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earlysunsetsoverambrose · 4 years ago

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Fool For You (1/4)

Lester Sinclair x f!Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Description: You are head over heels in love with the youngest Sinclair, but he could not be more oblivious to your feelings.

A/N: Thanks to @mynameisliterallycash for the request! I was hitting a wall with writing, but this helped get the gears turning again! I hope this is what you wanted and that you enjoy!

The sun streaming through your window roused you from a steady slumber. You groaned, stretching out your limbs until you finally collapsed back onto the mattress with a sigh. The sleep from your eyes cleared as you thought of the dream you had last night. Your heart raced remembering the way he took you in his arms and finally said he loved you too. You were so happy you could cry and now you could almost cry at realizing it was just another dream. He seemed to be all that occupied your thoughts: Lester Sinclair.

Lester was all you had energy for these days. If you weren’t with him, you were thinking about when you’d see him again. Even your dream world revolved around him as he’d made an appearance almost every night lately. You were like a damn schoolgirl; and it was as exhilarating as it was humiliating. You thought you were past the days of pining over boys, but here you were.

Slowly, you’d fallen head-over-heels for the man. His self-effacing humor, kind heart, and generous nature won you over so effortlessly. You didn’t even realize where you were headed until your little crush became an intense, desperate love for you closest friend. It practically consumed you.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Lester would just put you out of your misery. Falling in love with him was incredibly easy, but telling him was the biggest pain in your ass since Bo Sinclair.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. You tried hundreds of different ways – of varying levels of subtlety – to tell him how you feel. Extra physical affection? Nothing. Complimenting him on literally everything? Nothing. Baking treats specifically for him? Nothing. Asking him if he’d ever been in love before? Not a damn thing. You were running out of ways to get your point across.

Even if he didn’t notice the romantic intentions, he was always so receptive and enthusiastic, you couldn’t be upset for too long. Being a touch-oriented person by nature, he welcomed the extra hugs, squeezing you to your heart’s content. Your compliments always made him blush and he’d pay you back with as much flattery and twice the charm. After every treat you baked, he carved you thoughtful trinkets from wood and bone. And when you asked him about being in love, he lit up as he rambled on about a dog he met that confirmed for him the existence of true love. God, he was a goofball. You loved him so much.

At this point, you were vacillating between whether you should tell him at all, since everything you tried seemed to go over his head. You weren’t even sure he liked you back. Sometimes, you thought he might, but he was so nice to everyone, it was hard to tell. Maybe he really didn’t notice, or he did and he was trying not to hurt your feelings. Both were possibilities, but you sincerely hoped it was the former. But how could he not get it? Maybe you were better off as friends. It’d probably be easier.

You looked at the clock, realizing you would have to put your pity party on hold. Though the smallest part of you wanted to stay in bed and return to your dreamland where you knew Lester loved you back, you’d much rather spend all the time you could with him in the real world. You had plans to go to town with Lester to pick up more dog food. When he asked you if you wanted to tag along for his day off, you jumped at the chance to go with him. Anything for a few more hours together.

Once you got cleaned up and dressed, you jogged down the stairs and straight to the front door. You took a seat on the bottom step of the porch to wait for Lester to come pick you up. A shiver ran through your body, adjusting to the chilly breeze. You looked up at the sky to find it overcast, matching your mood. You wondered if it would rain.

You heard the door open and shut, followed by heavy steps down the stairs. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Waitin’ for Lester to pick you up for your date?” Bo prodded, taking a sip from his coffee mug.

“It’s not a date.” You sighed, too caught up in your thoughts to fight with Bo.

“But you want it to be, don’t you?” He snorted, “You’ve had it bad for him for how long now?”

“Can’t you just go on to work without harassing me? Be nice for once and go away.” you asked, finally looking up at him to meet his classic smirk.

“Look, kid, if you wanna get anywhere with Lester, you’re gonna have to spell it out for him.” Bo advised, “God love him, but there’s nothin’ in his head. Plus, he’s dumb as a sack of hammers when it comes to women and sex.”

“Stop it.” You snapped, “Lester’s not stupid. And I don’t remember asking for your advice.”

“Well, you need it.” Bo interjected, “But if you wanna keep pussyfooting around and die alone, that’s your God given right.”

“Truly inspiring.” You said sarcastically, “You should become a life coach.”

“Thought about it, pay was shit though.” Bo quipped without missing a beat. He gave you a soft kick on the leg as his best attempt at comfort, before finally granting your wish for him to leave. He hopped in his truck and took off down the hill.

You thought about what Bo told you. Maybe you should just come out with it already. You tried everything short of saying what you actually meant. You knew that being open and direct was the best way forward, but it would undoubtedly change things between you and Lester – for better or worse. You just dreaded the thought that after you finally told him everything, he simply wouldn’t feel the same. The idea of rejection, especially coming from him, was utterly terrifying. You didn’t think you could handle it if he were to start icing you out. You didn’t want to lose any part of him. Maybe you should have stayed in bed after all.

“Hello, Y/N? Anybody alive in there?”

You gasped as your heart jolted and you snapped to attention. You looked up to see Lester chuckling at your expense. Even as your heartrate slowed, you felt it stutter at his laughter.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that, Les!” you said with a playful shove, feigning annoyance –your smile betraying you.

“I didn’t mean to spook ya! But I’ve been callin’ your name for two minutes.” Lester told you, “Ya sure were thinkin’ hard ‘bout whatever it was. Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Sorry, I think I’m still waking up.” You excused, adding a fake yawn to really sell it. Lester smiles wide at you, suspecting nothing.

“Well, wake on up then, we got places to be!” Lester said as he offered his hand to pull you up from the stairs. You happily took it and he hoisted you up with ease. Your eyes darted where your hands met as his touch sent sparks through your arm and into your chest. Now, you were just plain staring. He innocently tilted his head, “Ya sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” you said quickly, releasing his hand. “Come on, I’ll race you to the truck! Last one there has to do all the heavy lifting!”

Lester broke into a sprint without a warning. You wondered how he always seemed to have so much energy at all hours of the day as you struggled to catch up with him.

He made it to the truck first by a long shot. He just smiled when you finally made it, not bothering to gloat. Both of you couldn’t help but laugh as you fought to catch your breath.

“Guess, I win.” Lester said simply

“I’m getting too old for this.” you said as you leaned against the truck for support.

“Oh, you’re never too old for a little fun.” Lester replied clapping you on the back, “’Sides, you’re awake now, ain’t ya?”

“Won’t be for long, if I black out from exhaustion.” You fired back dramatically, “You’re going to have to go on without me.”

“Hey, c’mon now, ya gotta go with me to carry all that dog food. Ya ain’t gettin’ outta this one, drama queen.” Lester played along.

“Vision going dark…legs too weak! Goodbye, cruel world!” you cried out with an exaggerated hand over your face. You made a show of stumbling around like you were about to faint, imitating all the terrible soap operas you caught on television. You wrapped your arms around Lester and made your legs limp, forcing him to support you as he laughed at your antics, “Remember me as I was: unwilling to carry everything by myself.”

“Alright, fine!” Lester agreed as he adjusted you in his grasp so he could look back at you. Your act faltered as you looked up into his warm whiskey stare, savoring the feeling of his arms around you, sturdy and gentle. “I s’pose I’ll help ya out a little. Guess it’s only fair since ya let me win and all.”

“Why, yes, of course, that is exactly what happened. Me, the true winner. I let you win, correct. That was the master plan.” You said, every word dripping with sarcasm. You stood back up, separating yourself from his embrace despite wanting nothing more than to stay that way forever.

“Yes ma’am! Ya coulda left me in the dust, alright, but ya didn’t. Thanks for takin’ it easy on me.” Lester said with a wink and a nudge as he made his way to the driver side of the truck. There he goes again with that unrelenting kindheartedness, “Well, hop in then! We’re burnin’ daylight!”

You opened the passenger door and got in next to Lester. You couldn’t help but look at him from the corner of your eye as he got settled and started the engine. He started driving down the road. You wondered how it was possible no one else had fallen in love with him the way you had so easily. Maybe many already did and they also failed to tell him.

You turned to look at him straight on, while his eyes were on the road. You could feel a fond smile pulling at your cheeks as you gazed at him. He had such an ease about him, you thought he looked so handsome without even trying.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” Lester asked, cocking an eyebrow as he looked back at you, “What are ya lookin’ at me like that for?”

“Huh?” you said cluelessly. You had been caught staring again.

“Did I leave the house with a milk moustache or somethin’?” he asked, looking in the rearview mirror to check himself, “Do I got a snot bubble?”

“No, you’re good.” You said, chuckling as you propped your head against your hand by the window. You kept looking at him, practically feeling the hearts flying out of your eyes.

“Whew, had me worried there for a second.”

“Sorry, about that.” You said with a smile, facing front once more.

“Don’t be, I get it, what with my devilish good looks and all.” Lester joked with a hearty laugh, sitting back without another thought. You looked back at him, holding back a sigh of disbelief. He didn’t know the half of it.

You leaned over to turn on the radio hoping some music would ease the tension you were feeling, even though you were sure Lester hadn’t noticed. He was delightfully oblivious to your plight. You heard the beginning of a steady, soft guitar. You immediately recognize the song, internally cursing the irony of it all.

I find it very, very easy to be true I find myself alone when each day is through Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you Because you're mine, I walk the line

Even Johnny Cash could see right through you. As much as you wanted to be irritated with fate, every line perfectly summed up your feelings for Lester. You glanced at him, thinking about how there was no one else in the world who was as right for you. He was just like the song itself; soft and stable.

“You know, I really love this song.” You said hopefully, “Romantic, don’t you think?”

“Sure is,” Lester agreed, with an excited smile and glance in your direction, “But hell if Folsom Prison Blues ain’t one of the best damn songs ever written. That’s my favorite!”

“Oh…that one’s definitely great too.” You said with a small drop of your shoulders. You should have known better than to think that would go anywhere. You straighten up again, giving it another shot, “I Walk the Line just makes me wish I could find the Johnny to my June.”

“Aw, don’t worry about that, none. Won’t be too long ‘fore that happens. I’m surprised none of them bigshot city boys ain’t snatched ya up yet. Guess most of ‘em are just plain stupid. Hell, they gotta be if they ain’t fallin’ over themselves to get a ring on ya.” Lester hyped you up, looking at you, genuine as ever.

“I don’t think I want anyone like that.” You said, “Guys like that really aren’t my type.”

“Well, whoever ya do end up with is gonna be one lucky son of a gun, I’ll tell ya that much.” Lester declared with the utmost certainty.

“I think I’d want him to be like you.” You told him pointedly, scooting closer. Lester gaped, a huge grin still shining through the skepticism.

“Me? Shoot, ya gotta be kiddin’. No way! Ya don’t wanna shack up with a fella like me!” Lester denied with a wave of his hand, clearly amused but not entertaining the notion. He was sure you must be joking.

"Why not?” You asked, “You’re funny, helpful, incredibly reliable, thoughtful, patient, kind. You’re the real deal! Plus, you know everything about everything there is to know about animals. I’m always learning something when I’m with you.”

“Shucks, you’re gonna make me blush,” Lester chuckled, sending you a humble smile as he rubbed his neck, “I don’t know everythin’, but you’re real sweet for sayin’ so. ‘Sides, I don’t think there’re too many ladies that wanna hear me rattlin’ on ‘bout critters and whatnot.”

“Don’t be so sure.” You told him, nudging his shoulder with yours.

“Well, if ya happen to run into anybody ya think won’t mind if I set the mood with a little roadkill, ya send ‘em my way, alright!” Lester told you, slapping his knee. After he finished laughing at himself, he piped up, “You know who I’d marry if I could?”

“Who?” you asked, your heart stopping in its tracks.

“Dolly Parton! Whew that woman sure is somethin’!” Lester told you with a dreamy shake of his head.

You let out a soft sigh as you scooted back to your side; hiding your disappointment by looking out the window. Suddenly, Ring of Fire seemed more appropriate since loving Lester was starting to burn like hell. Even so, you were still charmed by his unrestrained joy as he started whistling along with the radio, totally oblivious to the way your fond smile overtook your features.

#lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #Female reader #House of Wax #house of wax 2005 #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #My writing #request #tw: cursing #fool for you

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doctenwho · 4 years ago

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Icy Surprise

Hello! Thank you for the prompt! I’m glad you like my work enough to send your first request to me! Not gonna lie, this fic gave me such Christmas vibes, and it’s honestly the cutest idea. No mention of Christmas, but that’s where my head was the whole time!

This was so much fun to write, and I even learned a bit about Saturn in the process! Anyways-- on with the fic, I hope you like it!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,799

Summary: Up in the prompt :)

(Gif is not mine, credit to creator!)

“So, where are we going?” you asked easily, watching contently as the Doctor did his usual circles around the TARDIS console as he landed her at the mystery location.

As much as the Doctor liked to explain everything, and what you should expect from where ever he happened to be taking you, he also liked to come at you with the element of surprise every once and a while. Surprise and mystery, which usually left you floored by whatever he happened to show you.

So, the Doctor hadn’t said much about where he was taking you, but he’d gotten a bright smile on his face when you commented absently about a quiet night away from other aliens, and strange planets out of your solar system. As much as you liked it, you were still a human, and you did get overwhelmed by all this space stuff occasionally.

The two of you both knew you hadn’t meant you wanted to return to earth, just that you wanted a quiet night away from dangerous adventure and strangers. It wasn’t much to ask for, especially with all the dangers and adventures you’d found yourself drowning in these past few weeks.

He knew it took a toll on you, even if you didn’t say anything about it. You truly did like the travels, and adventures and the general thought of space travel, but it wore you down. Sometimes you just needed a bit of a break before you were good to go again.

And even if the Doctor didn’t say anything about it, you knew he liked when you requested a quiet night away just as much as you did.

“It’s a surprise,” the man grinned, just as he had the other four times you’d asked, or prompted guesses of his plans. You gave him a playful pout, to which he chuckles brightly.

You didn’t know what to expect. He’d given you so little information to even try to hazard a guess at where the two of you would be spending the evening. All he’d said, and it wasn’t even really information about your destination, was a question of if you had any warm clothes.

Which, no, you didn’t. You had what you’d been wearing when he first took you away to travel the galaxy, clothing you’d picked up along the way, and whatever the TARDIS supplied for you.

And by the look on his face, he’d assumed as much.

So, he’d directed you to where he kept all his wardrobe, and told you to select warmer clothes.

And that’s all you’d gotten from him.

You’d done as he suggested—raided the wardrobe and found some things you liked. A hat, a scarf. A pair of mittens you’d shoved in the pocket of the jacket you’d found in case you needed them too.

There were a few pairs of boots, all magically your size, just like the coats lining a rack towards the front. You mismatched the items you liked, what was warmest and textures you preferred before returning to the Doctor in the console room, arms full of warm clothes, because it was certainly too warm in the TARDIS to be putting them on now.

The Doctor had looked at everything in your arms and nodded, pleased with what you’d selected. He, like usual, didn’t bother with changing out of his suit and jacket, so you were sure it wouldn’t be too cold where ever it was the two of you were heading.

It wasn’t that much later that the TARDIS dropped in the familiar pattern of landing. You braced yourself, holding on while the Doctor landed her as peacefully as he could.

You were curious, leaning your body to the side to see out the doors as soon as the Doctor pushed them open slightly to peek at whatever was outside. A check he always did to make sure you guys were in the right place. A chilly breeze carried in from the door, making you shiver where you sat, arms curling into your body as an involuntary movement.

He hadn’t been teasing when he’d said you’d want warm clothes.

The Doctor shut the TARDIS doors before you could make anymore of a move to see your surprise destination, which prompted you to wrinkle your nose in an almost pout at the man.

The Doctor turned towards you, leaning back against the doors, where he grinned brightly before prompting the question that was more a tease than an actual inquiry, “so, are you ready?”

“Yes,” you huffed, smile widening as you pulled the boots you’d selected onto your socked feet, and tugged your jacket on as you rushed towards the door, hat and scarf falling to the floor as you moved. It was necessities only, as a child-like wonder filled you. Space was just so cool, and the Doctor was amazing at picking places you’d love.

You paused beside him, waiting for him to either move himself, or push the door open for you. He chose the latter, pushing the door open and letting you out like a puppy freed from a kennel. You stepped out in awe, looking around carefully.

Instantly, your feet shot out from under you, slipping on the icy ground, but instead of hitting the ground, the Doctor’s arms caught you under your arms and your back hit his chest instead of the ice below. You craned your neck to look back at him, a small, fond smile on his lips.

“Thank you,” you told him as he pushed you up. It was still incredibly slippery, but now you expected as much so it was easier to stay upright.

“My pleasure,” the Doctor grinned brightly. When you were upright and not in danger of falling for a second time, the Doctor withdrew his hands, but he was quick to throw the scarf you’d selected around your neck, then tug the hat you’d picked over your head as well.

With your balance retained, the new knowledge of the straight ice below you, and the support of the Doctor behind you, you finally had a chance to look around. You were standing on a sheet of ice, bigger and possibly more slippery than and ice rink you’d seen on earth. It was a straight sheet of black ice under you.

And if the ice wasn’t beautiful as it was, the night sky certainly did the trick. Up here you could see everything. The different colours of the galaxy were visible; purples, and dark blues and, of course, black. It was majorly black, but that didn’t make it any less beautiful. The stars shone brightly, almost twinkling in your eyes.

It looked almost like those images NASA releases that go viral online, but real—in real time, and visible to the naked eye-- completely mind blowing.

You looked around taking it all in. Reveling in the sheer beauty of this... planet?

You caught a glance at a planet beside you, so you weren’t really on the planet. But this was definitely a part of the planet. Then, in your peripheral vision, you saw it.

Earth. Small and insignificant, but there. Incredibly far away from where you were currently standing, but still visible.

“We’re in my galaxy,” you couldn’t help but mutter, taking in the Earth’s beauty from afar. You didn’t need the Doctor to confirm it, because you knew that was the Earth.

“We are,” the Doctor agreed, taking a step forward so he was standing by your side, instead of a step behind.

“This is... the rings. It’s Saturn, isn’t it?”

“Right you are,” the Doctor smiled, “clever girl. I thought I’d have to tell you. You said you wanted a night away from everything, so, I’ve brought you to your home universe. Not home exactly, by means of the planet, but close enough.”

“We’re standing on Saturn’s rings,” you mumbled, gaping around before pointing at Saturn, “that’s Saturn.”

“Yep,” the Doctor nodded, popping the ‘p’. He looked amused with your reactions to this mystery destination. He always watched so closely, and you were never really sure if you should be offended or prideful of his amusement.

You couldn’t help it though. You’d seen some awesome things with the Doctor, but this... this was planets you knew, in a galaxy you’d learned about in school. Your galaxy. This was familiar—Earth, and Saturn, and the moon you could barely see in the far distance. And you were seeing them up close, where no other had before.

“They’re beautiful,” you breathed out. “Much prettier up close.”

“I agree,” the Doctor gave a nod, lightly pushing his shoulder against yours and making you slide the slightest bit to the side. “But I didn’t bring you here to revel in the beauty, we can do that anywhere, anytime. There’s more to do than that!”

You bit your bottom lip as you shuffled your way back to where you’d been before sliding away, “is there?”

“Of course there is,” the Doctor snorted, holding his hand out to you, “come along, let’s head back to the TARDIS for a second. Can’t have you falling this early in the night.”

You grabbed his offered hand, and he pulled you back into the TARDIS with far more agility than you could even imagine having. You stepped in easily, happy to have solid, not slippery, ground below you. You followed the Doctor in, but paused as he jogged from the console room.

He was gone for no longer than a minute, before he was returning with two pairs of ice skates. You hadn’t seen them in the wardrobe, so you wondered briefly where he’d been hiding them. The sight of them excited you, much more than an answer to your question would’ve.

You’d been skating before, but you certainly weren’t a pro at it. You’d be winning no Olympic metals for your skating, but you still thought it was fun. And you’d spent most of your time on your feet that last time you’d gone, so that was a plus.

Besides, skating with the Doctor just made it sound like more fun than just skating would’ve.

“We’re skating?” you asked, even though the obvious answer was literally hanging from the Doctor’s fingers. He raised an eyebrow, grinning fondly as he gestured you towards the console room seat. You made your way to the seat, sitting down and stripping the boots from your feet.

You and the Doctor both got to work on slipping on the skates and tying them up. It wasn’t often you tied clunky ice skates, so it took a bit longer than it would’ve if you were just tying up your sneakers.

The Doctor finished before you’d even finished your first lace, and moved on to your second before you could stop him. You blew out a breathy laugh, as you leaned back, watching his fingers tie the laces with surprising speed.

“Nine-hundred years of laces and you start getting pretty good,” is all he mumbled as he finished up.

When he was done, the two of you stood, and slowly made your way across the grates that were the TARDIS flooring. It was a weird sensation, walking across the grades on nothing but a blade of metal.

When you stepped out with the skates, you slid easily away from the TARDIS. It was a lot easier taking on ice when you had a skate, instead of boots lacking decent grip. The Doctor followed behind you, hands buried in his pockets as he skated easily.

It definitely wasn’t his first time on the ice. He barely wobbled, confident in his ability. You weren’t as confident. But you were sure you’d manage to stay standing.

“You do a lot of skating?” You asked the Doctor as the two of you slowly started moving along. It was a lot easier to make your way on skates, the ice was clear and smooth and it carried the two of you perfectly.

“Here and there,” the Doctor shrugged. “But recently,” he gave you a small smile, “nah.”

The Doctor did a quick circle around you before joining you at your side.

You skated in a familiar, comfortable silence-- the sound of skates gliding on the ice quite relaxing. There wasn’t the usual hustle of crowded ice rinks, no push and pull, or overly ambitious skaters flinging themselves around you.

You hadn’t known you needed this, but you really had. The thought had never even crossed you mind, nor had you even thought it was possible, but you were incredibly grateful for the Doctor’s thought-out down time idea.

“How... how are we even doing this?” You asked slowly, still in awe at what the two of you were doing. It really didn’t seem possible, and, as far as you knew, humans couldn’t usually get anywhere near Saturn.

“It’s the TARDIS doing it,” the Doctor replied, “she creates an artificial environment, like how we can breathe when the doors are open in space. The atmosphere here, in the artificial environment, is no different than inside the TARDIS. But if we skate out of it, well... let’s not do that, alright?”

“Noted,” you huffed a quiet laugh. “I didn’t think it covered this far.”

You weren’t incredibly far away from the TARDIS. You could still see her, and make out the wording on the side of her paneling if you squinted, but you were definitely further than you’d assumed the artificial environment would’ve reached.

“It doesn’t,” the Doctor blinked, skating along without much thought, “not usually anyways. I can extend the environment at will from the control console, but it doesn’t last quite as long when it’s larger. We’ve got a few yards and a couple hours before we’ll need to return to the TARDIS and head to somewhere with oxygen—preferably earth since its closest.”

“Oh,” you hummed.

“No need to worry about that though,” the Doctor gave you a grin as he pushed ahead a bit, only to turn in front of you and skate backwards, “I’ll keep you safe. We’re here to have a bit of fun.”

The man withdrew his hands from his pockets, holding them out for you to take. You smiled in return, lifting your hands to rest in his, where he tightened his grip and pulled you along, skating as perfectly backwards as he had forwards.

His hands were warmer than yours, and you instantly gave a shiver at the pleasant warmth radiating from him. The mittens you’d picked were still tucked in your pocket, but you’d much rather the Doctor’s warm hands than the gloves.

“How’d you even think of this?” you asked as the two of you skated, almost like you were partner dancing. The Doctor leading you along, and you following blindly because you trusted him wholeheartedly. You barely even looked anywhere other than your joined hands, and the Doctor’s face.

“This is a popular activity on your earth, isn’t it?” You gave him a short nod, which prompted the Doctor on, “well, it’s fairly well known around the galaxy as well. And, well, I know you humans don’t have the technology to even really get close to Saturn—you've barely made contact with the moon, so you won’t be able to do much with Saturn for... I don’t know, many years. So, I wanted to give you something that no one else has had before.”

“Because no one thinks to go ice skating on Saturn’s rings?”

“Exactly!” The Doctor grinned, eyes sparkling like the stars above him. “No one thinks about it, but now we’ve done it. It’s completely doable, but still never done. Well, maybe not completely doable, we’re only able to because of the TARDIS. And she’s pretty one of a kind now.”

The Doctor casted a look back at the blue box that was slowly getting smaller the further you guys got from her. He looked back to you just as fast as he’d looked away, lips curling in a smile as he continued on, “we’re the first, as far as I’m aware, to do this. Plus, it’s close to home for you, but still... still in my domain. A perfect place for the two of us to spend the evening.”

“It is pretty perfect,” you agreed. You really did like looking to the side and seeing earth, and the moon in the distance. Knowing how close you were, but still up and away where everything was quiet and familiar, but also completely unfamiliar all the same. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been skating somewhere no loaded with people.”

“I’m glad you like it,” the man mumbled, completely honest and adorably proud of himself. “A quiet evening alone sounded nice when you mentioned it, but just sitting in the TARDIS is no fun—not when there’s so much to see and explore. We barely spend any time alone when we’re not in the TARDIS.”

