business preferences and images flashed in my mind...images of her in ways I really shouldn’t have allowed myself to indulge in.

As she blew out a breath and gathered her belongings, I was about to speak up but she beat me to it, and my resulting smile was full blown. I wouldn’t have cared if I had just finished a six course meal, I would have developed an appetite just so I could take her up on the offer.-

I would love to join you,on one condition...You allow me to buy? - I held up a hand in anticipation of her protest, signaling I wanted to explain.- It’s the least I can do after I was the one who delayed your dinner. You’d also be doing me a favor since I’m just getting acquainted with the area. Aside from those things, if I’m being upfront, I cannot express how much I want to get to know you better, and that is after a mere thirty minutes in your company.

-I hoped she wouldn’t change her mind after my emboldened statement, but something told me Camille wouldn’t have asked in the first place if she was at all hesitant, and her independent spirit and self-assured nature only served to increase my attraction to her.-

Camille:

*I tried not to fidget as I waited for Kai’s answer on whether or not he wanted to join me for dinner. There was something unsettling about asking someone out that always left me feeling...overexposed. Sure he had indicated he was interested, but that didn’t mean he was looking to go on a date with me right away. The possibility of being rejected was still very real in my mind, and as I waited, I bit down on my bottom lip to stop myself from saying anything else. This wasn’t like our phone call earlier in the day where I could hang up on him because I was feeling out of my element and flustered. It was intimidating to put myself out like that even when I already knew he liked me.

He saved me from too much internal debate on how to react to a rejection gracefully when he accepted and then demanded to pay. I was stunned and began to shake my head as he lifted a hand and continued on, explaining why. Was it not enough that he spent a large amount on products? It felt too much. I didn’t know what to do with that and laughed in disbelief.*

Please don’t feel bad about keeping me. I was the one who agreed to the appointment tonight, I could have told you tomorrow when you called. *I really wanted to argue about paying for dinner since I was the one who asked him to join me, but again, there was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on that suggested I was better off not pushing the topic. Just like I could have said otherwise, he, too, didn't have to offer to pay. I smiled lightly and nodded my head.*

I can play restaurant guide for you, sure. There are actually a bunch of great local places that are walking distance from here. Just give me a couple of minutes to take care of a few things.

*I thumbed through the key ring I still had in my hand and locked up the register, grateful I had taken care of removing all the cash minus the regular float before Kai had arrived. I'd balance the day’s earnings in the morning. Next was returning to the room Kai and I had been in, flicking off the light switch and making a mental note that I’d have to return the items I’d left on the floor display back to their spots on the wall. Normally I’d pull the black curtain closed but instead left it open to help remind me when I opened for the day tomorrow. Last, I returned to behind the counter and flipped off the rest of the light switches along with the water feature wall, leaving the bubbling to continue behind me, just without its accompanying purple glow.

When that was complete, I hooked my purse over my arm and gestured to the door. Next to it, I pressed the away function on the alarm panel and unlocked the door, opening it wide for Kai to exit first then followed behind him, sliding my key into the lock and twisting it to secure the door. He hadn’t said anything in the time I took to close up, but now that we were outside, I could leave my worry about being professional inside the shop and grinned up at him.*

Maybe leave that in your car before we go? And then you can tell me how you feel about Thai food. *I gestured to the bag he still held and laughed at myself as I realized I had just contradicted the answer I had given him before about being bossy in all aspects of my life, but before he could call me on it, I quickly added.* Unless you’d rather take a bag of nipple clamps to dinner with us, it doesn’t bother me any. The staff there know where I work.

*There was a gleam in Kai’s eyes that I wasn’t entirely sure was from the glow of the neon CLOSED sign that hung above my door, but as he held my gaze so intently, I got the impression he wouldn’t be bothered either. It was a look that left me feeling emboldened enough to grab his hand and lead him down the sidewalk, away from my shop, his car, and into the evening together.*

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