And you couldn’t argue with that. You spent a lot of time with the Doctor, but very little of it was just the two of you. More often than not, someone else was tagging along. Or you’d stumble upon someone.

You skated a while longer, conversation flowing easily. You liked to just listen to the Doctor talk, about whatever happened to come to his mind. Together you danced along the ice, hands barely straying from each other now that you’d felt the warmth and connection.

It was just a warm and easy atmosphere despite the chill sinking into your bones. Just you and the Doctor and nothing, or anyone else to worry about. Perfect for a night away from everything.

Utterly perfect.

Well, except for--

You weren’t sure if it was you, or the Doctor whose skate hit a chunk of debris from outer space. You’d known that Saturn’s rings weren’t solely ice, but it was still a shock as the two of you tumbled down.

You’d seen nothing but smooth, untouched ice and you honestly had no idea where the bump in the road had come from.

The Doctor tripped first, falling backwards. You weren’t sure if you’d tripped too, or if the Doctor had accidently tugged you down along with him, but in the end, you’d landing on him. Him breaking your fall.

“Are you okay?” You gaped out, too stunned to be trying to get off him. It had barely even registered in your mind that you were, in fact, laying on the Doctor.

One second, you’d been gliding peacefully with the Doctor leading you along gracefully, and then next, the two of you were a messed pile of sprawled limbs on the ground.

The Doctor looked just as stunned as you felt, eyeing your face in a silent analysis, before his eyes widened and his cheeks started to darken in colour. He didn’t say, or do anything, so you continued fretting over him, “did you hit your head?”

“No,” he mumbled, voice a bit higher than usual. He was quick to change that though, clearing his throat before continuing, “no, I didn’t. I’m alright. Nothing that hasn’t happened before. Perfectly fine.”

His eyes studied you again, looking up at you from where he was trapped between the ice and you, “what about you, are you alright?” His voice had returned to normal, but the flush on his cheeks certainly hadn’t.

“I’m alright,” you blinked in surprise before ginning teasingly down at him, “I had a pretty soft landing, actually.”

The Doctor let out a surprised bark of laughter, grin so wide that the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled happily. You liked that look on the Doctor, cheeks flushed lightly and smile wide and bright.

You beamed at the response from the Doctor, before your words promptly caught up to you. And following those, the position the two of you had landed in.

You were on the Doctor. Still. You were laying on the Doctor. You were using the Doctor as a cushion, and he hadn’t said anything about it.

“Oh,” you exhaled before your brain caught up. Then, a little louder and a bit more embarrassed, “oh, uh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to land on you!”

Below you, you felt the Doctor vibrate with a chuckle, “I don’t mind,” he tilted his head, “honestly, better me than you. Time-Lords are rather durable.”

“Don’t say that,” you scoffed as you finally started to pull yourself away.

You rolled off him, finding that faster than actually standing up to get off him as quickly as you could. You pulled yourself to your knees before reaching a hand out to help the Doctor sit up. “Are you sure you’re alright? That was a hard fall, and... and then I landed on you?”

“I’m fine,” the Doctor nodded, “perfectly fine. A bit chilly now, but fine nonetheless.”

You looked at him skeptically, eyeing his sitting form before finally allowing the answer. Mostly. “Maybe that’s enough skating for one night, eh?”

“If you’re done,” the Doctor nodded, “don’t stop on my account, I’m good to go. Takes a harder hit than that to deter me.”

You frowned at him, knowing full well he’d want to keep going if you did, even if he was cold and maybe a bit sore. That’s just who the Doctor was.

Thankfully, you knew there was one thing he couldn’t ignore.

“I’m actually getting pretty cold now.”

And that thing happened to be your needs.

“We’ll head back then,” the Doctor told you as he pulled himself to his feet, brushing off the snow dust that had gotten stuck to the back of his legs and his coat. You followed his lead, standing and brushing the cool dust from your own knees before sweeping your hand down the Doctor’s back to aid in removing the snow.

He ran his hand through the back of his hair, dusting what was clinging to his hair before finally turning to you, and offering you a hand. “I promise we won’t hit the ground again.”

You laughed as you took his hand again and then the two of you were skating back towards the TARDIS.

“You know what a lot of people do after ice skating on earth?” You asked as you glided across the ice, making slow progress back. Maybe it was the recent fall, or just delaying the end a while longer.

“No, what do you humans do?”

“Make a nice, steaming cup of hot cocoa to warm up. Useful and delicious. Interested by any chance?”

The Doctor turned to look at you briefly, expression adorning and smile wide, “how could I ever turn down an offer like that?”

“A perfect end to a perfect evening,” you hummed, looking up at him, sliding a little closer to his side. He looked down at you, giving you a fond hum of agreement.

<><><><>

Here’s some awesome fanart made by @nicole-lightfoot! I loved it, so I thought I’d share with everyone else who checks out the the fic! Thank you for the fanart, it’s beautiful!

<><><><>

As always, I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to prompt me again if it wasn’t what you were looking for! Thanks once more for the prompt, it was perfect! And hopefully things sound right, since I’ve only been skating a handful of times :D

Anyways, have a great day/night!

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #doctor who #doctor who 2005 #reader insert #TARDIS #writing prompt #fanfiction #fanfic

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kareofbears · 3 years ago

Text

plainly in truth, chapter 2/5

“Without you around, it’s sorta like stuff is just kinda…bleh.“

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Yusuke wasn’t too sure if what he was doing was of the right mind, but his heart is definitely in the right place.

There’s a lapse in time between Jails and hitting the road. Everyone is out soaking in the last of Sendai; Ryuji and Akira (and by extension, Sophia) are on a quest to buy any last minute supplies that they might need while the girls and Morgana are taking in the sights that they didn’t quite manage to explore as much as they’d like.

Well, the girls who like crowds and sightseeing are on a quest, at least.

Futaba and Yusuke are in the trailer by their own volition—he didn’t need to see anything else that wasn’t a timeless statue, and he learned early in his life that if you pace your spendings, you can then use that money to spend in the future. Quite the contrary, Futaba has had a little too much excitement these past few days and is more than happy to hide away in her top bunk with only her laptop charger peeking out from the bottom of her fleece blanket.

(A cartoon rendition of the Sendai temple is printed onto the fleece. Apparently Haru had yet to see Futaba purchase anything ‘tourist-y’ and action figures of various anime characters don’t seem to count.)

He tugs on her laptop cord. “Hello.”

“...What?” she grunts, voice slightly muffled. Through the thin fabric, he can see the illumination from her screen.

“I need help reacting to something.”

“And you decided to ask me?” she deadpans. “The literal shut-in?”

“The previous shut-in,” he corrects. “You haven’t been a shut-in in nearly a year. A marvelous feat, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, and this is my way of celebrating.” The lump on the bed seems to curl further in on itself. “Begone. Do a painting or something. This is my me time. The equivalent of guzzling down a boat load of Arginade. There’s barely any time to be by myself considering the whole group is treating this RV like a pimped out party bus, so shoo.”

J-pop starts playing from inside the blanket fort, and even Yusuke knows a dismissal when he hears one. That won’t stop him, though.

He tugs again, harder. “That is the reason I’m asking you now. I can’t have this be heard by prying ears.”

Had there been a cat on the bunk bed, its ears would have twitched. “Is this…?”

“Yes,” he nods sagely. “It’s a secret.”

Futaba’s head pops out, eyes wide and nearly glowing in excitement. If there was one thing that she liked more than recovering her energy, it's uncovering every nook and cranny of people’s lives, whether they want it or not.

“Inari, you should’ve said something!” She throws the blanket off herself, snatches her laptop in her arms and jumps down. Slamming it down on the booth, she throws herself on top of the smooth faux leather. “Tell me everything. The deets, the specs, all down to the last dirty drop of tea.”

He slides in to join her, albeit much slower. “Before you tell me that I misled you, I want to make it clear: I don’t know what the secret is.”

“What!” she slaps her forehead, groaning. “Yusuke, why would you do me like that? That’s false advertising to the max, and I do not appreciate you tricking me.”

“There wasn’t a trace of trickery. What I’m about to say really does have to do with a secret, but I need your help with how to deal with it.”

“I’m gonna level with you here pal,” she puts a hand on his wrist. “I’m not the right person for this, but I’d be darned if I let you walk away without telling me anything. So let’s hear it! I’m ready for some juicy goss. Oh! Can I guess? Is it about Haru?”

He frowns. “No. Is there something about Haru?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I was asking you!” she says, patting her hands rapidly on the table. “Come on, just spill the beans already.”

“There are no ‘beans’ to spill yet, and besides, that sounds like a waste of perfectly good food.” He leans back against the plush cushion. Only a pinch of guilt arises in him as he says it. “It’s about Ryuji.”

“Ooo, Skull himself. Gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting him.”

“It relieves me that you said that. I share the same sentiment—it wasn’t until I had run into him the night before when I had started to truly suspect something. And what I found was…” he trails off.

Her lips pull downwards. “That bad?”

“It was worrying, to say the least.”

She sighs. Most of the energy in her seemed to have filed out in the presence of a more serious topic. “Dang. I knew it was fishy when he left, but he’s always been able to just hash things out on his own.” Her expression changes as an idea pops into her head, and it morphs into one he recognizes. “Does—?”

“No. Akira doesn’t know, apparently.”

Futaba splutters, and he has to resist the urge to nod his head at her reaction. “He—Akira—wait, what? He doesn’t know? Oh, it must be bad bad.”

“My thoughts exactly. Initially, I had thought that whatever this was, it was manageable. Like that time he had spent his month’s allowance on a claw machine to win Makoto that light-up buchimaru.” Idly, he touches her keyboard lightly, appreciating the kaleidoscope of colors that emanate from it. “You know how I feel. We’re the Phantom Thieves; we can’t allow anyone to suffer alone, even if the one we’re helping is a Phantom Thief himself.”

Futaba raises an eyebrow. “And how do you want to help him?” she asks. “By talking to him? Let’s be real, you and I have the lowest social stat in this group. Combined, we can maybe reach the nerd student council president, and the guy who can and should handle this doesn’t even know about it!” Biting down on her lip, “Should we tell Akira?”

“Absolutely not. That was the one thing he had requested, and we cannot go against it. By extension, I don’t think we should tell anyone else.” A thought comes to him. “Wait, he mentioned that Ann knows of his situation.”

“Great! Someone who knows how to deal with people’s problems and isn’t us. What are we waiting for?” She reaches for her phone, and Yusuke proceeds to smack her hand out of the way. “Ow?”

“Don’t call her!” he hisses. “Ryuji said that she’s, and I quote, ‘part of the problem’. We can’t have her knowing that we know something.”

“Ann is?” Futaba exclaims, shoving her glasses up her nose. “This is getting too deep. We don’t even know anything yet, and it’s really starting to feel like we’re part of some conspiracy.”

“That’s right, we don’t know anything, and it is our largest road block.” Yusuke crosses his arms. “We don’t know what happened between Ryuji and Ann, or if something even occurred between Ryuji and Ann. What if they had an argument? What if they’re fighting, and it becomes irreparable between them? What if it begins affecting our Jail runs?”

“You really gave this some thought, huh?”

“But of course. I must nurture the few friends that I have managed to treasure.” He glances outside and sees the crowds clambering to see their tourist spot. “We may be different from most teenagers, but I don’t believe we’re immune to the nature of cliques or dramas or even insecurities.”

“God, what a good friend you are, it’s bugging me,” Futaba accuses. “So what the heck, Mr. Philanthropist? We’re stuck between a rock and our friend group here. This mission was doomed before you even dragged me out from my hideout,” she says, eyes drifting away to stare longingly back at her bunk bed.

“Stop making that expression. There’s a reason why I talked to you about this.” He leans forward. “What I’m asking is, to be frank, unfavorable, but I really do believe that it’s worth it to do this.”

She looks at him, and it only takes her a few seconds for realization to set in. Her jaw drops. “Oh Inari, that’s vile.”

“If you’re uncomfortable with it—”

“I didn’t say I was uncomfortable with it,” she cuts in. The grin on her face is wide; a woman in her element. “I just thought you’re the one who’d be all against this kind of thing.”

Futaba pulls her laptop towards her. “Sit back and observe the master at work.”

He watches as her fingers breeze through the keyboard, eyes inscrutable as light reflects off of her glasses. “So you can do it?”

“I’ve hacked into the Diet Building’s security cameras on a dare back when I was twelve,” she snorts. “This is Mario Kart Baby Park with the railings up.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It means—” With a flourish, she hits a key before glancing up at him, smug. “That this will be very easy. I’m thinking we can start with their text messages and work our way up to the big stuff.”

“Oh, right. You can go through our phones,” he grimaces. “You’ve stopped doing that, yes?”

“Of course I have! By the way, did you figure out what courses you wanted next term? I saw your advisor was bugging you about it, you should really email her back.”

“Yes, I’ve finally decided on sculpting as opposed to visual photography since it lets me focus on the anatomy of...” he pauses. “Wait—”

“Okay, looks like I got his text messages with Ann, so let’s all focus on this now!” she says loudly. “Scooch over, let’s go through ‘em.”

He does, and she moves to sit next to him. Yusuke peers at her screen. “Nothing out of the ordinary. There is a significant drop in the frequency of his replies, but that’s been the case for me as well.”

“Same here.” She continues scrolling up rapidly, so fast he wonders how she can keep up with herself. “Memes, memes, lots of ‘where you at’ texts, more memes…”

Something catches his eye. “Hold. Go down slightly, I think that link might be interesting.”

“‘How to treat knee pain: 11 steps with pictures’?” she reads aloud. “His knee is acting up again?”

“What’s peculiar is that I haven’t seen any sign of it.” He squints at Ryuji’s response to it—generic gratitude. “Even in Jails, he runs around without a care in the world.”

“What’s even weirder is that Ann is actually sending Ryuji wikihow links on how to treat his knee,” she snorts. “Let’s put a pin in this one and move on, Ann’s chat is chalking up to be a dead end.”

Rubbing her hands together, she straightens up like a professor in front of a lecture hall on the first day of classes. “Now Yusuke, when you’re looking to crack someone open like a tasty, moist omelette, there are two things that you must look into: their email and their bank account.”

After some clicking, Ryuji’s email pops up. “Email is obvious, since this pretty much tracks anything big. Delivery shipments, subscriptions to websites, acceptance letters. It’s all here in a neat little bow, ready for us to read.”

“‘Manga’s are 20% off for this weekend only,” he reads. “‘Anime convention next weekend’, ‘Pizza coupons’.”

“Ugh, he’s so boring! Next!” Clicking sounds through the RV, emphasizing how much they were snooping through their friend’s private life. “Bank account, show us your wisdom.”

“My word,” Yusuke gasps when the tab opens up. “That’s quite a lot of funds.”

“Inari, four thousand yen is definitely not a lot of money. How much do you have in yours?”

“I don’t have an account,” he admits. “I was on my way to the bank to open one, but I ran out of train fare. By the time I had gotten there, it was already closed. Quite rude, considering that it was only two o’clock.”

She levels him with a look. “Was it a Sunday when you did all this?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Never mind,” she shakes her head. “Okay, so nothing conclusive or even embarrassing. That means that whatever this is, he really doesn’t want anyone knowing about it.”

Futaba hops out of the booth and starts rummaging through everyone’s luggage. “That means we unlock the secret, classic, never goes out of style method of snooping—” with an expression of triumph, she showcases Ryuji’s backpack to him. “Going through their stuff IRL.”

Yusuke winces. “Don’t you think we might be going too far?”

“Hey, what’s with the cold feet? Where was your ‘justice’ from before?”

“I’m all for justice,” he watches her unzip the backpack, recoiling. “But even this seems a little excessive.”

“Look, we already went through his email, his bank account, his text messages. At this point, it’s kind of weird if we don’t find anything. Like—” she throws a pair of shorts behind her as she rummages. “What kind of teenage boy doesn’t have anything to hide? And also, it’d be kinda messed up to go through his stuff and come up empty-handed. If we didn’t find anything—” she pulls out several t-shirts and a crowbar and places them on the ground next to her. “Then we’d just be a bunch of snoops.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he reluctantly agrees. “Above all else, we need to find out what’s happened in his life to make him so upset.”

“Exactly. Oh man, wouldn’t it be crazy if we just found some porn mags or something? Retro to the max, but I can totally see him as the kind of guy to lug something like that along. Unless it’s of Akira.” She makes a face. “Ew. Funny thought is no longer funny.”

“Karma, if you will.”

“Shut it. Oh ho ho, what do we have here?”

“You found something?”

“It’s some fancy looking letter.” Futaba flops herself on the ground. She clears her throat. “'Sakamoto Ryuji. This letter is to inform you that…'” she stops all of a sudden.

“Futaba?” he probes.

“Um,” she blinks, and laughs nervously. “Um?”

He reaches over, and she doesn’t resist when it slips out of her hands. Skimming through the letter, only his eyes dare to move. When he finishes, he lets out a breath. “Oh no.”

“We shouldn't've read that,” she whispers, a perfect summation of what he was feeling. “We really should not have read that.”

—

There’s something to be said about the quayside in Sendai, in the way that it’s almost exactly like Tokyo.

Sure, the buildings here are definitely shorter—gone are the towering structures back home, and instead they’re replaced with shorter structures with cute local designs and colorful patio restaurants. The people here are different, too. Maybe it’s something to do with the water here, in how it’s cleaner and how you can actually see some fish down in the canals if you know where to look. Don’t even get him started in the air; jeez, do they infuse the oxygen here with something? He hasn’t stopped taking deep breaths ever since they got here.

But despite all of those discrepancies, the feeling of Akira’s hand in his is just like being home.

“And it’s actually really interesting,” he hears vaguely. “Because back in Leblanc, there used to be a couple issues about the temperature and stuff, but in my hometown there’s…Ryuji? Are you even listening to me?“

Akira’s telling him something. A story about Morgana? And Ryuji’s sure it’s very interesting, but he’s too focused on the way that sunlight hits his cheekbones.

“I’m listening,” he lies. “Keep going. This is just my listening face, I promise.”

“Sure, sure,” Akira agrees easily. “That’s just your listening face, rather than me and my wicked good looks, right? I totally believe you.” He wiggles his fingers. “Give.”

Ryuji offers him the caramel ice cream cone in his other hand, letting him bite into it like some kind of psychopath. “Done?” he asks, shifting the tote bag tucked into the crook of his elbow, careful not to rattle the eggs inside. Akira bravely offered to carry the groceries, but he had obviously refused.

“Mmm. That’s good stuff.”

“Right? I read about the ice cream here when I was younger, and they were really hyping it up on the ad.” He takes a lick, grinning when the taste hits his tongue. “And on a summer day like this? Unbeatable. It’s really reminding me of last summer when we hung out everyday in your room eating crap, taking naps, and playing games.” It also helped that hanging out with his crush was a daily thing, he thought.

“And I got to hangout with my crush a lot too, so that’s always a plus,” Akira adds.

Ryuji stops, and Akira turns around to give him a weird look. “What?”

“You get me,” he says in awe.

“I sure hope so,” he tugs him forward, and they continue their walk, their shoes rhythmically landing on the wood in unison. A comfortable silence takes over, but that’s no good. Ryuji wants to hear him talk.

“So imagine you get ten million yen,” he starts. “What do you do with it?”

It’s not the first time he’s asked this. They discuss it often, eagerly like the dreaming boys they both are. Akira considers it and Ryuji loves that about him. It doesn’t matter how stupid his questions are—he will always answer them with as if it were a serious question.

“For starters, Yusuke’s getting a place as soon as possible.”

“Duh,” he snorts. “Apparently, his roommate brought someone back to hook up with them. Poor guy got so traumatized he slept over at Haru’s.”

“We should be glad that he didn’t ask them for poses,” Akira laughs. “Next, I’m making sure that Sojiro has enough for retirement.”

“Obviously. Rest in peace Leblanc—you make fire coffee, but no one’s there to drink it.”

“And then I’m making sure your mom has the funds for retirement for sure.”

“I love you,” he sighs.

“I know.” Akira starts swinging their hands back and forth. “Then with the rest, I’ll buy us some new shoes for when we start training again together, and whatever’s left we can split it up with the rest of the Thieves and they can do what they want with it.”

“I bet Ann would go on a shopping spree in France,” he says.

“Haru would probably donate hers.”

“Makoto’s is going straight into university. I can see her going in to get a Masters with that kind of money.”

Ryuji refuses to let his expression fall. “That’s her. Big bookworm with a capital B.” Stop talking about this, stop talking about this. “How about you, Sophia? Any clue what you’ll do with a boatful of moolah?”

A harmonic beep rings through the air and Akira passes her over to him. “I would invest in cryptocurrency and turn ten million into one hundred million,” she says cheerfully. “Then I would take that hundred million and turn it into one billion yen.”

Ryuji coughs, sliding her into his back pocket. “You know what? That’s my bad. I should’ve expected that, honestly.”

Akira plucks the remainder of their ice cream cone from his hand and throws it in his mouth, munching. Wordlessly, he takes out a pack of wet-wipes from his pockets and hands it to Ryuji.

“Thanks.” Reluctantly dropping his hand, he thoroughly cleans through his sticky fingers. “You didn’t ask me what I was gonna do with my money.”

He nods in a go ahead way.

“After I give most of it to my mom, I was just gonna give the rest to you.” Ryuji kicks a stray pebble. It skirts off the edge of the boardwalk. There’s a tug on his arm. “Yeah?”

Akira covers his mouth with a hand, before making an incomprehensible garble of noise.

“Huh? My bad, I didn’t catch that.”

A few seconds of vigorous chewing, he swallows. “I said,” Akira says, eyes glimmering the way it does when he gets really excited. “I was going to do the exact same thing.”

“Dude!” Ryuji throws his arm around his shoulders, tugging him in close. “You understand me like no one else does. What the eff!”

“I’m glad,” he says softly. Wrapping his arm around him, Ryuji blinks at the unexpected hug. “It’s nice that we're on the same wavelength.”

Suspicion tingles across Ryuji’s skin. “Hold up.” Pulling away, he squints his eyes at him. “No.”

Akira immediately looks to the side. “What?” he says, defensive. “It’s nothing.”

“No freaking way.”

“I think I saw a cool arcade back there, it has cool prizes that I think you’d like, and—“

“Kurusu Akira,” he says sternly, grabbing his face between his hands. “Don’t tell me that you’re jealous.”

“I’m not!” he insists, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. “I’m not, you know I’m not that type of guy.”

“But?” Ryuji prompts.

“But…” he hesitates. “I’d be happy for you, if you find that it’s easier to talk to other people that aren’t me.” Akira straightens up, pulling out of Ryuji’s grasp but inspects his hand like it were something to be studied. How strange it was to see his long, elegant fingers grasp his brutish, blistered ones. “I’m relieved that I didn’t leave you alone. I just...miss being your go-to, I think.”

“Akira.” He says slowly. “My man. The love of my fucking life. You are never not gonna be my go-to. You’re my go-one.” Rapping his knuckles against Akira’s temple carefully, “Your hometown is messing with you up here, making you say weird shit like that.”

“I know, I know.” Running his index finger down his wrist, Ryuji can feel how cold he is. “You knew what you were getting into when you started dating an overthinker.”

“As a chronic underthinker, no, I did not.” He kisses Akira’s palm. “But it works out, so it’s all good.”

Turning them both around, Ryuji starts walking. “I know this is super duper impossible for a guy like you, but I’m gonna have to ask you for a favor.”

“Anything.”

“You have got, to the best of your ability,” he bumps into Akira’s shoulder. “Stop stressing out.”

He frowns. “It’s my job to stress out.”

“It’s our job to stress out,” he corrects. “You and me. Founding Thieves. We share the burden, bro. We got into this together, we’re getting out of it together. That includes you worrying about our relationship outside the ‘Verse, and extend it all the way to what dingy hometown you took the bullet train from.”

“I’ll try,” he says doubtfully. “You’re kind of enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean? No way I can enjoy the most perfect person on the planet be a little jealous over his boyfriend getting attention, what kind of asshole would I be?” And before Akira can say anything, “I know, not jealous, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” he flashes a peace sign.

“I know you know.” A group of middle schoolers pass them, chattering about nothing and pointing out random things on the quay, all enjoying their summer vacation. “You know that you can tell me anything, right?” he asks suddenly.

Unable to help himself, he ruffles Akira’s hair, pitch black and hot to the touch. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

“I don’t?”

Gray eyes look into his brown ones, earnest and trusting. Just like that, the light feeling in Ryuji’s chest vanishes. “No,” he responds slowly. “You don’t.”

“Good,” Akira nods, and sees where they were heading towards. “Oh, you took that seriously?”

“You bet your crisp ass I did,” he says, pushing the glass door open. The arcade is bright, neon, and littered with claw machines. Add that to the list of similarities from Tokyo. “I don’t fuck around with arcades. I’m in the top hundred players in the Gun Gale in Shinjuku.”

“Was that with Shinya or without?”

“Not important.” He surveys the area. “There it is. Can you grab us some change? I’ll pay you back.”

Akira waves his hand, walking towards the coin machine. “Don’t. What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I let you pay for our dates?”

“A hot one!” he yells. When he turns the corner, Ryuji collapses into a bright red racing chair. “Fuck,” he hisses, heart beating too damn fast for it to be normal. “Chill out, Sakamoto, jesus.”

It only gets worse when a familiar beep rings out. “Ryuji, your heart rate is at 160. Is everything alright?”

“Sophia!” he wheezes out, relieved. “Can you—will—” he stops, scrunching his eyes closed. “I’m having a panic attack, I think.”

“Searching for how to treat panic attacks,” she says immediately, and he sags into the cool plastic gratefully. “Deep breaths will help, slowly to the count of ten.”

His heart is beating so hard that he can barely hear the jingles and the whirrs of the machines around him. “Count out loud. Hurry, before he gets back.”

She does, and he grips the side of the chair as he focuses on breathing. The attack passes by faster than he hoped it would. “Thank god,” he breathes. “Thank you.”

“No prob,” she says, before hesitating. “Akira—”

“Will not know about this,” he cuts her off, rubbing his hand over his face. “I’ll tell him eventually, don’t worry, et cetera. I know all this. Ann’s been hounding me non-freakin’-stop. Just don’t tell him, Soph. Please.”

Before she can say anything, Akira comes back, pockets full of change and that signature small smile resting on his lips.

—

The bright side about missing out on Sapporo’s snow festival is having its tourism as its lowest point when you visit it in the summer.

Even the shopping district just outside Susikino isn’t very crowded; there’s the usual street vendors and shops with bright pastries and cute clothes. But even having it right beside the Sapporo Tower, it’s still nothing uncomfortable. At least, it’s not uncomfortable when you get to observe the environment through a phone lens.

“This is nice, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve had much of an opportunity to talk to you yet, which is quite rude of me.”

“No prob,” Sophia replies easily. She was swaying from Haru’s neck, hanging by a silicone phone holder that she had bought from a convenience store. Futaba had guffawed when she saw it, but Sophia’s happy about the purchase. It’s fun, and it lets her people watch from the perspective of one of her friends. “I have been meaning to talk to everyone one by one as to better understand each of you.”

“Oh, good! What better use of a nice chat while doing some shopping along the way?” Haru chirps, thumbing through a rack of out-of-season clearance sweaters as they pass. “I have to admit, I’m not the best when it comes to fashion and whatnot. Most of the time, I ask Ann-chan to accompany me.”

“I can try my best! Online websites are constantly updating in order to provide their readers with the newest trends.” Idly, she takes a peek. “Wide-legged pants are back in style.”

“That’s a relief,” she sighs. “I never pulled off skinny jeans too well. Long, flowy skirts have always been my thing. It just gives off such a nice aesthetic, doesn’t it?”

Sophia smiles. “I think you’d look good in anything. Have you considered going punk? You’d look very dope and intimidating with a black streak in your hair and a leather jacket.”

“Now that I can agree with, but that’s more Mako-chan’s style, I’m afraid.” She pauses. “Actually, I bet Mako-chan would actually like that. Sometimes I feel as though she isn’t willing to branch out of her circle of clothes past a pair of Oxfords and a deep-coloured sweater. A push might be what she needs.”

She considers this. “Is it possible to buy clothes for her? That can be a possible ‘push’, quote unquote.”

“Hmm, I don’t think so. She would never let us do such a thing.”

“One moment.” Pulling out a few files from inside her memory storage, she clears her throat. “According to my data analysis, Niijima Makoto has high difficulty straying away from well-mannered behaviours. Do you think that includes saying no to gifts given to her? That can be advantageous.”

Haru stops walking and pulls the phone up so that they’re at eye-level. “Sophia-chan,” she beams. “I have a feeling we’re going to be very good friends.”

They continue walking down the street when Haru gasps suddenly. “You literally can’t shop, can you?”

“Of course I can. I can get anything in the world for you,” she says proudly. “Anything.”

“Alright, we’ll have to test that later, but I mean you can’t use what you buy,” she frowns, eyes troubled. “Your sweater is adorable, but you’re forced to wear it everyday, right? Can you even do your hair differently? Is it possible for you to pin it, or even let it down?”

Sophia finds it endearing that she would let such a thing bother her. She doesn’t even have a social insurance number, but Haru’s worried about hair clips. “No, but I quite like it the way it is. It doesn’t get in the way when I do my work, and in the Metaverse, it gets completely hidden as to let me do my fighting,” she explains, karate chopping in her screen. “But I can understand the human desire for change.”

“Would you like that?” Haru asks gently. “To change? Um, change out of your clothes, and change mentally. Either one.”

“Change mentally, of course! I’d love to understand my friends better and understand how to help them. It’s a vast mountain of knowledge, but I’d want nothing more than to decode the mystery of the human heart,” she says eagerly. “But for clothes...I’m not sure. I haven’t tried it. I’m pretty sure I can’t try it.”

“That settles it,” Haru looks both ways before crossing the street, jogging slightly.

Sophia perks up. “If you’re heading somewhere specific, I can give you directions.”

“No need.” She has an intense, hungry look on her face, not unlike the one she had when the new axe Akira bought had finally arrived at their RV. “We’re just about here.”

They stop in front of a store, and she can barely read the sign from the phone’s angle. “‘Case in Point’?”

Haru pushes the glass door open, greeting the cashier. “It’s a phone modifier shop.”

There’s no effort to explain anything else, but Sophia can confidently add ‘anticipation’ onto her growing list of experienced feelings.

—

“Out of curiosity—” Haru begins as they exit the modifier store, the cashier still bug-eyed from the tip she had left at his counter. “Can you see everything inside Akira-kun’s phone?”

“Yes,” she replies. The environment that she lives in, and more specifically, Akira’s phone, is now a bright, perfectly polished shade of rose gold with a mint outline. A far cry from the matte black that it was before. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Her voice is sweet as sugar. “Out of curiosity once again, is there anything interesting? Anything worth noting?”

She jumps as Sophia’s voice suddenly morphs into Akira’s without warning. “Nice try,” the phone plays. “But no.”

And just as quick, Sophia comes back to the phone. “Sorry about leaving,” she says. “Akira had asked me to play that clip if someone ever, and I quote, ‘tried me.’”

Haru giggles. “Just like Akira-kun to be so thorough. Impressive as always, leader.” She peers down at her watch. “I suppose it’s about time to head back, isn’t it?”

“We still have eight minutes to spare.”

“We do. Perhaps we should take a stroll around the park?”

“Cool,” she says. “Wanna ask Futaba and Yusuke if they want to come with?”

“Sure?” Haru blinks. “That’s very specific.”

“On your two o’clock,” she points out. “In front of the book store.”

They watch as Futaba and Yusuke stand across the street from them. Futaba is aggressively pointing her finger at the books on display, then slapping her fist against her palm like she was devising a war strategy. Yusuke shakes his head wildly, comically putting his hands in his pockets and revealing that there was nothing inside. She sighs and walks away, tugging along a dejected boy behind her.

“Aren’t you going to ask them?”

“In a moment.” Haru takes them to the front of the store. “This isn’t a bookstore, I don’t think. What’s it called Sophia?”

After a quick search: “‘Sapporo’s School Supply Store’,” she says. “The alliteration makes it fun to say.”

“Indeed it does.” Peering into the store, Haru makes an introspective noise. “Now isn’t this interesting?” she hums. “Do you mind if I make one more purchase?”

“Not at all,” Sophia says, thrilled to add another point she had learned: If Haru wants something, there’s nothing that will get in her way.

—

“So,” Makoto starts, and Ryuji has to hold back a groan. He knows that tone. He’s memorized that tone. All the second years can feel her tone from a mile away. Hell, Ann probably took an instinctive step back just now. “Have you started to think about university?”

“Nope,” he says, wiping the sweat off his brow as they jog around the corner of Odori park. Back before he had left for his hometown, Akira and Ryuji would be up at dawn to train. Lately though, he’s been using any free time he has that isn’t planning for, prepping for, or actively doing a Jail run to sleep in the RV. And hey, he has no beef with Makoto, and it’s not like she can’t keep up with his training (she can most definitely kick his ass in hand-to hand), but she has a tendency to push when it comes to this sort of stuff. “Not a single thought towards it. It’s been pretty good, actually.”

“I can tell,” she agrees. “It’s almost like you blocked my number.”

“I did not!”

“So you actively choose not to answer any of my texts?”

“Ugh, don’t set me up like that,” he winces. “You know I’m stupid enough to fall for shit like that everytime.”

“Hold on.”

Ryuji grunts as he feels a hold on his shirt, forcing him to stop. “Ew, don’t touch my back, it’s Nigeria there.”

“First of all, it’s Niagara.” She spins him around. He’s only a little taller than her, but something about her always seems to tower over him. “Second, do you know why I keep pushing all of you to go to university?”

“Because you hate us?” he mumbles.

Makoto glares at him. “Try again.”

“...Because you don’t hate us?”

“Because I don’t hate you,” she repeats. “You’re all rowdy and wild and sometimes I don’t understand the jokes you make—”

“You’re just mad ‘cause you fell for a deez nuts joke.”

“But I do, inexplicably, love all of you,” she pushes on, and that shuts him up. “I know what you’re all capable of. Amazing things! I understand you all believe that I’m the be-all end-all, and I appreciate your compliments, but there are some things that only Ann can do, or Akira, or Yusuke.”

Makoto continues running, and he reluctantly follows suit. “And you. You can achieve things that I can’t even dream of, Ryuji.”

He resists the urge to yawn. “Thanks for the pep talk, Niijima.” Looking left, the gelato is looking real good. “Wanna get something to eat? I’m starving.”

“You aren’t very good at hiding secrets, Ryuji.”

Now that grabbed his attention. “Whoa, whoa, whoa there, prez!” Speeding past her, he holds out a hand to make her stop. “What do you mean by that?”

She raises a brow. “Nothing in particular, but your reaction is showing me that I should have meant something by it.”

He gnaws on the inside of his cheek roughly. “Okay, but why did that come into your brain? Why do you think I have some kinda secret?”

“I live with a prosecutor everyday of my life, of course I know when something’s afoot.” Pushing her hair back, she squints up at him. “You’ve been more...jumpy lately, yet somehow more laid-back than usual. I wanted to talk to Akira about this—”

Blood pours into his mouth when he accidentally bites too hard. “You talked to Akira?!” he half yells, red dribbling from the corner of his lips.

“Oh my god!”

“Fuck,” he clamps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. Bit too hard.”

“N-no! Don’t apologize!” she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a napkin, pulling him to a stone ledge. “Sit and take this so you don’t bleed all over yourself. I’ll be back.”

He doesn’t bother speaking, only nods as she turns around. When she comes back, she’s holding a water bottle. “Here.”

Taking it gratefully, he takes deep gulps before spitting it out. “Why the hell does this taste like the beach?” he splutters.

“I didn’t say to drink it! It’s salt water to get rid of infections!”

“Why would you do that to me?!”

“Because I thought you knew to do that from the second-year health class!” she shoots back. “Gargle it and spit. Near the gutter, mind you, it’s rude to spit in front of kids. They might get the wrong idea.”

As if kids are gonna see him and think that there’s something worth remembering. He sips, sloshing it around his mouth before gently letting it dribble into the grated sewer. “Blegh.”

“You’re welcome. Keep at it. And while you’re doing that,” she sits next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “Do you want to tell me what’s been making you anxious?”

He pauses. “Anxious?”

Makoto gives him a stern look. “‘Experiencing worry, unease, or nervousness, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome.’ It was covered in your midterm.”

“Ah, right,” he mutters. Gripping the fabric of his shirt, his heart is beating too quick for it to be normal. Then again, when was the last time it wasn't? “You think I’m anxious?”

“I’m not sure. Keep gurgling,” Makoto chides.

He does, the salt water still red whenever he spat, and she continues. “All I know is when my anxiety gets really bad, I chew on my lip. Sae used to chide me when we were younger, but you know, she got busy,” she shrugs, as if he didn’t know how much it pained her to lose her only family member to a career of protecting the wrong people. “When I mentioned it to Akira, he took it upon himself to check up on me regularly during exam weeks.”

To prove her point, she takes her lower lip and flips it out for him to see—white teeth marks, but old scars instead of anything fresh. Letting go, her expression is smug. “He hasn’t felt the need to check in for a while now.”

Spitting, water finally running clear, he grins. “Good for you. I’m glad to hear that, dude.”

“Thank you, but that wasn’t the point. My point was that I was only able to get better because I told someone about it. Someone I trusted.” Makoto turns to him, her gaze serious. “I know that’s what Akira is to you. Habits like these are harmless at first, but they can turn into something else more dangerous. I won’t stand for that. My own justice won’t stand for that.”

Ryuji opens his mouth, before closing it. I’ll tell Akira, he wants to say. How many times does he have to repeat that line before he starts believing it himself? “Okay,” he says, because it’s the only thing he can say without hating himself even more.

“Okay.” She pats his knee before standing. “I can get us some gelato.” She stretches, wincing as her joints crack into place. “If you’re feeling up to it, start your cool down. Unless you wanna keep training?”

“I’m good. Felt enough blood rush for the day.”

She goes to the ice cream stand, and he stares up at the blue sky.

Makoto’s right, because of fucking course she is. She’s right, he knows she’s right. But she doesn’t get it. To her, Akira’s a friend. A guy who helped her out and changed her life, yeah. If he hadn’t met her when she did, maybe she would’ve become a scummy adult who didn’t look up from market pricing and hedge funds.

But Ryuji? Ryuji would be dead without Akira. That’s a fact and a half.

To Makoto, Akira’s a friend. To Ryuji, he’s Akira, and you can’t be on a higher pedestal in his mind than that.

—

It was Yusuke who took the first step.

“Ann,” he greets cordially. “How do you do?”

She gives him a weird look. “Kinda trying to focus here,” she says, gesturing at the scene in front of them. They, Morgana, and Sophia were in the B team as they watched the rest of them try and get rid of the remaining Shadows in Mariko’s Jail, tersely attentive and waiting on Joker’s word in case they needed a last minute switch. The Jail was environmentally brutal; the ice underneath the soles of their shoes makes them skid more often than they’d like. It almost makes the fights seem quicker, one notch faster than usual.

Yusuke pays her dismissal no mind. “I, myself, am learning many new things lately. Can the same be said about you?”

In the corner of his eye, Futaba pauses typing on her laptop to face palm.

“Are you...” Ann says after a brief pause. “Is this a threat? Are you threatening me?”

“No—”

“Panther!” Akira’s clear voice rings out.

Ann dashes forward without question, high-fiving Morgana as they trade spots.

Futaba marches forward, glaring at Yusuke like he was crazy. “You dolt!” she hisses. “What was that supposed to be? I said be slick and cool, not act like a fool!”

“While I admire the rhyme scheme, I don’t understand what you want from me. That was as ‘slick and cool’ as I’m capable of,” he furrows his brow. “I even opened with a question that seemed as though the conversation would be a normal one, but then used that to transition into what I actually wanted to discuss.”

“Stop looking so proud of yourself and—”

“Fox!”

“Back in a moment,” he says before he’s gone, Makoto taking his place, leather uniform still smoldering from when she took a fire move head-on.

“What was that about?” Haru asks, swinging her axe like a picnic basket.

“Nothing, Noir,” Futaba sighs, plopping back into place where Ann had stood. Carmen had kindly left a warm patch of concrete in her wake. “Just Inari became a big ole’ dumb-dumb.”

“I see,” she hums. “So this has nothing to do with what you two have been conspiring about lately?”

Her eyes shot wide open. “Con...conspiring?” she stutters out. “What do you mean by—”

A particularly loud scream rips into the air, and everyone turns their heads to see Captain Kidd slam his hook into the ground, purple arms erupting from the snow and wiping out a huge chunk of Shadows all in one go.

“Hot damn,” Futaba says, directing her focus back to her laptop and making sure Ryuji has enough health to keep going.

“He’s strong,” Haru observes, all playfulness gone.

“Too strong.” After Futaba gives everyone on the main team a good amount of health, something on her screen makes her pause. “Huh…?”

“Noir.”

Haru turns around to see Makoto waiting for her. “I need to discuss something with you.”

“Of course,” she steps closer to her and drops her voice. “Is everything alright?”

“I’d bring this up with Joker, but I don’t want to bother him if I’m not sure if there’s anything wrong yet,” Makoto pushes her mask up. “But have you noticed Skull's been acting strange lately?”

“Mona!”

He swaps with Ann, her pigtails covered in snow. “Ugh,” she grimaces as she shakes it out. “I could try and melt it, but it’ll just drip down my back and freeze later on, and I do not want that.”

“Panther, I’d like your input as well, if you don’t mind,” Makoto says.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I was just talking to Noir about this, but did you notice anything strange about the way Skull’s acting lately?”

Ann takes a step back. “Well, what—No—I mean, that’s your opinion, I think!” she exclaims. “To me, Skull's acting is completely normal. He’s normal—actually, scratch that, he’s better than usual. Nothing about him is wrong, I think, and that’s pretty outstanding and impressive once you consider that he’s the one with the life-long injury. Not that that has to do with anything!” Ann yells. “I just wanted to point out how far he’s come, and how much he’s kicking ass right now. Actually,” her voice shifts to a stage whisper. “Don’t mention this because I don’t wanna cause drama, but Fox has been a little weird.”

“Weird how?” Makoto whispers back, looking extremely lost.

“Just earlier, he asked me how I was.”

“...I’m not following.”

“No, Panther-chan has a point,” Haru breaks in. “I can’t say for certain, but I have a strong feeling that Fox and—” she points at Futaba conspicuously. “Are up to something.”

“Sophie and Fox?” Ann breathes.

“Panther!”

“Damn, again? That’s what we get for going into an ice Jail,” she grumbles, swapping with Yusuke.

Haru sighs. “Panther-chan isn’t the best with context clues, is she?”

“Hello ladies,” Yusuke greets. “What were we discussing?”

Makoto gives him a suspicious look. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His jaw drops, bewildered, but before he can say anything, Futaba waves him over. “Get your fox butt over here!”

“I...Alright,” he says, resigned.

“Look at them,” Makoto nods at the pair. “I think you’re onto something.”

“I think so too, but I don’t want to be too hasty. After all, the two of them are such good friends now; it would be unfair to assume negative outcomes without evidence, or at least confront them first,” Haru says nonchalantly.

She understands immediately. “You have evidence?”

“Something of the sort.”

“Noir!”

“Duty calls,” she gives her a thumbs up, before Ann comes back once again.

“I can’t wait for us to go to a really hot place again,” she kicks the snow with her heels. “Then I’ll be comfortably in the B team because all the Shadows have fire resistance to the max.”

“Oh good, she’s back,” Yusuke’s expression is one of relief.

“Fox—” Futaba warns without looking up from her laptop.

“Come here. There is something we would like to discuss with you.” Whether or not it was intentional, he rests his hand on the handle of his katana.

“Okay but before we start, I just wanna ask—what are you doing with Sophie?” Ann accuses. “It’s fine to be friends with her, but you have to be careful. She’s really susceptible to what we say right now, and if you try anything funny—”

“What are you even saying?” he says, offended. “I barely even talk to her!”

They all glance at Sophia, who had been standing perfectly still and silent. She gives them a wave. They all awkwardly wave back.

Makoto places a hand on Ann’s shoulder. “Panther, Noir meant Fox and Oracle.” Ann flushes red as she continues. “And while we’re all here, I wanted to bring this up with you as well. Have you all noticed something strange with Skull?” Futaba stops typing. “I’m not sure how to explain it, but I think he’s extremely anxious about something. You all know that I’m an overthinker, so I might have the wrong idea but…” she trails off.

Futaba glances at Yusuke. Yusuke glances at Ann. Ann helplessly glances at Ryuji, still fighting alongside Akira and the others.

“I know nobody asked me,” they all jump a foot in the air when Sophia speaks beside them. “But I can at least confirm for suresies that there is something strange with Skull.”

“Which is…?” Makoto prods.

“I don’t know the specifics.” Ann, Yusuke, and Futaba let out a breath. “But he did have a panic attack recently.”

“I knew it!” Makoto snaps her fingers. “He’s had signs of being anxious, but I wasn’t too sure about it.”

“Queen!”

She runs out, and Ryuji comes in, looking exhausted but pleased. “Hey y’all, what were we talking about?”

It was dead silent before Sophia steps forward. “Look what I can do!” she exclaims, changing the expression on her screen to be an emoji with a flower.

“Whoa!” His eyes bug out, and they all sigh in relief. “That’s awesome! Can you do more?”

“That’s super cool Sophie, but,” Futaba looks at Ryuji, skeptical. “Don’t you feel weak right now? Your health is way down.”

“Oh, I didn’t even notice,” he rubs the back of his neck. “Sophie, you mind?”

“Not at all.” She calls for Pithos and green sparkles fall on him. “Better?”

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

“Skull!”

“When the king calls, his knight answers,” he salutes, sprinting out as Makoto comes back in.

“So,” she glares at the rest of them. “What do the rest of you know?”

Ann groans. “Even if I did know something, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

“Wait,” Futaba points an accusing finger at her. “What do you know?”

“What do I know? What do you know? And for that matter, what does he,” Ann points at Yusuke. “Know? Noir said you guys are doing secret stuff together!”

“That’s preposterous,” he scoffs. “If it was secret, she wouldn’t have known.”

“That’s the dumbest argument I’ve ever heard.”

“How is it dumb?” he asks. “You can’t possibly think that just because Futaba and I are doing ‘secret stuff’ that it has anything to do with Skull’s situation!”

There was a pause. “Are those two connected?” Sophia asks. Futaba buries her face in her hands.

“That was...not the question I expected,” Yusuke answers weakly.

“Sophie!”

“God, I wish Joker would call for Inari instead,” Futaba groans.

Rushing out, Sophia high-fives Ryuji on the way. “Guess who’s back, motherfuckers?”

In an effort to bury their conversation, they all begin cheering overenthusiastically, Yusuke clapping politely. Bewildered, Ryuji instinctively gives them a thumbs up. “Thanks guys. Usually, my jokes don’t really land, but that made me real happy.”

“Uh, Skull,” Futaba raises an eyebrow. “How do you keep losing health? I didn’t even notice you taking a hit.”

“I’m low again? Damn, I didn’t even notice,” he groans loudly. “Queen, can you—”

“I’m on it.”

Just as Johanna heals him, Akira calls out once again: “Skull!”

“Joker really does rely on you, doesn’t he?” Yusuke observes.

Ryuji laughs. If they didn’t know any better, they would think it sounded a little nervous. “Well, gotta jet!”

High-fiving Makoto, he runs out. She stares at the remaining members of the B team. “You all know something,” she accuses. “And I understand if you’re all being loyal to him by keeping what you know close to your hearts. But remember this:” she takes a step forward, and they all take an unconscious step back, Futaba scooting from where she sat on the ground. “There comes a point where it’s actually more important to keep a person safe and healthy than to uphold a potentially dangerous secret.”

They all digest her words for a second, and flinch when a flash of blue flame appears, taking Akira’s Persona away.

“Finally.” He stretches his shoulders, satisfied. “That took awhile. Good work everyone, let’s keep going.”

Making their trek deeper into the Jail, Futaba half-jogs, half-speed walks to Ryuji. “Your health again,” she chides. “Seriously. I know I like to play around, but I always have my eye on you guys when you’re fighting. I literally have not seen you take a hit, but you’re getting drained like milk in a sink.”

He shrugs, unperturbed. “Whatever. You see my hits today, though? They were tough.”

“Yeah,” she agrees reluctantly. “But your health is still low. I’ll call Joker about that.”

Before she can turn, he grabs her wrist. “Nope,” he says. “I’ll ask Panther. Thanks though!”

Ryuji goes to Ann, and he can feel everyone’s eyes on him, watching him, surveying his every move.

All eyes except for the one that really matters.

#p5 #p5s #yusuke kitagawa #mine #fic tag #plainly in truth #ryuji sakamoto #akiryu #pegoryu #chapter two! neat #akira kurusu #persona 5

15 notes · View notes

astraeagreengrass · 4 years ago

Text

illicit affairs [the woods 2/4]

No one ever tells you that picking up the pieces takes longer than shattering them

Word Count: 3.657

Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of death and death-related themes, descriptions of a memorial service.

A/N: Thank you to every one that sent me some love on exile! I'm truly grateful for your comments and I hope you like what's coming up on this story. Special thanks to the always wonderful @xbuchananbarnes for helping me out with this. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway ♡

and you know damn well for you, i would ruin myself a million little times

Working for Nick Fury sometimes made you sick to your stomach.

"That's very old school of you," you said, taking a sip from your coffee. The styrofoam cup was hot to the point of almost burning your fingertips, but having something on your hands kept you from twisting them nervously.

Nick raised an eyebrow - the one you could see, at least - and drank from his own cup.

"Your father always said I had a flair for the dramatic."

"Humph," you muttered as Nick rolled down the steel door of the storage unit. "Do you think he would believe your conspiracy theory?"

He shrugged, black leather duster coat swooshing in the wind.

"Your father was a soldier and a spy," he stated. "One of the best, I must say. He believed in his orders as long as he could question them. So yes, I think he would engage my conspiracy theory, as you put it."

You refrained from comment. That was Nick's way: mention your father enough times to instigate your grief, just enough to loosen your morals. The shame was on you for allowing him - even if his suspicion of an undercover plot inside S.H.I.E.L.D. fascinated your curiosity.

“Can I ask what made you start questioning your own Agency?” you mumbled under your breath as you and Nick made your way to his SUV. The sun was slowly dragging it’s hues across the inky sky, the stars fading as the golden light came to be.

“When Stark hacked the Helicarier’s systems there were some… Inconsistencies,” Nick replied. “Which naturally spiked my curiosity.”

“Naturally,” you smirked.

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you that this is not an official assignment, Agent Y/L/N,” he said.

“No, sir,” you shook your head.

“Good,” he pressed a button and the car doors unlocked. “Besides, I’m sure Captain Rogers’ presence in Washington will… Stimulate the inconsistencies we’re looking for.”

“Shit,” you cursed. “That was today?”

Nick tapped the clock on the car’s navigation panel.

“He’ll be at headquarters at nine. I expect you to be there.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you said. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind.”

Nick nodded.

“How is your grandmother?” he asked. “Is the treatment working?”

“She’s doing a round of chemo every forty days,” you clicked the seat belt tip in the buckle. “She’s stable, but, you know, it’s cancer. I visit her every weekend, though.”

“Are you sure you can’t convince her to move to the city?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “She’s never gonna leave the woods, Nick. Can you even imagine my grandmother living in D.C.?”

A discreet smile played in the corner of your boss’ lips.

“I couldn’t imagine you living in D.C., yet here you are.”

You didn’t reply, choosing to sip your coffee instead. Nick turned the radio on as he drove off the storage lot and a playlist of Stevie Wonder’s greatest hits was your soundtrack on the journey back to the city. Daylight was high in the sky when the SUV reached the Triskelion, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s colossal headquarters sitting right in the middle of the Potomac.

It was just past seven, but already the premises were bustling with people. You supposed that’s what happens when a superhero starts his first day on the job - people show up early, wearing their best clothes and flawless makeup.

“What the hell,” Nick muttered. “This is an Intelligence Agency, not a fashion show.”

You stifled a laugh.

“You can’t complain about motivation in the workplace now, boss.”

Nick shot you a dirty look.

“My office. Nine A.M. Don’t be late.”

You mock saluted him then went on to find some breakfast.

Natasha Romanoff’s memorial service was held on a balmy December morning, at a Christian Orthodox church in Brooklyn.

All the time you’ve known her, Natasha had never mentioned religion and you were positive that she would’ve cracked two or three jokes about the priest’s monotonous speaking if she were there. Only she wasn’t, and all she left behind was a handful of grieving acquaintances.

There was no body to keep vigil over or bury. In between the thousand of unsaid words between you and Steve, the subject of Natasha’s death lingered. He tried to explain, as he did to so many other things, and maybe you would’ve understood if you just tried to be better at listening - tried harder to make sense of the incredible mess reality had become. Apparently it’s not easy to retrieve a corpse when the person actually died on an alien planet almost ten years ago.

Natasha’s beautiful face smiled at you from a portrait sitting at the altar. Her hair was longer, cascading down her shoulders in fiery red waves that curled into blonde ends. The shadow of a smile on the corner of her lips couldn’t elude the sadness lingering in her eyes. Even so, she hadn’t aged a day since the last time you saw her, in a time so distant it felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else’s existence instead of your own.

Remembering 2016 felt like being dunked in ice water. Like the time you jumped into the frozen pond in the woods and opened your eyes underneath the stream, catching the twisted, milky sunlight. Looking back at that life - so peaceful despite all the trouble that surrounded it - was equally as numbing.

It was announced to the general public that the woman known as Black Widow bravely sacrificed her life during what was now being called the Battle of the Earth. Yet, when Steve called two days earlier saying that there would be a private service for Natasha's family members, you wept - not so much because a service meant that she was well and truly gone, but because she thought you were her family.

You met her at S.H.I.E.L.D., of course. Even before you crumbled to dust, you’d constantly wonder how different things would’ve been if you’d never let stupid Jimmy Rodriguéz’s words get to you. If you’d just ignored his taunts instead of hacking S.H.I.E.L.D’s database just to prove him you were smart enough to do it, maybe then an old friend your father never bothered to mention wouldn’t have come to your house in the middle of the night, saying that if you could bypass government-patented digital security, then you should move to D.C. and work for him. You would’ve never left the woods, never traded it for the tangled webs of secrets and deceptions a job as an intelligence programmer proved to be.

Perhaps then you wouldn’t be here, sharing a pew with Steve Rogers - the only man you’d ever loved and probably ever would. Perhaps you would’ve met someone else: a nice, normal, maybe even a tad boring guy, but you wouldn’t care because you wouldn’t be very interesting either - just a nice, normal, maybe even a tad boring girl. And the two of you would be ordinary, kissing goodbye in the morning and hello in the evenings, with the ever present assurance that this was how things were meant to be. Not the tragic tale of love and loss you shared with Steve.

You didn't wait for him to walk you out of the church when the service was over, yet your plan to flee without an awkward farewell misfired at the sight of Nick Fury by the door. He looked exactly like he always did - black leather eyepatch, black leather duster coat, seemingly plucked from your thoughts.

"Y/N," he greeted you, evidently surprised although only someone who's spent as much time around him as you had would catch it in the tone of his voice. "How are you?"

"Good," you replied, way too quickly. "Fine."

Nick nodded, then turned to the blonde woman next to him.

"Carol, this is Agent Y/N Y/L/N," he introduced you. "Y/N, this is Captain Carol Danvers."

"Former agent," you corrected, shaking the hand Carol extended. She had a gentle, but strong grip. Noticing her gaze looking up, you turned around to find Steve approaching.

"Carol, Nick," he acknowledged them, then said to you: "You ready to go?"

You nodded, whispering a quiet "goodbye" before allowing Steve to lead you outside.

"Thanks," you muttered when you reached the open air. Even New York's polluted breeze was more refined than the stifling atmosphere inside the church and you inhaled deeply.

"No problem," he smiled. "I was hoping we could talk. You know, if you had the time."

You had all the time in the world, or so it seemed these days. Almost two months had dragged by since you woke up on the floor of your apartment and every minute seemed to make up for the years you missed. You weren’t working or even living in the old building in Bushwick anymore - Cal and Daniel, the father and son duo that first aided you, were. You were just going through the motions.

No one tells you that picking up the pieces takes longer than shattering them. No one bothers saying that when they break, they scatter, and compiling whatever’s left is a perverted scavenger hunt.

“There’s a coffee shop over there,” Steve pointed to a row of storefront across the church parking lot when you hesitated to give him an answer.

You shook your head, trying to scare off the white noise that always seemed to pester you.

“Sure,” you said, wondering if in your alternate life you’d know how to say no to Steve Rogers.

“So, you've experienced this sort of thing before?” Nick said.

“You get used to it,” Steve replied, looking down at the gravestone. Carved on the marble were the words: Col. Nicholas J. Fury, The path of the righteous man. Ezekiel 25:17.

“We've been data-mining HYDRA's files,” Nick continued. “Looks like a lot of rats didn't go down with the ship. I'm headed to Europe tonight, wanted to ask if you'd come.”

Steve shook his head.

“There's something I gotta do first.”

“How about you, Wilson?” Nick turned to Sam. “Could use a man with your abilities.”

“I'm more of a soldier than a spy,” he replied, resolute.

“Alright then,” Nick sighed and you thought he was honestly disappointed. He shook Steve and Sam’s hand and said: “Anybody asks for me, tell them they can find me right here.”

He turned to walk away but halted when he saw you approach. It was the first - and only - time you saw him wearing anything other than the black duster coat and you were surprised to find him affable, rather than alien.

He pointed to the file in your hands.

“How many favors did you have to call in order to get that?”

“A few,” you smiled. “Turns out I still have some friends in Kiev.”

Nick snickered, a whisper of a laugh so discreet that it faded almost instantly in the breeze.

“And you’re sure you’ll pull on that thread? With Hydra out in the open and Congress breathing down your neck?”

His real question was implicit: was your relationship with Steve Rogers worth the trouble?

“I’m sure,” you said, clutching the thick manila folder that contained information on the Winter Soldier.

Beyond the dark disguise of his sunglasses, you caught Nick’s gaze - and you were sad that things ended this way.

“Be safe, Y/N,” he offered.

Nick Fury was out of the graveyard and your life before you could wish him the same.

"I'm sorry I didn't call for a while," Steve apologized as soon as the young waitress left your table with your orders scribbled on a notepad. "I had to leave town for a few days."

You nodded, picking a napkin from it's holder in the center of the tiny corner table where you and Steve sat.

"It's okay," you said. "I know you have stuff to do."

He was still, after all, Steve Rogers. You never tricked yourself into believing you were his priority, instead accepted in your heart that you would always be second to The Avengers, Peggy Carter, Bucky Barnes and whatever else Steve set his eye on and it was fine. You'd be the second place as long as you could be something.

"I went back to return the stones," he added. "Bruce managed to repair the quantum tunnel, so Sam and I volunteered to go back and put them in place."

Back. As in the past.

"Okay," you repeated, because your recent conversations with Steve constantly left you lost for words, with all the information about time travel and elemental crystals from outer space. "Did everything go alright?"

"Yeah," he clasped his hands in front of him, and his colossal frame made the wooden chair he sat in look even smaller. "I saw Peggy."

You looked up from your staring match with the napkin, astounded.

"Really?" your tone was clipped and Steve noticed. Throughout your relationship, Steve's former flame was the unmentionable, the firing pin in the granade. Even if you had accepted the silver medal, it didn't mean it wasn't agonizingly painful to know you'd never shine bright in Steve's eyes like Peggy's gold standards.

"In 1970, at Camp Lehigh," he rubbed his forehead. "She didn't see me, of course, but I saw her. There were a bunch of pictures on her desk - her kids, her husband, one of myself before the serum..."

"Why are you telling me this?" you interrupted him, napkin now balled up in your fist.

"I don't know," Steve shrugged. There was a light pink blush crawling up his neck. "Shit, I don't know why I thought this would be a good way to start what I need to say to you, but… I guess seeing Peggy live her life made me realize how much of mine has been wasted."

You scoffed.

"How could you possibly have wasted your life, Steve? You're Captain America! You've saved the world more than once."

"When it comes to you I've wasted it," he whispered. "And I'm no longer Captain America."

"What?" you gasped, purposely ignoring the initial part of his sentence.

"I passed the shield on to Sam," he announced. "He'll do a good job."

"Why?" you breathed out.

"It was time," Steve said, plainly as if you were discussing the weather and not the one thing that defined who he was for over a century. "The guy that wanted a fight so badly he became a military experiment isn't here anymore. He's changed, the world has changed. That shield is too heavy for me now."

You shook your head, stunned.

"I can't believe this."

Steve started speaking, but stopped when the waitress arrived with your drinks: cappuccino for you, espresso for him. She took an unnecessarily long time pointing out the sugar and sweetner were, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder, telling him with a giggle to call her if he needed anything. Your coffee suddenly looked unsavory.

"The world needs Captain America," he continued after she was out of your hearing range. "But Captain America doesn’t necessarily needs to be Steve Rogers.”

“I think Sam will do a marvelous job, Steve. I just don’t understand where this decision came from. Is this because of what happened with Thonos?”

“Thanos,” he corrected you. “And no. This has been looming on my mind since before him.”

“Since when?” you questioned. “Because before Thanos you were out in the world being a wanted man. Please don’t tell me this urge for normalcy came to you while you were hiding like a coward.”

Steve sighed.

“Look, I know you’re angry at me and you have every right to be...”

“I know I have every right to be,” you cut him off. “I gave you everything and you left me stranded. Do you have any idea how hard that was? My boyfriend of three years became a criminal and he didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye before he fled.”

You slammed your fist on the table, rattling the china. The foam of your drink sloshed, a tiny bubbly dot spilling from the cup to the platter.

Lately, every single one of your conversations with Steve seemed to end in a fight and you were to blame. As much as you tried to move on, either your biological clock wasn't adjusted yet or your heart couldn't let go of the night he appeared on your doorstep after being absent for so long. It might've been five years in history for him, but for you it was a mere sixty days ago. You couldn't match this caring, attentive Steve to the bearded man in the shadows, indifferent and unconcerned, so you lashed at him. You nitpicked his every word and quibbled over the smallest things and he always took it silently, enraging you even further.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I shouldn't have said that. It has nothing to do with the subject."

"It has everything to do with the subject, Y/N," Steve exclaimed, hands flat on the wood, like he was going to reach for yours but gave up at the last moment. "I was so busy trying to make the world a better place that I didn't realize I was ignoring mine until I lost it. Until I lost you."

You rubbed your eyes.

"You can't blame your job for your mistakes, Steve. Or mine, for that matter."

"What were your mistakes, Y/N?" he asked. "You could've fled after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., but you stayed because I asked you to. You could've started a different job, but you took the position with the Avengers because I asked you to..."

"I loved you," you interrupted. "I did all of it because I loved you. And even though sometimes I wonder what would've happened if I'd said no, I don't regret it."

There's something about the air when the truth is laid bare. It shifts just slightly, as though nature itself can feel the weight of the words spoken, so it moves the atoms around to make space for verity. And in the essence of the world, it is immortalized.

"Do you love me still?" Steve murmured.

"You know I do," you smiled softly. "But I am so broken."

Crushed. Turned to dust long before the Mad Titan snapped his fingers. In the mad race to start over, you were so distant from the finishing line.

You were wrong: your recent conversations with Steve didn't end in arguments, they ended with you crying and him consoling you. This time his chair nearly collapsed as he rose, reaching you in just one step. At first he towered over you, arms hanging without touching your body, but when your sobs intensified he kneeled by your side, taking the crumpled napkin from your hands to dry your tears.

"Shhh," he soothed.

"I'm so sorry, Steve," you said, but it came out jumbled and watery from your tears. “I’m sorry.”

Noticing that the few other patrons and the flirty waitress were starting to look, Steve threw a fifty dollar bill on the table and pulled you up, wrapping his arms around your body as he led you outside.

Night was beginning to fall over Brooklyn. Sunsets in the city were all about spotting a few twinkling stars amid the smog, before the lights from the skyscrapers scrammed them away. One would argue that the sky in the woods, a dark blue tapestry with hundreds of twinkling dots, was far prettier, but you always thought it was fascinating to see the cosmos shining in the orange firmament.

The city had its own magic. It used to buzz in your veins when you first moved here, staring out this same sky from a window at the top deck of the Avengers Towers. If only you could feel it again.

“Do you feel better?” Steve whispered into your hair when your breathing began to even out.

You nodded, cleaning your tears with the sleeves of your sweater.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“Yeah,” you croaked. “I need to finish packing.”

“Packing?” he frowned.

“I got a call from my grandparents lawyer when you were gone,” you explained. “Turns out I still have ownership over the house in the woods, so I’m planning to move back home before Christmas break.”

Steve’s arms fell and he stepped away from you. The absence of his touch made you shiver.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “Another family lives in my apartment now and I can’t stay with my cousin forever, so…”

“You could stay with me,” he intervened. “You don't have to leave."

"I need to start over, Steve."

"But what about me?" he pleaded.

Steve Rogers never pleaded. He was stubborn and tenacious, the worst person to get in a fight with. You'd learned to cave because he never did, and it was better to swallow your pride than staying days without speaking to your headstrong boyfriend when his job put him in danger constantly. For three years you told yourself that it didn't matter that Steve didn't love you fully - you loved him enough for the two of you. Only enough wasn't acceptable anymore.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I love you, Steve," you said. "But just like you're not the guy from the 1940s anymore, I'm no longer the hacker from S.H.I.E.L.D. either."

Steve cupped your face, touching your forehead with his.

"Don't leave me," he begged. "I can't live without you."

You kissed his palm.

"We've made a mess," you replied. "Just let me try and fix it."

You owe me that, you didn't say, but Steve knew. In the misty twilight, he only hoped you could forgive him.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfic series #marvel fanfiction #corneliabarnes #my writing #the woods

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regardingseas · 4 years ago

Text

Ttile: Echoed Vexations (Part One, part two linked)

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Rating: Teen and up audiences (violence warning)

AO3: here! (Full story at once)

•••

Plot Summary:

It's all too easy to turn a blind eye to the past-- to believe that because someone has been shielded from harm's way, they should no longer fear the wrath of their opponent's creed. They're safe now, after all, so why would they..?

Yes, Scar and Cub are certainly "safe", but they're still haunted by memories of the Vex and their deals all the same.

An average afternoon during the HCB Base Swap is cut short when Mumbo accidentally digs up a remnant from Scar's Vex partnership days, and unfortunately for the town's mayor, the other Hermit is far from aware just how triggering the topic can truly be. Things only dissolve from there, and in the end, Grian lends a helping hand to console a friend.

•••

Additional Content Warnings:

Depictions of trauma disorders, panic attacks, flashbacks, paranoid thoughts/delusions, manipulation, gaslighting, threats, injury, and violence. Mentions of religious themes, unintentional self-harm, and non-permanent character death.

Do be careful, but otherwise, enjoy!

•••

The sun was still high in the sky even as Scar finished decorating the monument's support chains, sweltering rays beaming down and adding to the oppressive humidity of the jungle around him. With his usual jacket set aside to fight the heat, he wiped away the beads of sweat that had gathered on his forehead and grabbed a stray bucket from the sidelines. He'd nearly finished the waterfall aspect of the design-- crystal blue streams cascading over the edges of four white spanners, all joining together in the octagonal pool at the base's foundation. It was looking quite spectacular, if he were to say so himself, with the vine-coiled braces and additional water currents tying the otherwise juxtaposing themes together nicely.

Scar scooped up a fresh pail of water, filling it to the brim and hauling it towards the last pillar. He glanced down at the container as he carried it, catching a glimpse of his reflection from the liquid inside. His face shone red with effort, misplaced strands of hair having clung themselves to his tan skin.

Though unsurprised, he still couldn't help but laugh at the rippling image. "It's just my luck I'd swap with another jungle dwelling Hermit. I swear, I can never escape this climate for long. First the island last year, then all this."

With a shake of his head he returned his gaze upwards, continuing to muse aloud to the landscape before him, "You tropics are wonderful and all, but it sure would've been a nice change of pace to set up camp in somewhere like the mountains. Or pull total 180 and have landed in the tundras!"

Concepts for each design raced through his head, each idea fighting the others for dominance and tacking details onto itself, trying to land its place on the metaphorical pedestal of his imagination. A cottage with medieval influences? No, that would be far too typical, amp both of those components up. An entire village with a steampunk driven aesthetic, built into the mountainscape itself; no doubt with custom terraforming to integrate the buildings into the natural environment. That was more like it.

Scar could envision working windmills and waterwheels accompanying purposefully makeshift farmlands, historic blimps having reclaimed skies where they'd soar high overhead. Below them, eye-catching pops of colour, shining through as floating lanterns that hover above connective rope bridges.

As for the arctic concept? Something more grand would be ideal. In his fantasy, he'd created an absolute oxymoron of the words cabin and mansion jumbled together, and he adored it that way. A bottom floor made of bricked stone, the top made of logs and large windows to oversee the view. Accompanying them in the same manner would be a balcony, propped on columns that hugged the building and curved around its corners. The top deck would be open for clear days, and the space below it safe on harsher ones. Sloped roofs would be adorned with chimneys, and the interior warmed by cozy flames that were kept organized with inviting lofts. The living area could be split leveled, sinking down to create its own margin where guests could comfortably gather by the fireplace and--

There was a tug at his ankle, and next thing he knew, a bemused Scar went crashing to the ground, having been too caught up to notice the trailing plants blocking his footway. His hands shot out to catch himself, palms scraping against the concrete floor in a way similar to the childhood stunt of crashing and burning on the pavement. A stinging snapped up his arms, and the water bucket dropped from his grasp, clattering down with a metallic rumble before spilling its contents across the floor.

Scar pushed himself upright with a hiss of air through his teeth, shaking off his grazed palms and wiping them on his jeans. Pulling his foot free from the greenery and gathering himself up was no problem, what was a problem, however, was the troubling sight now before him.

The water had spilled all over one of Mumbo's redstone contraptions, causing the device to short circuit and emit a sort of maroon-grey smoke. The wires fashioned from the compacted dust had been all but washed away, any remaining pieces hanging on by threads and failing miserably whenever a signal attempted to fire; more so sizzling rather than surging alight with energy.

"Oh, crud!" he shouted, racing towards the machine and yanking on the shut-off switch to divert any further input from the broken setup.

It powered down, but Scar was still left swatting the coloured smoke from his face, coughing as the scent of burnt metallics filled his nostrils. When had he gotten so absorbed in possible building opportunities that he'd managed to miss the foliage in front of him? Why had he even been wondering so deeply about it, anyway? This event was about improving one another's bases by adding their own personal touches, not starting a new project entirely.

Scar sighed, he wasn't sure why his mind had begun drifting so far. He'd like to blame it on the wild imagination of a builder, but he had a feeling there was a little more to it. Sometimes, when the world wasn't too much to handle, it was too easy to let fall away. Maybe he spent too much time daydreaming-- he was sure there was a word for that, when trances became so all encompassing, so engrossing.

"But I don't have time to think about that right now," he reminded himself, "I really need to fix this. It doesn't look like most of this redstone is salvageable, I'll have to get new supplies to repair it. Maybe some of the circuits are okay..?"

Scar nudged a repeater with his shoe, the device making an unnatural sloshing noise in his attempt to change the feed-in. He scrunched up his nose, "Okay, nope, gonna need to replace that, too."

Running a hand through his hair in defeat, he glanced towards Mumbo's storage system before shaking his head. It wouldn't be right to use the other man's supplies without asking, let alone waste them on a mistake made due to Scar's own carelessness. He'd have to make his way back to his original base and gather the materials from there once more. When he dropped by initially, he figured he'd gotten everything he needed, but apparently hadn't accounted for dissociation-induced redstone mishaps.

"I guess we're making a trip back," Scar announced to no one, finally picking up the empty bucket to set it safely aside. He made his way over to his tent, temporarily discarding any excess materials and bidding adieu to Jellie before grabbing his elytra and setting off.

Taking to the skies, Scar squinted against the wind as it roared in his ears. His hair parted itself from where it had stuck, short locks brushed back by the flowing breeze. With arms extended for balance, and maybe a dash of amusement, he lit his rockets and propelled himself into the distance.

-----

It wasn't long before he encroached on his base again, allowing his faux wings to glide him downward where he kicked out his legs to come to a soft landing. Scar stopped before the massive drill site just on the outskirts of the forest, heading towards the agglomeration of crates and boxes he had haphazardly stowed aside. He was certain there had to be the necessary hardware in one of the many containers, though which that may be was lost on him. At least, thanks to Mumbo and his new storage system, the chest monster he'd created would soon be a thing of the past.

"I wonder how that's going for him..." Scar pondered, striding over to a random shulker and beginning his sure-to-be protracted search.

"Scar?" a familiar voice interrupted, making him peer ahead to see the moustached man himself rounding the corner. "Hello there! I see you've made yourself rather at home at my base," Mumbo teased.

He couldn't help but chuckle, "That I have. I just needed to stop by and pick up some redstone and iron. With all the ore this place has quarried up, I was sure there's bound to be more of that here than back at Larry."

Mumbo faked surprise with a hearty grin, "Getting into mechanics, are we? Have the inner workings of the temple really had that much influence on you after only a few days?"

"Now I wouldn't say that," Scar shook his head and closed the lid of the grey shulker, seeing no point in hiding the truth. "I took a tumble holding a bucket of water and it kinda spilled on one of the contraptions. I'm sorry for the trouble-- but don't worry! I came here to fix it right up. I just didn't wanna waste your materials fixing my silly error."

The suited man waved his hand dismissively, "Nonsense, it's no trouble. Have you seen the improvements you've made to that place? I mean, of course you've seen them, you built them, but rhetorically speaking--" Mumbo cleared his throat, "Just don't fret over it, I trust that you'll have it fixed right up in no time."

Scar smiled, "Thanks, dude. Now I just have to find where on Earth I put those ore…"

Mumbo gave another laugh, "You know, you can feel free to use some of my things if need be. I have no idea how you expect to find anything in this mess. I'm only trying to do a basic look through so I know where to begin when it comes to the item sorter, but even that doesn't seem to do much good. I swear, it's like trying to play a very intense game of memory, with thousands of nonsensical cards all scattered about."

Scar snickered sheepishly at the comparison, "Yeah, no kidding. But being able to use some resources without flying all the way over here would be great. Thanks again, Mumbo. I don't know if there's anything you'll need here while working, but hey, consider it free range. We're doing these things for each other in the long run, anyway."

"I'd say, 'unless we don't switch back our deeds', but in all honesty? I'm beginning to miss the ol' living monument already."

The two exchange a chuckle before returning to their previous tasks, both going back to digging through the pile of chests in preparation for their projects.

It took longer than Scar wanted to admit to finally find the crate stocked with valuables-- sighing in relief at the sight and immediately beginning to pile the items into his inventory. There were pre-smelted metals from an iron farm, so he didn't have to bother with the ore, and the redstone he'd gathered was already in dust from, meaning all he'd have to do was craft the items after returning.

"I wonder if it would've been easier to stop by the shopping district and buy these directly, instead of making them by hand..." he said, "Oh well, saves on diamonds, and these had to be used some time, I guess."

"Talking to yourself over there?" Mumbo asked.

"Just thinking aloud is all."

"I see," the moustached man nodded, pushing himself up from where he'd been examining the supplies. "I found something neat from last year! Do you wanna see?"

"Sure!" Scar agreed, setting aside his intent of flying back in favour of seeing what it was Mumbo had to show him.

He smiled and stepped over to Scar, holding out a faded piece of paper for them both to see, "I found it stuck to the bottom of a shulker box! Can you believe we used to be competition so recently?" He joked.

Scar could only stare at the advert before him, a steele blue page embellished with a vault-like ring in the center. It meant nothing to the untrained eye, but to him, all of the company's horrors were sealed underneath. ConCorp read bold text in half-connected lettering, the logo finalizing its signature with a black bow tie adorning the bottom.

"Hardly," managed Scar, having just remembered he'd been asked a question, "But it wasn't that recent."

"It was practically yesterday if we're talking business," Mumbo snickered, "but we aren't. I'm not very good at business."

"Me neither, I prefer mayorship," he said in an attempt to change the subject.

Mumbo, however, didn't seem to notice, only turning to stare at Scar with eyes wide. "Are you kidding me? You were quite literally the richest Hermit of all last year! You're wonderful at business. Sahara was amazing, and I don't for a second doubt it was the most ambitious project of our group to date, but she had plenty of bugs, being the machine powered industry that she was. ConCorp, however? That was an utter monopoly! The thing lasted two bloody seasons!"

Scar chuckled awkwardly, "I know, I know, Cub and I worked very hard. But it wasn't all us, we couldn't have done it alone."

"Give yourself more credit," Mumbo insisted, "I'm more than convinced you could have gotten your business up and running even without the help of your Vex friends. Weren't they less prominent in your company last year, anyway? You did change your guy's name from ConVex to ConCorp, after all. I think that would imply less input on their part."

"Not really," he explained, though the tension building in his body was becoming harder to conceal. He had to keep his arms rigid so that they wouldn't shake, forcing in deep breaths to avoid the shaky ones that threatened to take their place. "We just thought it would be better for business, rebranding to something more gentlemanly and all."

Mumbo nodded, "Ah, that makes sense. Though I still don't understand how you managed to work with them to begin with. I likely wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. I mean business partners with the Vex? Friends, even? How'd you do it? Not to mention why? With all due respect, what makes one seek that out?"

Scar blinked hard at the influx of questions, "Oh, it's- it's really complicated, you might not understand. Cub started it, though. I joined the team not long after, but I wasn't there when he first struck the deal with Them."

"Huh, some deal," Mumbo remarked thoughtfully, and Scar nodded.

He had no idea.

"So what made you leave that behind?" Mumbo continued.

"What?" he asked, finding his thoughts hazy. They were static nothingness, but somehow also crashing into his skull. He found himself having to dig his way through them, while at the same time trying to bury them once he passed. The last thing Scar wanted was to do was hark back to the Vex, to beckon forth Their memory with his own.

The other man simply chuckled, oblivious to Scar's inner turmoil. "ConCorp, the Vex. Did you two just get bored? Having done the same thing for too long?"

"In a sense, you could definitely say we were tired of it. It just- well, it wasn't what we wanted to do anymore. We wanted to move on to new things."

"That's fair enough. Do you blokes still get along? Or did they take the corporation's end like a sour breakup?"

This time, Scar couldn't contain his wince. "We're still friends!" he insisted, "Of course the Vex are my friends."

Mumbo finally quirked a brow, "Are you sure about that? You don't have to worry about hiding some burnt corporal bridges from me, I'm not here to judge."

"Oh yeah, I'm positive," he nodded eagerly, "I'm just- I'm gonna go work on fixing that contraption I damaged, best to get it fixed before we have to switch back."

"Buddy, are you sure everything's alright? I'm sorry if I upset you or anything."

"Nah, I'm just peachy!" Scar announced with far too much false enthusiasm, internally cringing at his failed masking abilities. Not allowing any more time for his ruse to be cracked, he uttered a quick goodbye before adjusting the straps on his elytra and dashing off, leaping into the air and back towards the ruins.

"Scar, wait!" Mumbo tried, but he was already gone.

------

The returning flight was far from the peaceful journey he'd made to the excitation site. His artificial wings beat frantically, struggling to keep up as he charged forward with excessive firepower. He paid no mind to the safety protocol regarding the rocket's cool-down period, simply heralding through the air as fast as his elytra would carry him. Scar arrived back to the monument in a trip overall much faster than when he'd left, but it seemed to drag on for an eternity. The entire excursion consisted of a battle with his own mind-- a war in which he knew he was bound to lose, but he had to hold down the fort until he was on solid ground.

Scar was lucky not to crash into the debris upon landing, frantically stumbling to the dirt and having to grasp onto a piece of wreckage to maintain his balance. His legs nearly buckled under his weight, form trembling in spite of the deep breaths he gave it his all to draw in.

He grasped hard to the rubble, trying to anchor his brain into focus. He couldn't let his thoughts spiral, he couldn't think about Them. He knew grounding techniques, and he tried to rush his way through them.

Five things you can see.

He could see the golden heart, plants, stone, the golden heart again-- the thing was too anatomically correct, he'd seen horrors too similar to it before. And the sound, it was too damn loud, too hard to ignore. Its unsteady rhythm hammering in his ears alongside his own faltering pulse.

Forget visuals, four different noises?

Scar squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to listen, focusing hard on the world around him. Still, he could only hear the heart. He could only hear it pounding, its once melodic notes like nails on a chalkboard. He could remember far too many times when he was left alone with nothing but his heartbeat and his pleas.

Tactile. Texture. What can you feel? Three things you can feel.

Internally, he screamed at his dulling senses to return. God, he didn't want to think about Them, it wasn't worth the risk. They'd been inside his head before, and the mere idea of having his thoughts broadcasted again made his stomach churn. Scar tried harder and harder to suppress the images bubbling to the surface, festering like maggots in an old wound. The more he tried to push them down, however, the fiercer they'd rise back up, and he choked down a sob in attempt to list the sensations he could currently identify.

He could feel the stone-- but he already said the stone, didn't he? He could also feel the sun. It was hot against his back. So hot. He was overheating.

The notes should have been a success, but the drops of sweat felt too akin to tricking blood. The sting of his hands felt too much like the friction burn of a rope. It felt too much like he was back with the Vex again, and as he finally sunk to the soil, he could no longer swim against the onslaught of memories crashing over him like a tidal wave.

They could still hear him, They could still hear him, They could still hear him, They could still get him--

------

The day he and Cub first found the courage to try and cut ties with the Vex had been a hellish one, and the two men weren't even successful in their attempt. Hence, of course, it being the first.

Still, it had taken ages for Scar to persuade Cub that it was even worth trying, the other man having believed it was impossible to sneak anything past the Vex on their own. Scar was persistent, however, and eventually convinced his friend they had a shot if they played their cards right, if they made the right proposal without their intentions being discovered.

They'd constructed their plans in secret for weeks; discussing them only inside of untold locations with hushed whispers, or in the form of coded scrawls they'd burn immediately after reading. They couldn't be too careful, that's what they'd tell themselves whenever they worried their precautionary measures may be over the top. Even so, when a so-called conference was put on the schedule --such events were far from any type of cordial meeting, despite having been assigned the title of one-- the men were hardly prepared for it.

Their conference room consisted of a needlessly grandiose suite, with floors of marble and walls carved from deep umber wood. The polished lumber was adorned with expensive paintings in aureate frames; antique laden shelves taking up the spaces they did not. Aesthetically pleasing decorative tactics were discarded in favour of showing off their riches in a possessive cluster, with the only average items being the table and its chairs sat in the dead center of the area. A chandelier of gemstone and gold swung from above, dangling by the same chains fated to one day bind their vassals.

"Concordats, greetings!" A Vex declared as the men were led through the doorway, hovering in the air at the opposing end of the surface.

"Greetings," parroted Cub minimally, Scar giving a plain nod beside him. Fewer words meant less chance at letting their guard down.

"We've been needing to speak with you," a different Vex chimed.

"Speak with you about the business," yet another visitant confirmed.

"We actually need to discuss similar matters with you all," Scar noted, voice and expression a façade of tranquility.

"You do?" the first asked, wide smile replaced with inquiry.

"Yes," managed Cub, "we want to make you an offer, one you can't refuse."

"I do like the sound of that!" the second snickered.

"We'll hear your offer," the Vex grinned, "we only have one question first!"

"Of course, what is it?" asked Scar, in mental awe of how well their exchange was going.

"Do you recognize these?" it asked, gesturing towards the white table where a blue light flashed, fading away to reveal a small pile of ash.

Cub and Scar glanced to one another in evident confusion, the latter of the two speaking once again, "Forgive me, but we're not sure what you're talking about."

"Oh, silly me!" the Vex giggled, another flash of luminesce encompassing the soot and leaving a stack of papers in its place. As if caught in a controlled gust, they blew from the surface and organized themselves midair; levitating in a cloud of magic.

All of their once burnt notes were lined up before them, cyphers needed to crack their messages included.

Still beaming with innocence, it continued, "How about now? Look familiar?"

The blood drained from their faces, and Scar could have sworn his heart was going to burst from his chest with how hard it was drumming. He wanted to wake up, because this had to be a nightmare.

"No, we have no idea what those are," he tried.

LAIR!

Overlapping voices screamed in his head, all sounding in haunting unison. Scar hastily clapped his hands over his ears, but it did nothing to silence the uproar emanating from within.

You try to break our contract then lie to our faces?

Foolish concordats.

Terrible secret keepers, terrible subjects.

Cub seized hold of Scar's arm and made a break for the door with the brunet in tow, reaching the exit and tugging desperately on the handles. They refused to turn under his grasp, and his eyes darted back towards the Vex; floating creatures growing ever closer to their imaginary bubble providing them with the illusion of safety.

More of Them were phasing in through walls, forms non-corporeal and having no need for the sealed entryway.

Apologize.

They all ordered, Scar flinching at the simultaneous projection. He lowered his hands and turned towards Them, watching Their unmoving grins with wide eyes.

Kneel before your gods and divulge your prayers, we may just show you mercy.

"I'm sorry-" Scar whimpered, but Cub was having none of it.

"No!" the man barked, "Screw this! This isn't worth it! None of this is worth it! He's right! The business, the money, the power, it-- it means nothing! Not when you treat us like this!"

They watched him step forward, his furious yells echoing through the expanse of the room, "We're done! And we mean it! You're going to get us go or else!"

An orchestra of shrill cackles filled the air.

Oooh, it's angry.

They're fighting back!

Teach them a lesson.

"You won't dare make another-" Cub's retaliation was cut short with a cry, the bearded man dropping to the ground in a swift crash.

"Cub!" Scar called, but his attempt to step towards his friend was met only with a searing pain through his legs and the subsequent buckling of his knees. He fell to the marble, limbs heavy as if they'd been weighted. It took considerable force to balance on his arms, appendages left shaking as he peered back up towards the Vex.

He regretted it instantly.

•••

(Part two)

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #goodtimeswithscar #grian #mumbo jumbo #mcyt #the vex #cubfan135

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obxing · 5 years ago

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i’ll always need your love around|| jj may bank x reader

hello! this was written while i was very high at 12 in the morning because my body has been telling me to write something for the past three days. that being said this might suck and it’s definitely not edited.

warnings: none

word count: 1217

pairing: jj maybank x reader

requested: nope

All of the Pogues looked forward to summer every year, summer meant (y/n) was coming home. She had been around since the beginning of the groups shenanigans her parents splitting a few years back. Her mom drug her to Brooklyn with her for a quote on quote “fresh start” but every summer she’d come down for three months till the last week of tourist season. And they’d catch up as if no time had passed at all. This time was different. Last year there were lingering glances and suggestive text messages. This year there was two teenagers so desperately trying to find themselves with each other, skin tangled up as they held each other so close they became one. He never saw anyone the way he saw her, it’d been that way forever. Not that he’d tell anyone besides maybe John B. So they found themselves like they’d found themselves so many times before. Curled up to close next to each other to just be friends. They sat on a blanket listening to the waves crash against the sand. It was one of the last weekends of the season the lights that lit the ferris wheel preparing to turn off for the year.

“So when do you go back?” he asked breaking the silence between the two, his fingers traced lazily on her spine as she rested on his shoulder. “Two weeks.” She frowned part of her wanting to say fuck it and throw everything behind her to try out the relationship she so desperately wanted in her early teens. He huffed as he nodded, “fourteen days huh? That’s all I get.” He was hurt to say the least, he knew deep down this would come, same as every year. “Oh come on J, it’s not like that you know that” her face dropping with his mood “Yeah I know, I know” he hesitated looking up to the stars “I just thought maybe for some reason this time was gonna be different” “I wish it could be” (y/n) sighed. “Why can’t it? Couldn’t you just transfer back? You know back to good ole Kildare County?” he shrugged. The only person that he felt truly understood him. The person who could hug him and put all the pieces back together that people like his father had spread apart. He always believed he would be nothing more than a pogue, and he was alright with that. After all there was nothing wrong with being a pogue, he just wanted more. He couldn’t stand the thought of living like his father did. He at least wanted a home, somewhere with love. “It’s senior year”she stressed, getting aggravated this was turning into an argument. “If I transfer it’ll look awful on my college apps.” “Yeah okay Pope” he snickered, knowing you weren’t one to stress much on what the future held. She pursed her lips at his words, “maybe we should just make the most of the time we have left.” He nodded, the pit of despair growing in his stomach. He knew that senior year meant college, and college meant no more three month long summers together. He barely got through the other three seasons without her. Calling her all hours of the night crying how he just wants to run away to get away from his father. How he just wishes she was there.

She would go on to do the big things she dreamed of and told everyone about whenever she got more than one shot of tequila in her. He would get a job turning wrenches in a garage, finding himself drinking a six pack a day, wishing he had followed her away.

“I’ll just miss you a lot, that’s all” he pulled her closer into him as she shivered with the salty breeze. “we’ve never gone this far before, this time just felt so different.” “I’m going to miss you more than you know JJ” She sniffled. He pressed a kiss into the top of her hair the scent of her shampoo filling his scent. He would give anything to just stay here forever. “Do you remember our promise?” He asked with a smile on his face looking down to meet her eyes. “Which one?” she raised her eyebrow thinking back to the days they were younger, backs pressed in sleeping bags that lay against the grass in her backyard. Her parents finally agreeing to let her and jj have a camp out in the back yard. “Hey jj are you up?” she flipped on her side to face him. He turned his head quickly, alarmed. “I am now” he said with an attitude. “Will you promise me something?” “Anything.” He stated through a yawn. “When you get older and find all those girlfriends,” she tucked her hands under the side of her face locking eyes with him “don’t forget me?” He looked at her dumbfounded, as if there was any other girl he’d want to camp in a back yard with. “Of course (y/n), don’t be dumb.” A comfortable silence fell between them, each of them stealing glances as the other looked away. JJ coughed breaking the silence, “Hey (y/n) promise me something?” he challenged her. “Anything.” She smirked back at him, waiting for whatever ridiculous come back he had planned. “If we’re like 45 and single we’ll get married.” She snickered at the goofy question. “I’m serious!” he exclaimed. “Yes JJ Maybank I’ll marry you.” Every since that night he had been there for her in anyway. She had left this morning, both of them crying about her departure. Promising to call everyday. His hands caressing her cheeks softly, foreheads pressed gently together as the tears streamed down their cheeks. His lips pressed softly to hers. “I’m going to miss you so much J” she quietly wailed into his chest. “I promise you I’m going to miss you more babygirl”

She frowned as the approached the security lines. “I don’t want to go” she wiped her nose, slightly laughing at herself and how ridiculous she probably looked. “I don’t want you to go” he retaliated hoping maybe something had clicked in her mind telling her to stay her with him. They pulled apart from each other as she went to join the line “I love you, (y/n).” His blue eyes staring into hers.

“What you cryin’ about boy?” His father asked taking another swing of the cheap liquor on the table “Ya ain’t turning in to a wuss are ya? Getting all soft on me are ya?” JJ knew he needed to pull himself together if he didn’t want his dad to add physical pain on to the never ending emotional shit show he went through. “Don’t worry about it Dad” JJ said behind his back as he walked back to his room. Collapsing on the bed that still smelled like your perfume. He had became so infatuated with you, creating the rules of no Pogue macking on any other Pogue. Even though you both broke then rule on each other the following summer. There was something about her that just wouldn’t let him go. Maybe it was the way she threw her head back when she laughed, and she looked so beautiful doing it. Maybe it was the fact that she was the only one that had been able to get through to him. Or maybe it was the fact that she was his (y/n) there had never been a girl like her. Someone who he could just look at and she would just make all of his problems disappear. The only person he ever wanted to be more for.

#obx x reader #obx imagine #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank

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captainmarvels · 5 years ago

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wicked games [22]

Summary: Nothing can ruin all the fun you and Tom have been having lately - right?

Pairing: CEO!Tom Holland x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT - fingering, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, dom/sub vibes | 18+ ONLY |

Word Count: 4547

A/N: We’re back! I hope y’all enjoy this chapter, @thorsxodinson and I have poured our heart, soul, blood, sweat and tears into this fic and we can’t wait for y’all to see what we have coming!!

masterlist | tag list - add yourself!

The autumn season breezed by, barely giving you time to adjust to your new(ish) life.

The hustle and bustle of the office as the end of the year approached may have had you running around with no end in sight, but you knew that at the end of the day, you would be able to recuperate at home.

Home.

Every morning you awoke to a fresh cup of tea on your nightstand, a note always sitting just to the right of it.

Good morning bug. Stop making that face, you know you secretly love it.

I’m making smoothies to go in the kitchen, so you better get in here fast before I take all the strawberries! xx Tom

While eating breakfast together had been somewhat of a rarity before, you now always found Tom sitting at the table with a book in one hand, and a fork full of bacon in the other - and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

As November came to an end, and the first few days of December promised cold winds and a desire for hot chocolate by the fire, you couldn’t help but reminisce about the past year.

Tom was sitting at his desk in his home office, scrolling through some documents on his laptop when he heard a knock at the door.

“Its open,” He said, glancing up just in time to see you slip in. “Hello, darling,”

“Hello, bug,” You answered wistfully, laughing when you saw him raise an eyebrow.

“I’ve got some hot chocolate for you,” You set the mug down in front of him, the artfully crafted whipped cream bobbing against the rim.

“And to what do I owe such a wonderful treat?” Tom pushed his chair back from the desk, gently patting the top of his thigh before grabbing the mug. You got the hint, and sat on his lap as the two of you took a much needed sip.

“Do you need a reason to drink some delicious hot chocolate?” You asked, a soft gasp escaping as you felt Tom’s grip on your waist.

“No better reason than the season, my love.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you planned a relaxing night in with Tom and Harrison, full of face masks and comedy films. You, Harrison, and Tom were in the kitchen, attempting not to burn a batch of homemade cookies, when you heard the elevator bell ring.

“Harrison, stop opening the oven!” You said, causing him to blush as he quickly shut the door. Tom was preparing a second tray of cookies when the kitchen door swung open, revealing an out of breath Mary, with what appeared to be velvet envelopes in hand.

“WE’RE GOING TO A GALA, BITCHES!” She shouted at the top of her lungs, the widest smile appearing on her face as she slammed the envelopes onto the counter.

“Whose gala?” Harrison asked, wiping his hands on the front of his borrowed apron.

“I have a doorbell for A REASON, you know! I had it checked, and it is not broken!” Tom clamored as he glanced down at the counter.

“Mary?” You walked up to her and rested a hand on her shoulder, locking eyes with her as she met your questioning gaze.

Gathering whatever oxygen she could, she said, “Tom… Motherfuckin’... Hiddleston.”

You felt your jaw drop, and you couldn’t hold back the scream building up in the back of your throat.

“HOLY FUCK!”

“I KNOW, BITCH! CAN YOU BELIEVE!”

“I can’t believe it… we’re gonna meet the Tom Hiddleston?” You could feel your face growing warmer with just the thought of being in the same room as him.

“The supreme Tom, of course,” Mary said, ignoring Tom’s pointed look as she continued. “And we are all going, I don’t care if you have the same name, Stanley!”

“We’ve definitely lost her, she’s gone fully cracked,” Tom pinched the bridge of his nose in apparent frustration.

Harrison looked amongst you all before chiming in, “Do you think we ought to warn his security team?”

“Tom, do not try and prevent me from enjoying this glorious moment!” You met his gaze, raising your eyebrows as he opened his mouth to say something.

“Does this mean I’m your date, Mary?” Haz asked, his cheeks a rosy blush hue as he looked at her.

“Fuck a date; I’m going single!”

Hiddleston’s charity gala was in two weeks, in London, of all places. Tom and Harrison were delighted to finally have a chance to return home, even if they were dreading attending the event.

You walked into your bedroom, and found Tom studying two different suits he had laid out on the bed.

“It’s just a gala, Tom,” You said, tilting your head to the side as you leaned against the wall opposite him.

“It’s Tom Hiddleston’s gala, darling. I can’t just show up to one of his galas, I need to-”

“Make an entrance, yadda yadda yadda, we get it, Stanley! You’re afraid the superior Thomas will steal us away and you’ll be all alone, blah blah blah. Anywho, I need to borrow your darling for some dress shopping!” Mary cut him off, rolling her eyes as he glared at her. She was leaning against the doorframe of his room.

Taking hold of your hand, you flashed Tom a weak smile before walking out the door with her.

Mary brought you to her favorite boutique in Manhattan, and pulled out two photos of gowns from her purse as you walked into the shop. Before you could glance at them, Mary handed them to one of the stylists you recognized from the last time you were here.

“Just these, Ms. Robinson?”

“Yes, thank you, Liza. I’ll let you know if Clara needs to make any alterations. And you,” She took your hand in yours and lead you towards the dressing rooms in the back of the salon. “...are coming with me! Let’s get this party started, ladies!”

Downing the last of the champagne, you studied the gown in front of you.

“Are you ready to put it on, miss?” Liza was standing behind the podium, her glasses on the tip of her nose.

You nodded and stepped up, shrugging off your white robe as she undid the buttons on the back of the gown.

Once everything was buttoned up and pinned, you looked yourself up and down in the mirror.

The silk gown itself was a caramel nude shade, adorned with an intricate pattern comprised of different blue and silver jewels that sparkled under the light. The thigh high slit on your left leg allowed the silver stilettos you were wearing to shine through.

What really caught you off guard about the dress was the extravagant blue silk sash that was draped across your midsection and shoulders, falling over the front of your figure like a cathedral length veil.

“What do you think?” Liza asked, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she met your gaze in the mirror.

“I think I’m still processing this, to be honest.” A knock at the door interrupted your flow of thought.

“Get out here and let me see!”

Making sure you wouldn’t step on the sash, you moved into the middle of the dressing area, where Mary was already studying herself in the mirror.

It was the epitome of Mary, and you were truly taken aback by how beautiful it was.

The pitch black gown draped over the podium, leading your eyes up to find intricate lace and jewel detailing on the sleeves. As she turned, you noticed the top of the gown appeared to be like a sash; draping itself over Mary’s left shoulder, and hitting the floor at the same length as the hem of the gown. Mary’s dress also had a thigh high slit, but hers was adorned with a partial jeweled pattern coming down the edge.

“Holy shit!” Mary exclaimed, brushing her gown to the side as she stepped down to meet you at eye-level. “I know I have excellent taste but Jesus, I’ve really knocked it out of the park with this one, haven’t I? You look hot!”

You laughed, shaking your head as you ran a finger over the detailing. “I don’t think I ever thought I’d see myself in a dress like this, so thank you,”

“No need to thank me, babe. I will be expecting a massive thank you gift basket from your white boy after he sees you in this because fuck, he’s gonna go insane over this.”

Your flight landed at Heathrow at 8pm, a mere 24 hours before the gala. As you waited for the private limousine in the hangar, you listened to Tom and Haz discuss their ideas for the weekend.

“If we don’t go to the London Eye, I will riot, mate,”

“Why’re you being such a tourist, Holland? You’re acting like it’s your first time in the UK,” Harrison raised his eyebrows as he peered over Tom’s shoulder at you.

“You put him up to this?”

You held up your hands. “I haven’t been to London like… ever? So I don’t know what to do - this is all him!”

“Osterfield, let me live, alright! We’re also going to the Shard, so”

“Jesus, you’re really pulling out all the stops,” Harrison said under his breath as he sat on top of his suitcase.

“Wouldn’t you, if you were here with someone you loved?” Harrison sighed and nodded.

“You have a point, I suppose,” He acknowledged as he looked up and met Tom’s jet-lagged gaze. “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with the fact you want to go to all the overpacked, touristy spots!”

When the limos pulled up to the curb of the Hotel Café Royal, you couldn’t help your jaw dropping as you took in the intrinsic architecture of the building.

“Thomas, this better be the penthouse!” Mary shouted over the cars driving by as she grabbed her bag.

“Which room, sir?” The bellboy asked as he grabbed the suitcases from the limo driver. Taking your hand in his, Tom turned and answered. “The Dome Suite, thank you.”

The elevator ride was short and sweet, giving you no time to prepare for the overwhelming grandness of the suite before you as you all stepped out onto the pristine marble floors.

The residence was under a copper-domed rotunda, and - according to the bellboy - spanned 3,132 square feet of space. Tom led you into the curved living room, where you noticed one of the terraces that looked over all of London.

“Your rooms are down to the left here; ours is through these doors here,” Tom gestured to his right as he milled about the massive room.

Mary flashed you a peace sign before following Harrison down the hall, the sounds of doors closing echoing behind them.

“Shall we, my love?” Tom walked with you into the master suite, where you were greeted by a massive green wall; massive sofas, a dining table, and wet bar on one side, and what appeared to be a bathroom on the other. Tom continue moving, leading you around the wall in the back of the room, where the bedroom was.

Nothing too fancy about the bed, but you were thankful for its softness as you sunk into the comforter.

“Already tired, sweetheart?” Tom cooed as he placed his suitcase on the bench at the foot of the bed.

“Ask me again in 12 hours, yeah?”

The next day, Mary kicked Tom out of the master suite at 4:30pm, making sure he had everything he needed before locking the door.

“I can’t have him seeing my wondrous beauty ahead of everyone else, am I right?”

Mary helped you put your gown on, before she sat you down in front of her makeshift vanity to get you red carpet ready.

Once she’d worked her magic, you couldn’t stop staring at yourself in the mirror as you waited for Mary to finish her makeup.

A rap at the door brought you back down to Earth; Mary shouted over her blasting music: “Not YET, idiots!”

Fifteen minutes later, Mary poked her head around the corner, flashing you a toothy grin.

“Ready, babe?”

“As ready as I can be.”

“Time to find Tom Hiddleston!”

Seeing the cameras flashing from the corners of your eye only elevated your already racing heartbeat as the limousine came to a slow stop outside Christ Church’s The Nave; you could see dozens of guests climbing up the steps to the entrance, dazzling gowns beaming under the flashing lights.

“You okay, love?” Tom placed his hand over yours as you met his worried gaze.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” You whispered, squeezing his hand gently as he nodded.

“Just remember, I’m here.”

The loud crowd consumed your thoughts as the limo door opened, but you focused on Tom as he helped you out of the car. Walking up to the bottom of the stairs, you posed for a few photos.

Tom had his hand on your waist and held you close to his side; you smiled wide, stealing a few glances at him before he helped you up the steps.

Once inside, you marveled at the oak panelling across the grand room, and the Tuscan columns that led the eye all the way to the ceiling of flowers.

“One hell of a party, am I right!” Mary appeared from the crowd, Harrison close behind, drinks already in hand.

“I know I could do better,” Tom scoffed, his eyes taking in the venue space.

“Sure you could, Stanley! Hey, do I get some sort of thank you for how fucking amazing she looks?” Mary pointed at your gown, and Tom rolled his eyes, even when you could see how flushed he’d gotten.

“I’ll be sure to pay a commission for picking out the dress, Mary!”

A crowd of people towards the back of the space cheered loudly, and Mary’s attention was piqued - “Got to go, boys! A Mr. Hiddleston awaits us!”

Before Tom could protest, Mary took your hand and led you through the throngs of people, until you happened upon the cheering crowd.

And sure enough, the gracious host himself, Tom Hiddleston, was standing at the heart of the group, a glass of champagne in hand as he talked with them.

He glanced up and caught a glimpse of you and Mary, and a spark of recognition seemed to cross his features.

“Excuse me just a moment,” He said, flashing everyone a smile as he moved through the group towards you.

Mary pinched you hard in the arm as she tried to maintain her composure; Tom approached you two and smiled, lifting his glass slightly as if to say hello.

“I thought I recognized you, darling. Ms. Robinson, from New York? You run that phenomenal activism site! I heard about your gala, and I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to come,” As he continued chatting Mary up, you could tell she was in a daze; after all, she was talking with the man she’d been obsessing over for the past few weeks.

You squeezed her hand as a goodbye before you began to search for the original British men you’d come with.

A few rounds of circling the highboys around the room finally led you to Tom and Harrison, who were nursing drinks at a table against the wall.

“Why the long faces, boys?” You walked over to Tom and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He wrapped an arm around your waist as he dropped his head on your shoulder, sighing exasperatedly.

“Tommy is just upset he can’t throw as lavish a gala as Hiddleston can,” Harrison said, laughing when Tom flipped him off.

“I think I’m going to lose my mind if I’m here for any longer, my love,” He whispered in your ear.

As he pulled away, the DJ put on a playlist that begged for dancing, so you took Tom’s hand in yours and led him towards the dance floor at the heart of the room.

“He’s got two left feet, you know!” Harrison yelled over the blasting music.

Tom shook his head and flipped off his best friend once more, before turning to find you waving your free arm around maniacally.

Pulling you into his side, Tom leaned in impossibly close: “Have I told you how fucking amazing you look tonight, princess?”

The pet name made your heart want to burst, but you ignored the rushing adrenaline as you turned your back to him and pushed yourself up against him.

Tom grunted deep in his throat at your movements, tugging at the knot of his tie with one hand while the other wrapped itself around your waist.

Resting your head back against his chest, you swayed your hips left and right, brushing up against Tom in the most torturous way possible.

He could see the game you were playing from a mile away, and he was surprised, but insanely excited to see where you were going with this.

Following your lead, Tom leaned in and left a hot, open mouth kiss on your neck. You could feel his lips trailing up to your jaw, and for a moment, you lost yourself in the pleasure.

Tom pulled you back with firm squeeze of your ass, making you gasp as he chuckled darkly.

Turning to face him, you pulled him in close, resting your hands on his chest as he settled his own on your waist.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, baby,” He said over the loud music. The smug smirk on his face told you what he was thinking, and there was no way in hell you were letting him get away that easy.

Grabbing his hand, you guided him through the pool of sweaty bodies dancing to a secluded hallway. Tom soon realized where you’d brought him - the bathroom.

Opening the door with your hip, you dragged him inside, locking it behind you.

Before he could come up with a smug remark, you pushed Tom against the door, and pulled him close with a tug of his tie.

“Did you really think you’d won, that easily?”

“You could say that,” Tom offered as he watched you crouch down to look under the stalls. All of them were empty. As you straighten back up, he added, “Are you going to prove me otherwise?”

You silenced him with a rough, bruising kiss. It's meant to put Tom in his place instead of arousing him, but it does both, actually; his neck is flushed and his heavy-lidded eyes are trained on your lips when you finally pull back.

"If you think you can get away with beating me at my own game, you’re quite mistaken," Tom pushed himself off the door, and backed you towards the sinks.

You watched him undress with wide eyes. "If you insist." Hoisting yourself up onto the counter, you pulled the hem of your dress over your thigh.

"Music to my ears, baby," Tom quipped cheekily. He crowded in on you and pushed your knees apart. The fabric of your dress bunched up around your waist, leaving your pussy exposed. Running his hands up your thigh, he teased you with his index finger, running it up and down your slit several times, reveling in how warm you felt.

With his free hand, Tom grabbed your neck, kissing you roughly. The other excruciatingly drew circles over your folds, ever so slowly. Bringing you back to him, Tom pressed his lips against yours to quiet your keening from his touch, distracting you just enough with his tongue in your mouth, dancing sinfully with yours.

Breaking the kiss, Tom pressed his forehead against yours and grinned at you. “I’ve truly missed this, darling.”

With your chest heaving, you reached down, fumbling to unbuckle his belt. Sliding down from the counter, you pushed your dress back to fall to your knees, but Tom stopped you before you had the chance.

“Did I say you could do that, princess?”

The look in his eyes was different than before; like he’d finally decided what he wanted to do with you. Like he was going to tease you until you were nothing but a writhing mess for thinking you could do this to him, free of consequences.

Rising up from the floor, you looked at one another for what felt like an eternity, until Tom couldn’t take it anymore.

It’s now or never.

Pressing you flush against the counter, he pushed back the hem of your dress and began toying with your pussy once again. His mouth found yours, his lips soft yet rough against your own as he swallowed every moan that fell from them.

Moving from your lips to your jaw, Tom spoke between every kiss. "God, you're already dripping wet and we've barely started."

You let out another moan in response and tilted your head back until it bumped the mirror behind you. Tom reigned in his smug smile and continued to touch you until his hands were coated in your desperation. Only then did he unzip his trousers and pulled out his cock.

He was hard and leaking from the tip, but that was hardly a surprise, considering you were at his mercy. Better yet, you were eager to continue. Tom could feel your eyes on him as he gingerly stroked himself, spreading the pre-come over the head with his thumb.

“Would you please just fuck me already?" With a little maneuvering you managed to lean back on the sink's countertop, revealing glistening, dewy flesh for his gaze. You spread yourself open with your middle finger and glanced up at him.

The sight you were presenting was admittedly very tempting. Tom could easily set aside his plan and give in to what you wanted. What you both wanted, really. He was already picturing it - just his cock slipping in and out of you, your body writhing underneath him.

But he didn’t want that. Oh, no. He wanted to push you to the edge only to deny you. He wanted your climax to rip through you; drown you in pleasure. And yet...

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Tom grunted. He leaned in, aligning your bodies together. "To get what you so desperately want?”

You nodded enthusiastically, gripping the countertop in anticipation. Rocking his hips forward, Tom rubbed the length of his cock along your slick opening. You couldn’t help but gasp at the tantalizing friction, tilting your pelvis so that he could easily slip inside.

It was a subtle, clever move on your part but Tom saw right through it.

"Too bad," he murmured, taking his cock in hand again. You whimpered at the sudden loss of his body brushing against yours, but he paid no mind to your desperate pleas. "This is far more fun, don't you think?" Not waiting for a reply, he took the tip of his cock in hand and rubbed it lightly against the hood of your clit.

Your whimpering cries spurred him to keep on teasing you until your eyes were clenched tight, your chest heaving from shallow breaths.

"You like that, princess?" Tom questioned. He continued the rhythmic slide of his skin against yours.

"Yes! Yes, fuck. God, please." Your hands rove over his back, pawing at his velvet suit jacket.

"Jump off and turn around; your back facing me."

You stumbled over your heels in a haste to obey. Pulling your gown up to your waist, you flung the extra fabric into the sink next to you.

"Bend over," he ordered.

You complied, pressing yourself against the cold counter, your back arched and your cunt aching in anticipation. Tom stepped back and took a moment to appreciate the glistening juices slipping down your thighs. Fuck, I missed this view.

"Tom!" You squealed as his hand landed a resounding slap on your ass. He spanked the other cheek for good measure and this time you moaned at the contact.

"You missed this." He made it a statement, not a question, because it's obvious from your wet, dripping cunt that you were enjoying every. Fucking. Moment.

"Maybe." You couldn’t help yourself, and glanced over your shoulder at him, biting your lip. "Don’t stop now, daddy,"

Tom’s breath fell short as he heard that all-too familiar word roll off your tongue. You were the only one who could utter it and get him to fall to his knees. But not this time.

"Spread your legs for me," he commanded, his cock aching with pleasure as he watched you teeter in your high heels, trying to regain control of your shaky legs. Once you had adjusted, your back a beautiful straight line and your ass pressed against his hard cock, Tom grabbed hold of your hair and lightly pulled until he was certain you could see yourself in the mirror.

"Look at that, baby," he murmured, wrapping your hair around his hand.

"What?" you gasped.

"How beautiful you are, waiting for my cock." Wasting no time, Tom gripped his erection by the base and nudged the tip between your soaking folds. The damp heat of your skin welcomed him and he shuddered from the amount of self-control it took to pause for a moment and make sure you were still looking at your reflection.

Your eyes were trained on the mirror image, and the amount of pure, unadulterated desire that was plainly etched across your face – desire for him – was enough to soften the blows from his anxiety over the past few weeks. You still wanted him.

Right now, you had this, and as Tom finally sank into the blissfully tight, velvety heat of your pussy, he vowed to make every minute worth its while. For you.

As the end of the year approached faster than a bullet, Tom was spending longer hours at the office and less time with you.

There were only a few days left before the new year would ring in, and he had to make the most of his time at work; home would always be waiting for him.

Or so he thought.

Just as he finished wrapping up yet another expense report for the board, Tom heard a loud knock at his office door.

“Come in, it’s open,” Tom didn’t bother to see who crossed the threshold until he heard a painstakingly familiar voice across the way.

“Glad to see you’ve got some consideration for your company, Thomas.”

His father walked with confidence as Tom met him halfway, his hands fidgeting with his cufflinks as he took in his father’s gaze.

“What’re you doing here?”

“That’s no way to speak to your father, boy. Besides… I come bearing bloody brilliant news.” Dom glanced back at the empty wet bar in the back of the room, and rolled his eyes. “We can celebrate later, I suppose.”

“What’s the news?” Tom asked, brows furrowed together as he crossed his arms in annoyance.

Clearing his throat, Dom flashed his son a wicked smile as he handed him a yellow manila folder, two tickets clipped to the front.

Tokyo.

“I want you to kick off the new year spearheading the brand-new company headquarters out of Toyko. Should only take a year, if all goes well.”

tags - part 1:

@cherrynat @anytimebitches @joyfullyje @jobean12-blog @emotchalla @enigma-xlii @illletitgrow @cloverrover @justaveryobsessedfangirl @ssweet-empowerment @killmongerdreams @spideytrxsh @eyestheyseeyou @aussie-mantle @spidergirlwanab @i-think-i-am-adorable @amanda51015-blog @princessskylarsblog @whoneedsalifeanyhowxx @chinalois @clairesrainbow @darkerthanspace @slighttinsomniac @curlytomholland @wanderlustomaha @hollandazing @mendes-marvel @wowspideyholland @santaholland

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #ceo!tom holland #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland fluff #tom holland x you

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amerrierworld · 4 years ago

Text

Curtain. (iii)

Carol (2015) fanfiction

Pt: 1 | 2

Word Count: 1,884

"Hey, T, you alright?" Dannie said as they got back to Therese's place. He leaned against the wall as she struggled to get her keys out.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, ya seemed a bit distracted during dinner. Did something happen? Was it Richard?"

Therese hesitated in answering as her hand halted on the door knob. Sure, Richard was always a pain in her ass. Their respective jobs kept them apart, thank God, but Therese was never the keenest on keeping exes in her circle of friends. In this case she had no choice.

"Yeah, kind of. I mean, he's always been a misogynistic asshole, don't you think? I can only handle him for so long at any given time," Therese said, breezing inside with an air of nonchalance. Dannie wasn't having any of it as he followed her.

"Or was it a certain blonde boss that was keeping you from enjoying the night?" he asked as he followed her up the stairs.

"Shut up, Dannie," Therese quipped back without looking at him. "I'm stressed, alright? You might get a bit of a break now that the show's done, but I've got a new job coming up and that shit's never easy."

"Right, sorry, T, I didn't mean to upset you."

Therese sighed as they got to her door, turning to face him. "No, it's okay. I'm being weird, I know. It's just... well, sometimes I get confused, y'know? Like I just don't know what I want, and I get swept up in all these things and people around me, and I can't say no to any of it. Now what am I doing? I'm barely out, and barely paying my rent, and not doing the jobs I originally wanted to do. I never planned to be an art teacher of any kind. And it all just piles up."

She was staring at the ground, brows furrowed as she thought things through. Though she wouldn't tell Dannie the real aggressor of her overloaded thoughts was in fact the director, it was the only thing truly on her mind. She hadn't looked at anyone properly or found anyone as attractive as the blonde woman who she didn't even know the first name of. It scared her.

Two strong arms wrapped around Therese firmly and Dannie hugged her during her brief ruminating session.

"I can't imagine what it's like, T," he said, his chin on her hair. "I know it's probably tough, Phil's had a hell of a ride with figuring himself out and that took a toll on him. You've had it almost worse in my opinion, cause it took being with a shithead like Richard-"

Therese snorted.

"... to make you realize that you deserve more, and better."

"Being gay is the best thing in the world," Therese sighed. "But also the worst. No girls I look at ever know what they want. Or what they like. Or they're just experimenting. And, you know, homophobia..."

"Ignorance."

"Hate."

"Yeah, but girls."

"Yeah. Girls," Therese cracked a smile and Dannie did too. He bumped her arm playfully and she opened her apartment door.

"You wanna come inside for a drink?"

"Nah, I better head home. Phil's probably done his shift so I gotta make sure he eats at least something other than Redbull before he crashes on the bed."

"Gotcha."

"Let me know if you need anything, okay? I'm just a call away."

"I know, Dannie. Thank you."

"Goodnight T, have some sweet... blonde... dreams!"

Therese tried to swing her purse at him but missed as her best friend went cackling down the stairs.

September - before the first day

"Oh, Miss Belivet, is it?" asked the elderly lady at the front desk. Therese nodded, pulling at her skirt, her bag swung over her shoulder as she stood by the reception desk of the school- her new school.

She'd been working tirelessly the past week to really get herself in order. She even had a plan for the kids; themes accompanied with the crafts, and lessons in the art they were doing, not just mindless cutting and glueing. God, she definitely wasn't getting paid enough for this. Therese hoped her work would at least be appreciated.

"I was called to see the school today with Mrs... Robichek, I think it was?"

"Yes, you're right, I'll just page her down."

Therese waited by the receptionist, wandering a bit as she took in the school's architecture. Despite its clear technological advances of the relatively up-to-date phones, computers and printers, the school itself still had an old architectural feel to it, like something out of the 50s. The floors had a horrendous tiled pattern and the walls' pale green colours had faded into something ghastly.

Shuffling caught her attention and Therese turned to see a small, old lady with thick framed glasses in the doorway of the office. Though she looked just as ghastly as the school's design, she had a peppy smile on her face.

"Welcome, Theresa," she began. Therese's own smile faltered a little but she couldn't be bothered to correct her new colleague. Robichek, or Ruby as she introduced herself, gave Therese a tour of the small but well-regarded school.

"Now, you've got it easy, Theresa dear. You'll just need to be here everyday after school, no need for those 8am calls! Hah!"

Therese zoned out a bit as she watched the janitors and teachers bustle about the school, preparing for the new year and welcoming all the kids. Teachers with boxes filled with notebooks and markers. Desks being shuffled around and moved. The janitors cleaning the windows and floors thoroughly, making the tiles shine so brightly it gave Therese a headache.

"Here we are," Ruby suddenly piped up, entering a small classroom. Therese did a full turn once inside, noting the sink at the back of the room, handy, she thought. A selection of about 20 seemingly unused easels were propped up against the far wall, making Therese's hands itch with excitement.

"Now, usually this is Mr. Tucker's classroom. After 3pm, you've got it for yourself. You won't be allowed to move or touch his desk, but do whatever you like with the rest of the set up, as long as you move it back at the end of the day."

"What does Mr. Tucker teach?"

"Hm? Oh, during the school day he teaches the eighth graders, mainly. He's also coach and teaches gym, so he barely uses this room for his own things; that's what the gym office is for."

Therese wandered around the room for a bit, wondering if she was invading someone's space by being here. But no, she was only playing babysitter for kids after school. Administration insisted it still needed a curricular focus, according to Ruby, that's why they wanted an art-focused program rather than just letting kids waste their time for an hour or two.

"Between you and me, I think they're also doing it so they can cut some of the art funding during the regular day. This is technically outside of school hours so they don't have to worry about it, but they still count it as the curriculum being met," Ruby scoffed. Therese hummed in response, knowing how little arts were appreciated in schools nowadays, especially for younger years.

"Well, I think that's it, my dear! There's room in the teacher's lounge for your things once you start tomorrow. You needn't worry about taking up anyone's space, so do what you like."

"Thank you, Mrs. Robichek."

"Not a problem."

"Can I ask one question though? Where are all the art supplies?"

"Ah, that. Well. You see, I'm afraid this is as much as you're gonna get. It's an art club, Miss Belivet. The school board isn't going to be buying supplies for you."

With that, Mrs. Robichek walked out, leaving Therese to her own devices. She wandered about, checking the drawers in the cabinets and by the sink. A box of broken crayons and old Crayola markers was all she found. Some scissors, half a pack of construction paper, a couple glue sticks... The only real asset were the easels at the back of the room. Someone probably funded those with good intention, but no one seemed interested to use them properly.

As she crouched by the sink, rummaging through the last few piles of flimsy paper and boxes, the door opened. In walked a beanpole of a man- thin glasses framing his beady eyes. He was dressed in a suit that seemed to hang off of his body, old and boring in every way. He had a box in hand that he set on the desk before noticing Therese at the other end of the room.

"Who are you?" he asked immediately. This, Therese assumed, was Mr. Tucker.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Tucker. I'm Therese Belivet, I'm-,"

"The new art teacher, yes I know. I suppose we're sharing this classroom for the year, hm?"

Therese nodded bleakly as she got up, a forgotten glue stick in hand.

"I'll have you know I have a very strict way with my things, Miss Belivet. I will not allow you to move anything off of my desk. This need for art after school nonsense is ridiculous in my opinion, but I will mostly be in my separate office by the gym. Do what you like with those things," he nodded to the easels, "but don't make a mess of my classroom."

Therese was stumped by the man's arrogance and haughty behaviour so she clasped her hands in front of her instinctively, like she was a student back at boarding school. "Of course, sir."

He gave her a pointed look, not moving from his spot. Understanding the cue, Therese hurried out the classroom as fast as her feet would carry her.

God, what a weasel of a man, she thought, taking a breather as she headed back to the main office. She wouldn't be needed until 3pm the next day, which opened up her mornings nicely. She waved goodbye to the receptionist, who she learned was named Patricia, and walked out in the late summer evening air.

Therese hurried to get a cab, texting Dannie on her way back to her apartment.

met 3 new colleagues today. 1/3 was actually bearable

Dannie replied within a few minutes.

no shit, eh? what are they like?

receptionist is nice, does her job and didn't ask any questions. this one other lady teacher seems to be like everyone's overbearing grandma (good thing she teaches kindergarten i guess??) oh and the last guy seems like a total creep- really uptight

what does he teach?

gym. he's the coach of whatever teams they can even have here. it's such a small school.

damn, he's not ripped is he? if he creeps you again i could take him down, maybe.

lol nah he's a stick more than anything. doesn't seem to like me, or art for that matter. i have to share a classroom with him.

bummer. maybe paint the walls a sick fluorescent magenta? that might send him a message. kids would enjoy it too

Therese snorted at her phone, though the message gave her an idea. She hastily sent a reply to Dannie before directing the cab to the nearest art supply store.

A/N: Two updates in one day. I couldn’t help myself :3 Hope you like it folks. It won’t be long until our two leading ladies meet, I promise.

#carol #carol aird #carol movie #carol fanfiction #carol x therese #therese belivet #cate blanchett #rooney mara #sarah paulson #The Price of Salt #patricia highsmith #carol 2015 #wlw #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #merry writes

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goblincas · 4 years ago

Text

Entry Level Angel | Ch 3

On AO3

Saturday, October 10th:

Charlie tapped Cas's shoulder, urging him forward as another breeze stroked past his skin— his still very desensitized skin. He swallowed, unmoving, eyes drilling into the scene ahead. After waiting another moment, Charlie flicked Cas in the bicep. He flinched out of sheer habit.

“Y’know, this is super important,” Charlie reminded him, using her fingertips to soothe the site of assault. “Like, for your own well-being. Hell, for your life, even. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but it’s not like we have any clue of the severity we’re facing, here.”

She was right, of course— Cas needed help, and he needed it more and more desperately, each passing day. He had almost certainly been cursed. Although, that was right about where the reasonable conclusions slipped off into the abyss, never to be heard from again.

However, if Charlie’s plan was to succeed, Cas was going to have to take some initiative, first. There was nothing productive about standing in place, waiting for the asphalt to swallow both his body and his oh-so stubborn will to live.

Christ, how did Charlie convince herself that she was the “melodramatic” one?

The brick wall ahead was tinged by an earthy green plaster, offsetting the tubular neon lights spelling out “Magical Books ‘n’ Goods” across an otherwise cramped windowpane. Damp autumn leaves clung to the chipping windowsill and the base of an oval-capped doorway. Cas could hardly see inside the low-lit shop, aside from the unassuming profile of a retail bookshelf.

Sure, it wasn’t an especially threatening setup, but he wasn’t exactly coming at the situation from the calmest headspace. Thus, there was an almost menacing ambiance filtering through the shop’s walls, clamoring in Cas’s direction. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been rendered motionless by fear, much like a toddler off to their first day of preschool. Nope, no need for personal responsibility or self-initiative, here. Not today.

Again, Charlie nudged him, although with more pressure than earlier. “Dude, I’m serious. I just know that if anyone’s gonna be able to give us a clue, here, it’s gonna be her. Listen; I get the nerves, okay? And, like, I don’t even expect them to go away when you guys meet. She’s great, but she’s still an acquired taste… if it’s not totally insensitive to say that about another person. But this is important, Cas. I care about you too much to be lax, right now. Got it?”

Cas huffed, blinking slowly. Processing. “What a beautiful speech,” he quipped, continuing to gather his thoughts. Charlie flicked him again, this time on his shoulder. “Fine, okay, I understand. I do. I’m going in.”

Eyes lighting up against the muted autumn backdrop, Charlie thrust a celebratory fist into the air. “Great! Let’s get going, then.”

⁂

The inside of the witches’ specialty shop wasn’t too much unlike a run-of-the-mill small town bookstore, down to the effortless quirks of its layout. Mismatched shelves lined much of the back wall, creating a rich smattering of varying hues and grain around the secondhand spines. The air smelt faintly of chemical cinnamon, hardly able to overcome the musk of the place. Still, the witchy touches were anything but hidden; a line of tables ran down the center of the shop, covered in plastic-wrapped bundles of herbs, jars of unidentifiable glowing substances, and trendy rose gold altars. Wait, was that… an eyeball?

For his own sanity, Cas decided not to overthink it.

Before Cas had the opportunity to turn to Charlie for guidance, a voice jetted through the air, originating from god-knows-where. “Ah, hello there, dearie! Charlie, welcome back! And who is this you’ve brought along with you?” The thick, unmistakably Scottish sing-song seemed to reverberate out of the air, itself. Although hazy at the start, the sound was quick to crispen up.

Shifty eyed, Cas began to peer around the shop, only slightly disturbed by the disembodied words. Truly, it wasn’t as if he’d been expecting a day-to-day, streamlined retail experience. This was about in line with his expectations, so, whatever.

Charlie, bless her, managed to respond with near perfect nonchalance; this calmed Cas, yet somehow, also put him just a bit more on-edge. Well, then. “Hey, Ro! Where are you at? The back? I kinda, really need your help with something. Or, at least, my friend here sure does. Oh, Cas, introduce yourself!”

Cas side-eyed his friend, chewing his lip before replying slowly, seemingly to no one in particular, “Hi, I’m Cas. Um. Nice to meet… you? Yeah, sorry, who am I speaking to?” He was a human, for heaven’s sake; he wasn’t used to this, as expected as it might have been. Witches were certainly avant-garde, Cas could give them that.

Seconds later, a door was pushed open toward the back of the shop; it was encased on both sides by thinner, darker shelves, lined with stones and miscellaneous shiny and slimy tchotchkes. Cas swallowed, taking in the emerging figure.

The woman was surprisingly petite, yet carried herself as if she could crush Cas beneath her pinkie finger, alone. Red hair styled in fat curls poured over the shoulders of her simple black gown. Her eyes seemed to be faintly glowing, and Cas wasn’t certain he was comfortable with that fact, all things considered.

Nonetheless, Charlie was beaming in an instant, giving a short yet enthused wave of her hand. “Hey again, Ro. I know you’re probably busy, and I seriously don’t wanna waste any more of your time than I have to, so I’ll get right down to it. Oh, first— Cas, this is Rowena MacLeod, the spell-casting and lore dictionary, herself.”

Rowena let out a low giggle, the gleam in her emerald eyes only intensifying. Honestly, Cas was convinced that that “gleam” was more than simply a trick of the light.

“Yes, of course! Well, it’s very good to meet you, Cas, dearie,” Rowena said, her voice flowing over Cas like compound butter.

Cas gave a curt nod, unsure if he was meant to lead the conversation from there, but praying that he wasn’t.

To his luck, Charlie continued, “Like I said, I’ll get right down to… it. ‘Cause it’s kinda a lot. Unfortunately,” she said, planting her hands on her hips and entering an inadvertent power pose. “Cas here, just like the unlucky bastard that he is, managed to go and get himself mega cursed. And we have, like, no clue what’s goin’ on. So, first off, we’re gonna need a diagnosis, if you can give us one.”

Pursing her red-painted lips, Rowena hummed, squinting in Cas's direction. Cas fidgeted as the witch glided across the room, the floor creaking and whining beneath her leather heels. Moving in Cas's direction, she continued to scope the young man out.

“Hm? Ach, so… Cas, darling. Mind to expand in place of your friend? This is your tragic curse, after all. I’m sure your first-hand assessment will be more useful to me, here.”

Strangely enough, Cas wanted to contend. While Charlie hadn’t been the one experiencing the bizarro symptoms that past week, she was the witch. This was her specialty, her very domain as their backdrop.

Still, with trepidation, he replied. “It’s not anything bad, necessarily. At least, not painful. Just… very strange.” He sighed. Rowena leaned forward, tipping the weight of her body in Cas's direction. “I spilled hot coffee on myself and wasn’t burnt. No pain, either. I can’t sleep. I haven’t tasted food in a week. Oh, I haven’t slept in a week, either, so I definitely should mention that. Also, once, not too long after this all started, my entire abdomen glowed blue, before I was knocked unconscious for… a few hours, I believe?”

Cas held his breath, anticipating the sharp-eyed witch’s professional assessment. She continued to squint upward, claw-like hands finding their way to her hips.

“Well,” she hummed, after a moment of thought. “That’s certainly… concerning, to put things all too simply. Ah, and— you’re a human, correct?”

“Yeah, I am.” Although, frankly, Cas wasn’t so sure anymore. He certainly didn’t feel like a human, at that point. Surely, a “human” would have dropped dead of exhaustion by then, right?

(Although, it was more likely that Dean was going to be the one to kill him for neglecting his health and safety, if he ever found out. Assuming the curse didn’t get creative and take care of that first, of course.)

Rowena gave a delicate nod, loose curls bobbing with the movement. She straightened herself, leaning just slightly away, and Cas felt the concrete seeping from his own limbs. Wait, when had he gotten so tense?

“I see, I see. Hm…” She clucked her tongue, momentarily turning her gaze toward the tiled ceiling. “You are certainly correct, Charlie, dear. This isn’t a common ailment… how fascinating. That is certainly an unusual combination of, what sounds like, quite powerful and life-altering symptoms. Ach, well…” She trailed off, before reaching out a slender hand and attaching it to Cas's forearm. He lurched, but made sure not to pull away. As much as he loathed people touching him without a lick of permission, he reasoned that it was a sacrifice he’d apparently have to make.

God, he felt like a fucking lab rat, though. A genetic freak of a rodent, caged off from the rest of its whiskered brethren.

“I… have a bit of an inkling, certainly,” Rowena said, nails digging deeper into the flesh of Cas’s arm. She gazed directly into his eyes. “Infernal magic of some sort or another seems likely. Demonic in nature, maybe? Of course, draconic spellwork is still very much a consideration.”

Charlie drew in a breath between her teeth, reaching out from beside Cas and laying a hand on his shoulder. “Woah… not good. Why do you think that?”

To Cas's hardly containable irritation, Rowena let out another giggle, sleek as ever. “Well, you see, dearie, it’s really just a simple process of elimination. The more uncommon the spell or the curse, the more likely it’s outsourced from fringe magic. It’s as simple as that, really.” She drew back her hand, joining her palms together atop her heart. “Of course, we’ll have to do some further investigation to understand what, exactly, is the matter. Now, think of it like a fun little puzzle— in that light, your predicament will feel far less harrowing. Hm?”

As Rowena spoke and Charlie shifted her hand to clutch at the meat of Cas’s bicep, the front door to the shop was nudged open. Cas peaked over his shoulder, watching a golden-haired stranger hop on in— and promptly drift toward the corner shelves. There was no hesitation to his movements, his gait full of pep and bordering on enthusiastic. Still, he didn’t reach out to fiddle with any of the items; he simply stood in place, arms crossed over his chest, facing away from Rowena and company.

“Follow me to the back, now,” Rowena sung, re-seizing Cas's attention. “I’ll dash back out if I’m needed, but for now, privacy would be best.”

Charlie nodded. “Totally, I agree. Cas, you okay with heading back? Do you want me to come with? I can, if you want. Or not. Whatever you need, man.”

Throwing a final glance toward the apparent non-customer, Cas turned to Charlie, eyes pleading. Please. Please don’t leave me alone with her.

Thankfully, his friend got the message. Blessed be

#my writing #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #A bit of a rougher chapter... but we're gonna work with it!#my post

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kweebtrash · 5 years ago

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Why Stop Now (M)

Pairing: JohnnyxYutaxReader

Genre: PWP, One Shot, College Au (barely)

Summary: I literally just wanted to write about getting DP’d hardcore with my bias and wrecker. that’s it. It’s just fucking, short and sweet

Word Count: 4.2k

Features: blowjob, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, anal, squirting, grinding, a smidge of public sex, a little bit of overstretching,

A/N: Probs will edit some more later like tomorrow when I’m not so tired.

MasterlIst Buy me a Ko-Fi

It was a mistake coming here tonight. I didn’t want to be surrounded by a house full of idiots but I most certainly didn't want to run into my ex. Lucas was currently the bane of my existence after I caught him cheating on me at a party similar to this. The moment I saw him I took to drinking my sorrows away in order to forget. I hoped I looked good enough to ever make him regret being the world's biggest asshole to me. The unfortunate part was that I hadn't really eaten much for a good part of the day and the alcohol hit me harder than I wanted it to. I slowed down and worked through clusters of people to head upstairs and rest in Taeyong's bedroom. I hoped it wasnt occupied with a fucking couple as I didn't need war flashbacks to top off my already sour mood. His room was thankfully barren and I closed the door and set the lock.

The bed looked perfect for me to just take a quiet nap and I shuffled slowly to the mattress before throwing myself across it. I wanted my head to stop spinning a bit so I could start making good decisions. Once I was a bit more sober I would head home instead of wallowing in misery and chatting with guys I had slept with in the past. Almost the entirety of my track record was in attendance here which was the cherry on top of my clusterfuck sundae. There was Taeil from my college writing class, Taeyong, the host of the party, from my media class, Jaehyun from the Student Democrats club, and I was sure my most frequent suitors, Johnny and Yuta were floating around somewhere. All in all I was making mistake after mistake in the grand scheme of things.

I shut my eyes and tried to focus on sleep but the music was still too loud even through the closed door and I could hear voices pouring in from the open window. Those voices sounded way too familiar and I winced the moment I recognized them. I hoped to all hell they didn't notice me in the room as they were sitting on the mid roof right outside of Taeyong's bedroom. I curled up and tried to stay as quiet as possible but my plan failed entirely when I heard my name called out in a weed induced slur.

"Heyyyy baby! What are you doing here?!" Yuta giggled.

"Fuck I haven't seen you in forever!" Johnny added.

I grumbled and squeezed my eyes tighter. "Leave me alone. I hit the bottle too hard and I need to sleep it off for a bit."

"Ooh did you see Lucas downstairs? Is that it?" Yuta asked.

I stayed quiet, refusing to answer.

"Yup," Johnny said. "Definitely saw Lucas. Come here babe. We'll help you get your mind off it."

"Absolutely not." I said, finally sitting up. "You two are the worst trouble makers of them all. I don't need you trying to play games tonight."

"When have we ever played games?!" Yuta took a long drag from the joint he and Johnny had been sharing.

"Hmm, let's see, leaving me on read, ghosting me, dumping me out of your room after we were done fucking, being complete fuckboys. The list goes on, truly."

"We're not that bad! Besides...you always come back for more, don't you?" Johnny smirked.

My face flared up instantly at his truth filled statement. Little fucker. "Be quiet." I snapped. "That's not the point."

"Yeah, your point should be coming out here and joining us. The breeze is much better up here and it's not as hot as it is in the house."

Yuta was right. The summer weather had been unforgiving especially when a couple dozen people were crammed in a small two story house. The breeze was coming in nicely through the windows and I contemplated actually going out there in hopes that the air would help clear my head.. I sighed and used the bed for leverage to crawl out the window and sit on the roof area. Yuta passed the blunt to Johnny and I laid back against the paneling, staring down at the mess of people on the lawn.

"We've been people watching all night. That dude on the left has been trying to get in this chicks pants for like an hour now. It ain't gonna happen." Johnny laughed.

"Hmm, he doesn't look like he's got game. I wouldn't sleep with him."

"What he's not your type? I thought you liked big dumb idiots?"

"I mean that's why I fucked you, didn't I?" I smirked at Johnny who glared at me.

Yuta snorted and laid back with me, clasping his hands behind his head. "This party blows. Taeyong's cool and all but something needs to happen."

"What would you even want to happen?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Something. Anything. I could get laid or be at home stuffing my face with frozen burritos and passing the fuck out."

"That sounds so titillating."

Johnny snorted. "Heh, tittle."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, you giant man child."

"Do you wanna hook up?" Yuta asked suddenly. He was never one for subtlety.

"Uh...like right now? I still kinda feel like crap."

"Fucking will help with that. We could all fuck." Johnny propositioned.

"Like a threesome?" I looked between the two of the as they shrugged, playing it off real cool. I blushed hard not knowing how to respond. It wasn't something I really had experience in but Yuta and Johnny were my two favorite people to fuck. Johnny was commanding and a little rough with a secretive soft side that poked through every once in awhile. Yuta was dirty to the core, bending me every which way and unabashed at anything he suggested we do. Things usually ended up messy with him but I never thought about fucking the two together. Having Johnny's thickness invade every inch of me while Yuta fucked me from behind; being so completely stuffed that my stomach would clench and I could feel so whole and perfectly ruined. I bit my lip and pressed my thighs together as scenes began to flourish in my mind.

"Hello?" Yuta snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Did you hear us?

"Huh? Uh...yeah, the hookup. Threesome. Um, I've never had a threesome before." I admitted shyly.

"I had one once but it wasn't that great. Dude was hogging the chick the whole time. So Yuta if you pull that shit I'm dipping out."

"Trust me dude. I've got my own plans. You can do whatever you want to her pus-"

I slapped my hand over his mouth, keeping him from saying that vile word. "We get it. You want to fuck my ass."

"You do that?" Johnny questioned.

I sighed and laid back down. "Only with Yuta. He gets excited over it and we'll…"

"She literally cums so hard when we do it. Don't let her fool you, she's just as big of a slut as I am."

"Shut up, asshole! I am not. Well...maybe a little but you don't have to point it out."

"Alright, let's cut the crap. Threesome of not? It's been awhile since you've gotten fucked, right? You and Lucas broke up like a month or so ago." Johnny said.

"Yeah, don't remind me…"

"Agree to fuck us and we'll make sure we can help you forget." Yuta said.

I sighed and gave in, too easily for my liking but the images I created where already burned into my mind. "Sure, why the fuck not."

Yuta said no more and dove to capture my neck in slow and methodical kisses, nibbling ever once in awhile. Johnny's large hand was working itself over my stomach as he leaned down to capture me in a kiss. His lips were so fucking amazing that sometimes it made my heart ache to have them against me. They were full, soft, and he knew exactly how to work them so I would get wet in an instant. I parted my lips and let his thick tongue creep into my mouth, sucking on my own and making sure I couldn't breathe. His fingers wiggled beneath the hem of my shirt and pushed it upwards to expose my chest to the cool breeze.

"Whoa, wait. We can't do it out here!" I whispered harshly.

"Shhh, it's just the beginning. We'll finish everything inside; we need the room anyway. For now I just want you legs spread open and to see if we can make you squirt off the rooftop." Yuta said deviously.

"D-dont you fucking dare!" My face was red at the thought but it shook me to my core. I ached for them to prove that they could make my body do such things.

"Take them off, Yuta." Johnny commanded.

Yuta slipped his hand under my skirt to grab a hold of my panties and yank them down. I fumbled to try and keep them on, embarrassed that someone might see us but they got tossed to Johnny who pocketed them with a teasing smile. My legs were forced open then, the front clasp of my bra worked apart, so every tender area was exposed. Johnny latched his lips around my nipple, sucking deeply as his long middle finger trailed up the length of my slit. "She's already starting to get wet."

"Of course she is. Told you she was dirty." Yuta commented.

"If you two don't stop talking I'm going to-" I gasped softly as I felt Johnny push his finger inside me. It was slow and precise, dragging up and down my walls to work me up even more. He went back to teasing my breast while Yuta licked his fingers and set them over my clit. He circled them over the sensitive spot, pairing it with more bites to my neck that flowed down to my chest. I didn't know where to even put my hands at this point and I was already arching slightly against all their teasing. I felt Johnny hook his ankle over mine and nudge my leg to rest between his strong thighs. The center of his jeans pressed against the junction of my knee and thigh and he rocked against me, creating as much friction as possible. He moaned deeply against my chest and I couldn't help how frenzied it made my brain.

Yuta nudged his free hand between us, grabbing a hold on my wrist and guiding me to touch him. My fingers rubbed against the denim, feeling the way he was starting to bulge beneath the fabric. I closed my eyes then, letting my senses get overridden by their exploring hands and tongues. Johnny licked his way up my neck so his lips could rest by my ear. "I know you like getting stretched out but how many fingers do you think we can fit in there before you cum." He whispered in his slightly deepened voice. I turned away from him, trying to hide how embarrassed his words were making me and ended up catching Yuta's lips instead. Johnny chuckled softly as he watched my lips get occupied but someone else and shoved another finger inside me. With how big his hands were just those couple of digits had my entrance already working to accommodate him.

Yuta scissored my lower lips open while the tip of his middle finger curled little strokes against my clit, leaving me open for more sensitivity. My hips bucked then and I squirmed, trying to move away for a moment to regain my composure. Pressure was building within the pit of my stomach as I could feel that orgasm creeping closer. As I tried to close my free leg, Yuta trapped it between his thighs, mimicking Johnny so I couldn't hide even if I tried. Anyone could look up and see me half naked and getting fingered to all hell and back. I knew they weren't going to let me go until I came. My breath burned in my lungs as I couldn't seem to catch it but I was just able to pant out a little beg. "P-please, m-more."

Yuta's fingers joined Johnny's then, forcing two more into me. While Johnny kept steady thrusts, Yuta curled his fingers in a beckoning motion, trying to dig the harshest reaction out of me. "Touch yourself." He commanded, adding a small nip to the shell of my ear afterward. I took over the attention to my clit while their fingers explored and bodies grinded against my thighs. My lower half trembled with the threat of release and I clamped my lips shut so I wouldn't draw attention from the other partygoers below. Both my nipples were overtaken by their mouths again just as I felt increased attention to a particularly sensitive spot within me. I grabbed at Yuta's hand to make sure he stayed in place and commanded Johnny to go faster. My own fingers increased speed as I heard my wetness echoing into the night.

My toes were curling within my shoes, my body dipping against the panelling, and suddenly a rush of absolute bliss washed over me. I shuddered hard, my body practically collapsing in on itself as I slapped at their hands to try and remove the intensity. They didn't let up, becoming greedy for the way my body was creating splashes down the rooftop. I finally grabbed their hands and pushed them away to snap my legs shut and breathe. I muttered out curses while Johnny and Yuta were all smiles and cheers, high fiving each other in victory of my glorious and wet defeat.

"Damn, I didn't think you could actually do it!" Johnny said as excited as a puppy.

"Dude, I told you! That was fucking hot!"

I wanted to ask myself why I put up with their absolutely idiotic tendencies. They were stupid college kids with minds wrapped around partying, getting drunk or high, and getting laid. Nothing remotely appealing about that- then I was harshly reminded why I sought out their company when Johnny's bulge grazed against me again. When I glanced down I could tell that his jeans were trying desperately to keep him contained and he would be growling in my ear at any moment if he didn't get more attention. "We need to get inside." Johnny grunted right on cue. Yuta nodded and crawled up to the open window, tossing himself inside. Johnny and I followed suit and we were a clash of kisses and tongues, pulling off the rest of our clothes until my head was between Johnny's thighs and Yuta had my ass raised.

He shuffled around, rifling through Taeyong's drawers, looking intently for something. I was curious as to what he was doing but still currently occupied by the way Johnny filled my mouth entirely. I swallowed around him and gripped at his base to try and prevent him from thrusting harshly. He was always trying to get me to deep throat him but I couldn't take everything at once. It would usually end in a glaring contest with his hand firmly pushing my hand down until I tapped out. This time he seemed to be a little bit gentle and focused instead on the way my lips looked flowing over his thickness.

Yuta finally came back after a victorious exclamation. He had found whatever he was looking for and finally joined us on the bed. My hole was perfectly presented for him and I felt the familiar chill of lube against me. That must have been what he had been searching for in Taeyong's drawers. I sighed around my mouthful as his fingertip nudged against the barrier, slowly rocking until he poked through. His slender finger was enough to make me whimper and reach back to tap his outer thigh when I needed breaks. He was always good about that and filled our pauses with kisses up my spine or his thumb grazing the entrance of my heat. Eventually he was able to work his knuckle in and get a consistent rhythm going.

I popped off of Johnny when I felt his pre cum splatter across my taste buds, making sure he didn't get too worked up. He fumbled around for his pants that had been discarded on the floor, getting into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a condom. He ripped it open and I helped roll it on, kissing the tip playfully. "Yuta, let her move up to my lap." Johnny demanded.

Yuta scooted us closer so I could straddle Johnny and he could remain behind me to work my ass open. As Johnny slid his cock through my wetness, Yuta started to pry a second finger into me. He added a bit more lube and latched his teeth onto my shoulder, his other hand coming to cup my breast and make small pinches at my nipple. Johnny grabbed onto my hips, lifting me just a bit so I could sink down on his length. I bit down on my lip as soon as I felt that heavy fullness even within my stomach. He let out a moan from deep within his chest, head tossed back against the pillow and lips parted slightly. My bounces were small at first, giving Yuta a pace he could still work with as I desperately needed them both in me at the same time. I wished he could hurry up but patience, time, and dedication were needed for him to fuck me senseless.

The second finger made its way in fully and I felt the slight sting of my muscles trying to accommodate him. I took a few deep breaths, letting him push forward on every exhale. He scissored his fingers little by little, chuckling when he saw me gaped open. My cheeks burned as I knew he loved seeing me spread apart for him. I elbowed him gently, trying to get him to stop as my embarrassment continued. His lips were by my ear whispering the softest of teases. "You look so good like this I couldn't help myself."

"Yeah, we'll save your tired old lines for-" My hand flew to my mouth to cover a harsh gasp that was about to escape. Johnny had bucked his hips particularly hard to gain my attention. His brows were furrowed in irritation and he landed a heavy slap on my ass.

"Less talking, more working." He grunted.

I pouted but rolled my hips, feeling Johnny's cock press against my walls while Yuta curled his fingers deep within me. It was getting easier for him to work me open and the third finger edged in almost seamlessly. With each roll of my hips I was fucking myself back against them, squeezing my eyes shut and trying not to be too loud. I was sure the music would cover me but I didn't need the possibility of Taeyong coming in and see us defiling his bed.

Johnny dug his fingers into my thighs as he increased his pace. Heated skin on skin echoed throughout the room, mixing in with his slightly animalistic grunts and groans. Yuta gently rubbed my ass making my heart race as I knew what was next. "You ready?" He asked with a bit of concern.

I nodded and turned my head for a kiss, his lips morphing into a smile as soon as we connected. "Dude, slow down a sec." Yuta told Johnny who seemed peeved at the request. He stopped his motions entirely as Yuta bent me over Johnny's torso. I heard the rip of his own condom packet and a few moments later he was lined up against me, thumbs spreading my asscheeks apart. Once his head creeped in past the barrier I buried my face deep into Johnny's neck, whimpering helplessly.

"You ok?" He asked. I nodded, content that the both of them were showing their soft sides of being concerned for my well-being. It was a breath of fresh air given their usual antics.

"I got her. We've done this before." Yuta reassured the other man. More and more of me was filled, making my legs almost give out from their place over Johnny’s hips. All I could scream was 'oh god' in my head over and over and when Yuta finally was in the three of us groaned at the intense tight feeling surrounding around us.

"Please just fuck me." I said. I didnt want to waste anymore time as I needed my body turned into a pillar of pleasure between them. Yuta was the first to thrust and he grabbed a hold of my arms, pulling them behind me like reins to control his pace. Once Johnny joined in my eyes got lost in the back of my head and I was in a whirlwind of bliss. Each slam of their bodies into me created pressure that sent tingles throughout my entire being. I tried to keep up but it was hard to press into them when my body was getting destroyed. Veins and ridges crept up my walls, dragging through nerves and places I didn't think they could have ever reached. My thighs quaked as weakness set in but my lust wouldn’t be satisfied until I felt the warm heat of their cum inside me.

Johnny gripped my neck gently, nudging his thumb to lift my chin up so our lips could crash together. It was a sloppy mess of tangled breaths and soft groans, our tongues trying to stay melded as he fucked me harder. I clenched around him, bucking slightly when he pushed through the tightness. My second orgasm was approaching way too fast but there was no way to stop it. I pressed my forehead to Johnny, his whisper against my lips now. "Fuck, I wanna come for you."

"Don't say it just do it." I pleaded.

Suddenly I was yanked back to be pressed against Yuta's chest. "You complained about that other dude hogging chicks and now you’re doing the same thing. Share a little." He chuckled.

"F-fuck you!" Johnny managed to groan out as he started to swell against my tightness.

"Such a cop out, cumming first." Yuta turned my face towards his, getting a taste of my lips again. He was thrusting upwards, getting every inch of him to slam into me relentlessly. He parted from me to replace his tongue with the pads of his index and middle finger. They pressed down on my tongue and I sucked hungrily around them. "You want me to touch you?" He teased. I nodded vigorously. If he added that extra magical sensation to my clit we'd all be a symphony of chaotic messes. He shoved his fingers in deeper, almost touching the back of my throat before teasing the digits back out slowly.

He worked them down between my breasts and towards my stomach until they met my clit and worked steady circles into me. Occasionally, he would tease my entrance, getting his fingertip in besides Johnny's cock and crooking his finger just an inch or so inside me. My eyes squeezed shut as I couldn't help but left let a loud moan run free, practically screaming for him not to stop. Johnny forced through one last sloppy thrust, raising his hips so his cock crashed against the deepest part of me, and spilled all he had within the rubber. I still felt that comforting heat through my lower belly and a smile crossed my lips. God, I needed that again and again. Yuta still was vibrant as ever, continuing to ravish me until my body tensed and flushed with warmth. I clenched my thighs around Johnny’s waist as my next orgasm gushed out, leaving trails across his abs. “F-fuck, s-sorry.” I whispered. He shook his head and sat up, cupping my face to kiss my lips and tired body. I held onto him as I could barely keep up with Yuta though I could feel him ready to lose himself at any moment as well.

“Don’t be sorry. You felt so fucking good.” He purred as he slipped out of me slowly. He gave me a wink as Yuta began his greed tirade of final thrusts, bending me over completely and ramming my ass back against him. Johnny watched us, making sure my head was turned towards him so he could see every expression of pain and pleasure on my face. I curled my fingers around the wrinkled bed sheets whimpering out Yuta’s name. His hips stuttered and his blunt nails dug into my skin as he burst within me, shoving his sheathed released as far down as he could. Johnny laid back and Yuta pulled out, flopping beside me. I could finally give my body the break it deserved as my lustful greed was quelled for now.

“Not gonna lie, I kinda missed that.” Johnny said.

Yuta hummed in agreement which got me thinking. We did all have good chemistry together and it was all for fun and after the hell I went through fun was exactly what I deserved. “Should we do it again? Like hook up? The three of us?” He asked.

“Well we’ve all fucked and then had this threesome so why stop now?”

#Johnny Fanfic #JOHNNY SMUT #johnny suh #johnny seo #johnny nct #johnny fanfiction #yuta smut #yuta nct #yuta fanfic #nakamoto yuta #yuta fanfiction #nct yuta #NCT #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 fanfiction #NCT 127 #nct 127 smut

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hysterialevi · 5 years ago

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Red Dead Rising | Chapter 4

Fanfic summary: 12 YEARS BEFORE RDR2 - Greed, money, and larceny. These are the only things Arthur has ever known; the only things he’s ever been taught. But when Dutch decides to hit a town called Harlow, what started out as nothing more than a plan to rob the local bank ends up igniting the events that lead to RDR2, and a 24 year-old Arthur is forced to confront his morality while the gang faces a terrifying enemy of their own making.

Point of view: third-person

Author’s note: Omg guys I’m sorry this chapter took so long to get out. I hit a writer’s block for a while (and also ran into a few technical difficulties), but I’m finally happy with it. Hope you enjoy and thanks for being so patient.

This story is also on AO3 and Wattpad

Previous chapter

ABOUT AN HOUR LATER

GILLIS FARM

Trotting underneath the golden sun, Arthur rode through the lush grass and rolling hills as he made his way to Gillis Farm, eager to see his fiancée again.

It had been quite some time since the young man last got a chance to visit Mary. For the past couple of months, Arthur had been so busy running around with the gang and planning robberies with them, that he barely had any time to write to the woman, let alone see her in person.

It made him feel guilty, leaving her hanging for so long. They were going to be married soon, after all... and as a husband, he couldn’t afford to leave his wife alone. If Arthur wanted this marriage to work, he’d have to be there for Mary and support her in their new life together. As a couple.

What truly worried Arthur, though... was his recent conversation with Benjamin.

Up until this point, the young outlaw had been convinced that he was more than ready to go through with the marriage. Arthur loved Mary more than anyone else in his life, and he knew the feeling was mutual. They were practically soulmates by now. How could anything go wrong?

But when Benjamin expressed his doubts pertaining to Mary’s commitment, Arthur couldn’t deny that he shared some of the man’s concerns.

Robert had been such an obstacle in their relationship for these past few years that it was impossible to guarantee he wouldn’t have any influence on Mary in the days to come.

...What if Benjamin and Susan were right? What if Mary didn’t love him as much as he thought? Would she really pick her father’s opinion over a new life with him? It shook the young man to the core to even think about it.

If Arthur lost Mary... he didn’t know what he’d do.

He had put so much time and effort into their relationship that if she simply walked away after all this... he’d feel like she was taking a part of him with her.

There was no way Arthur would be able to just “move on” if Mary decided to drop him, and the mere thought of her leaving him put the man in a state of panic.

But... then again, Mary had yet to actually do anything to solidify his doubts. She had been nothing if not compassionate to him so far, and Arthur knew for a fact that their love was mutual.

These thoughts were probably nothing more than temporary anxiety due to their upcoming wedding. This was most-likely what a lot of people went through before their marriage, and Arthur had to remind himself to calm down.

Everything would be okay. He just had to trust Mary.

Finally arriving at Gillis Farm, Arthur steadily slowed Abitha down to a halt and took in the quaint view, admiring the natural beauty surrounding it.

The farm was located on a flat plot of land that seemed to have nothing but open fields stretching out in front of it, and off to the side, Arthur could see a lively collection of farm animals lazing about inside the fenced area.

There were cows, chickens, pigs, goats, and even some horses, too. A few of the creatures lifted their heads in curiosity at the sight of the young man visiting their farm, but the rest of them seemed to be unbothered and simply carried on with their day.

Hopefully, the same would apply to Mary’s family.

Approaching the hitching posts, the outlaw hopped off his mount and left her near the other horses that were also gathered there, giving her a small treat to thank her for the lengthy ride.

The farm wasn’t a long distance from Indigo Peak necessarily, but Arthur would’ve been lying if he said he had no problems navigating the steep hills and rocky rivers dotting the region. It took a good chunk of effort to not slip in a few places, and he definitely didn’t look forward to backtracking through that mess once this visit was over.

Oh, well. He supposed it was worth it if it meant he got to see Mary.

“Good job, girl...” Arthur said softly, feeding Abitha an oatcake. His companion wiggled her pointy ears in gratitude.

“Arthur!” A woman’s voice suddenly called out to him, getting his attention.

Turning around at the sound of his name, Arthur spotted an elated Mary waving to him from the front porch, trying not to trip over her dress as she walked down the steps to greet him.

At the moment, Mary was wearing a simple yellow blouse paired with a navy blue skirt, and her hair had been tied into a stylish bun. A few annoying strands danced around her face due to the light breeze in the area, but that only gave Arthur the chance to tuck them behind her ear before pulling her into a loving embrace.

“Hello, Mary,” he said softly. “It’s good to see you again.”

Mary smiled, hugging him back. “You too, Arthur. You too. I’m so glad you came. How’ve you been?”

Arthur separated the hug and returned the smile. “Good. Busy, but good.” His expression dimmed a bit. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you more often. I wanted to, but... things have been hectic lately.”

The woman didn’t appear to be bothered. “Well, you’re here now, Arthur. That’s what matters.”

She fell silent for a moment, changing the subject.

“Are you, um... still with Dutch and Hosea?”

Arthur nodded, although not proudly. He was well aware of what his fiancée thought about the gang.

“Yes. But don’t worry, Mary. I’m gonna leave ‘em soon. We just have one more job to take care of, and then I’ll be gone once the wedding’s here.”

Mary wasn’t entirely convinced. “Are you sure? You may be willin’ to leave, but... do you really think Dutch and Hosea will let you go that easily?”

“...I don’t know,” he conceded. “Maybe not. But I’m an adult now. Even if they don’t like my decision to leave, I’m sure they’ll respect it.”

That seemed to comfort the woman somewhat.

“That’s good to hear. I just... I don’t want there to be any trouble with gangs once we’re married, Arthur. Things’ll be busy enough as is.”

“There won’t be.” He reassured. “Dutch and Hosea may be outlaws, but they’re good men. They wouldn’t put us in harm’s way.”

Mary paused for a second. “...I was talkin’ about the O’Driscolls.”

Arthur raised a brow. “The O’Driscolls? What about them?”

She lowered her voice, pulling the young man closer to her. “It ain’t no secret that they’re not fond of Dutch’s boys, Arthur. Even if you leave the gang, they’ll still see you as one of them. Are you sure we’ll be safe? That... Colm won’t come after us?”

The outlaw shrugged. “What reason would he have? Colm’s main beef is with Dutch. Not me.”

“I know...” Mary said anxiously. “I just... I worry about you. You’re always out there, runnin’ around and getting shot at. It’s impossible to not fear for your safety.”

Arthur gently placed a hand on the side of Mary’s face. “Everything’ll be alright, Mary. I promise.”

The young woman decided to let go of her worries for now and simply let out a sigh, realizing that it was pointless to repeat the same fears over and over again.

Mary may not have liked Arthur’s involvement with crime, but she was also aware that he couldn’t just drop everything and leave. Despite being an outlaw, Arthur also had his own responsibilities to take care of, and for now... she was just going to have to accept that.

But before she could think anymore on the subject, an intrusive voice suddenly joined the scene and called out to the woman, interrupting the affectionate moment she was sharing with her fiancé.

“Mary!” They exclaimed in a gravelly tone.

She let out an uneasy breath, knowing exactly who it was before even seeing them.

“...Daddy.”

Robert Gillis stomped in their direction, pointing an accusatory finger at Arthur.

“What the hell is he doin’ here? Didn’t I tell you to stay away from this boy?”

Mary tried to defuse the situation. “This ‘boy’ is my fiancé, father. I told you already. I’m gonna marry him. Now, please... just calm down.”

The drunken man scoffed. “Calm down? How do you expect me to calm down when my daughter’s marrying some lying, cheating, piece-of-shit outlaw? Bastard probably came here to rob us!”

“Father!” She scolded. “You know he’s not like that. And besides, I invited Arthur here.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. “...Did you, now?”

Mary nodded staunchly. “Yes. He’s our guest. He just wanted to pay me a visit... and he’s also going to join us for dinner.”

Arthur snapped his head towards her.

“Wait, what?”

Mary stood by her decision. “If this marriage is gonna work out, then you two need to get along... and you can start by sharin’ a meal together. Like a family.”

Robert refused. “...That man ain’t no family of mine.”

The young woman remained persistent. “Well, he’s going be. So please... just for one night, don’t start anything. Both of you. Let’s just... have some dinner in peace. Can you do that? For me?”

Arthur sighed in frustration, suddenly regretting having come here in the first place. What the hell was Mary thinking?

Dealing with Robert was bad enough, but sitting down for an entire meal with him? And for the whole evening? He may as well have just shot himself in the foot and saved Robert the trouble.

But... Arthur did care about Mary. And regardless of how much he may have wanted to strangle Robert sometimes, the man was still her father. If Arthur was going to become part of Mary’s family, he’d have to accept his company eventually, whether he liked it or not.

So, against his better judgement, Arthur figured that if this was what she wanted from him, then... he would do his best to make her happy.

“...Alright.” He agreed, albeit reluctantly. “For you.”

Mary smiled warmly at him. “Really? You mean it? Thank you, Arthur.” She turned to Robert. “...And you, Daddy?”

Robert nailed his stern gaze onto Arthur, not even daring to blink as he gave his daughter an answer.

“...Fine. But he ain’t settin’ one foot in this house with that gun on his waist.”

Mary glanced down at Arthur’s holster. “Why not? You’ve got a gun too, father.”

The older man laughed at that. “Yeah, but mine’s for protection. As for him, his type are always unpredictable. They make a living shootin’ people in the wilderness, and takin’ everything they got. There ain’t no way I’m trusting him to enter my house with a goddamn six-shooter hangin’ off his belt. He wants to sit down at my table? With my daughter? Then he’s gotta follow my rules.”

The young woman shook her head in embarrassment. “...Father, please--”

“--It’s alright, Mary.” Arthur reassured, returning Robert’s glare. “...I’ll put my guns away.”

Keeping his eyes glued on Robert, Arthur reached down to undo his gun belt as the other man watched his every move, monitoring him like a hawk. The last thing Arthur wanted was to do anything Robert asked of him, but at the same time, he also didn’t want to start any trouble when Mary was around.

He knew the woman was just doing her best to have them get along. They were both her family, after all, and if Mary was putting in the effort to make this marriage work, then... Arthur supposed he should, too.

It was something much easier said than done, of course, but Mary mattered to him.

Slipping the accessory off, Arthur turned on his heel and trudged back to Abitha, slinging the loose belt over her saddle as Mary and Robert waited for him.

It was humiliating for Arthur to follow Robert’s commands like this, but he knew the fighting would never end if he didn’t comply. He had to be the bigger man in situations like this, and perhaps that was part of what it meant to be a good husband. Didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

“There.” Arthur said, patting his empty waist. “No guns.”

Robert wasn’t finished interrogating him just yet. “...Any knives?”

The outlaw had to hold back his annoyance. “...No, sir. Just guns.”

The other man crossed his arms and fell silent for a moment, clenching his jaw in irritation as he stared Arthur down.

“Alright then.” He finally accepted. “You can come in... but if you try anything funny, just remember that I’ve still got my gun on me. And I won’t hesitate to use it. Got it?”

Arthur bit his tongue. “...I got it.”

“Good. Then let’s head inside.” Robert held up a cautionary finger. “And don’t start nothing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

INDIGO PEAK

THAT EVENING

Meandering around camp, Dutch casually sauntered through the scattered trees and tents as he watched his fellow gang members prepare for the upcoming robbery, all of them eager to get things rolling.

It wasn’t too long ago that he informed them of Benjamin’s long awaited update, and even though the robbery was still a week away, the fact that they were finally going to make their move after two whole months had the entire gang on their toes.

Dutch couldn’t deny that he wasn’t without worry, though. This was the first time they’d ever be hitting a bank, and if he was being honest, Dutch had no idea if his men were ready for this. Hosea and Arthur were some of the best outlaws he’d ever met, sure, but neither of them had experience with a heist of this level.

He supposed he’d just have to trust that his people knew what they were doing. Everyone wanted things to go according to plan, after all, and if he learned anything from his time with them, it was that they wouldn’t do anything to botch this robbery.

At least... not on purpose.

Approaching Hosea’s tent, a soft smile crept onto Dutch’s face as he came across a heartwarming scene, causing him to stop in his tracks so he could watch it unfold.

It wasn’t very often that their gang got the opportunity to be at peace like this. Normally, they were always running away from the law or fighting against their enemies... and as anxious as everyone was to rob Harlow’s bank, Dutch knew it’d be a trigger for chaos once it happened.

And so, with a few moments to spare, Dutch simply leaned against a tree and kept his gaze on Hosea, watching as the man carried on with this serene evening.

“...Your reading’s getting much better, Marston.” Hosea praised as the boy examined the book’s text. At the moment, the two of them were sitting side by side on a log just next to the man’s tent.

“Go on,” Hosea urged. “Keep reading.”

John furrowed his brows in confusion, doing his best to concentrate as he mouthed out the words. “...The Indian chief and his son... p-parleed--”

“--Parleyed.” Hosea corrected.

“...parleyed with the... American... ‘ker-nel?” John turned to him for clarification.

“That’s correct. Keep going.”

The boy paused. “Wait, why does ‘colonel’ have an ‘R’ in it? There’s no ‘R’ in the word.”

Hosea shrugged. “I don’t know, John. That’s just the way it is.”

John was quiet for a moment. “...That’s stupid.”

The other man chuckled in amusement. “Perhaps, but that’s how the English language works.”

The boy sighed wearily. “...I’m bored. Can we read the rest tomorrow? I wanna go play with Arthur.”

Hosea glanced up at the darkening sky and shut the book closed, placing it on his lap.

“Yes, I think now’s a good time to stop. It’s getting late. Though... I’m not sure where Arthur is.” His gaze traveled to the man watching them from a distance. “You have any ideas, old friend?”

Dutch pushed himself off the tree, afterwards strolling in their direction. “I believe he’s still with Mary. I know he went to visit her earlier after our talk with Ben.”

A curious expression spread across John’s face. “Are they still gettin’ married?”

Hosea put the book away and stood up from the log. “Yes, I believe so.”

The boy frowned in response. “...Does that mean he’s gonna leave the gang once they’re together?”

Dutch and Hosea fell silent at that, exchanging looks.

“I...” Hosea trailed off, admittedly somewhat sad to think about it, “...I suppose so. He’s got no choice, though. He’ll have a family to take care of.”

John gestured at the three of them. “But we’re his family.”

“True, but everyone grows up eventually, John. Even you will someday. And who knows? You might find a wife of your own when you reach Arthur’s age. You’ll have to be there for her too when that happens.”

The kid rejected the idea. “Then I don’t wanna do that. Not if it means I gotta leave other people behind. That wouldn’t be fair.”

Hosea put a comforting hand on John’s shoulder, urging the boy to get some rest. “Well, there’s still plenty of time before Arthur and Mary... marry. You’ll get to see him again soon enough. Have no fear. Now, go on. Get some sleep. We can continue reading tomorrow.”

John didn’t appear satisfied with the response, but followed Hosea’s instructions nonetheless. “...Okay. I’ll see you in the morning, then. I guess.”

Hopping off the short log, the boy removed himself from the tent’s vicinity and returned to his own corner of the camp, leaving Dutch and Hosea alone as the two men contemplated everything the kid just brought up.

“...He’s got a point, you know.” Hosea said once the silence settled.

Dutch sat next to the other man, plopping himself down on the log.

“About what?”

“About Arthur. He’s gonna be a husband soon, Dutch. He can’t stay with the gang forever. You know that.”

Dutch shrugged in denial. “I dunno. You and Bessie have been married for a few years now and you’re still with us. You don’t think Arthur could do the same?”

“Oh, I’m sure he could. That boy’s capable of practically anything.” Hosea leaned forward, linking his hands together. “But that doesn’t matter. What truly matters... is whether he wants to. And I don’t believe he does.”

The other man stretched his legs out, getting more comfortable on the log. “What makes you say that?”

“Our situation grows more volatile with every second, Dutch. We have lawmen hunting us from the west, rival gangs coming from the north, and God knows what else lurking in the shadows. Not to mention we’ll be robbing a goddamn bank soon. If Arthur wants a stable life with Mary, he’ll have no choice but to leave this one behind. It’s just not possible to juggle the two at the same time.”

Dutch knew Hosea was right, but still remained reluctant to admit it. He saw Arthur as a son, after all. The last thing he wanted was to see the boy leave.

“...It wouldn’t be the same without that little rascal.” Dutch said despondently. “You, me, and Arthur -- it was the three of us that started this whole thing. That boy ain’t just part of our gang, Hosea. He’s part o’ the foundation. If he leaves...”

Hosea rested a hand on Dutch’s shoulder, trying to help him come to terms with reality.

“I’ll miss him too, old friend. But Arthur’s his own man now. To be honest, I feel like he always has been. If he wants to start a new life with Mary, then perhaps that’s what’s best for him. Better than the life of crime we’ve given him, anyhow.”

Dutch let out a heavy breath, slouching his shoulders. “...I suppose we’ve done all we can for him, haven’t we? Sometimes I forget he’s all grown up now.”

Hosea chuckled. “You and me both. But time moves on, and we have to move with it, Dutch. The most we can do now is wish Arthur luck in his marriage.”

With that said, Hosea stood up from the log with a soft grunt and picked up the storybook he was reading with John earlier, leaving Dutch to his thoughts.

“Well, anyway... I think Bessie’s gonna start cookin’ dinner soon. I should go help. See if she needs anything. In the meantime, try not to think too much about it. Arthur loves us too, y’know, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want us to worry about him.” A quiet laugh escaped him. “...If only that were possible.”

Dutch returned the laugh, returning to his own activities. “Indeed. Stay safe out there, Hosea. I have a feelin’ this week’s gonna go out with a bang.”

“Oh yes, old friend.” The other man agreed. “If there’s one thing I don’t doubt -- it’s that.”

~~~~~~~~~~

GILLIS FARM

A WHILE LATER

Tick. Tock.

That was the only thing Arthur could hear as he picked aimlessly at his food, sitting awkwardly at the dining table and waiting for this torturous evening to come to an end.

For the whole meal so far, the rest of Mary’s insufferable family had been discussing nothing but politics and religion as if they lived and breathed the two subjects -- and every once in a while, one of them would turn to Arthur and ask the outlaw for his input.

It was probably the most pretentious conversation he’d ever been a part of. It was evident to the young man that none of these people truly had any interest in politics, and merely brought up the topic because they knew Arthur despised discussing these sort of things. Not to mention the fact that they also assumed him to be highly uneducated, and therefore saw his presence as an opportunity to make themselves feel more intelligent.

The only person at this table who wasn’t irritating the living hell out of Arthur at the moment was Mary herself, but even she had caused him some level of annoyance due to her forcing the man to go through this in the first place.

Arthur just wanted this night to end. He was already well aware of how Mary’s family felt about him, and he doubted that sharing one meal with them would change anything. Hell, Robert already threatened to shoot him before he even set foot in the goddamned house. It was unlikely that a simple chicken dinner would be enough to bring the two men together.

“...Did you hear?” Mary’s aunt Loretta asked as she buttered some bread. “Apparently Reuben Walsh has been at Margaret Whitaker’s throat ever since his father passed. They just can’t see eye to eye.”

Loretta’s husband Wilfred scoffed. “Those two fools will tear Mercy apart with their political war before anything gets solved. They’ve got gangs coming at them from every direction, and yet they’re more concerned about whose crown shines brighter? Abraham Walsh may’ve been old, but at least he knew how to keep the peace.”

Robert laughed at the statement, deciding to throw his own two cents in. “Keep the peace? The only thing that miserable old coot did was swipe all of Mercy’s problems under the carpet. Some people call Reuben reckless, but he’s the only person who’s got the balls to do something about the crime in that town. After all, nothing’s pretty when you’re dealing with that sorta lot. It’s about time Whitaker learned that.”

Mary’s grandmother Helga offered her thoughts. “Well, there are rumors suggesting that the reason Miss Whitaker has been so much of a pacifist is because she’s working with the gangs. It sounds like they’re the only ones keeping her in power.”

“Well, of course they are,” Robert replied. “You don’t get to that high of a position with that amount of ease unless you got someone in your pocket.”

Loretta set her knife down, glancing in Arthur’s direction. “What do you think, Mr. Morgan? I understand that you’re, um... familiar with that sort of lifestyle. Who do you think is in the right?”

Arthur paused for a moment, admittedly unsure of what to say.

“Um...” he said sheepishly, “...I-I’m afraid I don’t know enough about Mercy’s situation to really give an opinion, ma’am.”

“Well then, let me run it down for you.” Loretta offered. Arthur wished she hadn’t.

“The Whitakers and the Walshes are the two most powerful families in Mercy,” she explained. “They both carry an extravagant amount of wealth and influence, but recently, have butted heads with each other. You see, Mercy has always had quite a persistent problem with local gangs in the area, and both of these families want to deal with them. They just disagree on how.”

Arthur tried to pretend he was interested. “What do they wanna do?”

“Margaret Whitaker believes that their town is too small to stand up to such a large amount of outlaws, and thinks that the safest solution is to negotiate a deal with them in order to keep the peace in Mercy. As for Reuben Walsh, he would prefer to take on a more direct approach. He thinks that Margaret’s plan to negotiate with them will only lead to more trouble, and wants to wipe out the criminals entirely. But by doing so, he would risk an open war with Lord knows how many gangs.”

Wilfred jumped in. “Not to mention that the man himself is also a cripple. Apparently, the boy’s half blind and moves around in a wheelchair. A wheelchair, for heaven’s sake! How can a man like that fight against anyone?”

Robert boomeranged the subject back to Arthur. “Well? Any thoughts?”

The young man let out a sigh, thinking deeply about the argument.

What did they expect him to say? They all knew he was an outlaw himself, and there was no question that they dragged him into this God-awful conversation purely to put him on the spot.

Still, Arthur knew he’d have to give them some kind of answer if he wanted to keep them satisfied. Yeah, they might’ve been doing this just to humiliate him, but if it meant being one step closer to finishing this nightmare of an evening, he’d do anything.

“...Whitaker, I guess.” Arthur replied. “Why risk more peoples’ lives when you’ve already got a solution standin’ in front of you?”

Surprisingly, Loretta seemed to approve of the response. “Well said. It’s never pleasant to deal with these sorts of people, but when there’s that many of them crying out for blood on the horizon, sometimes you’ve got no choice but to comply.”

Robert, on the other hand, only appeared to dislike Arthur even more. “Yeah, of course he would agree with that.”

“What do you mean by that?” Arthur asked, sounding more irritated than he intended. The young man couldn’t deny that his ability to hold back was deteriorating by the minute.

“...You know damn well what I mean.” Robert fired back. Mary shot a disappointed look at him.

“Daddy, please. Not now.”

“If not now, then when? You know what kind of a man he is, Mary! He may say he’s prepared to commit to a marriage with you, but we all know he’s always gonna be an outlaw at heart. That boy’s gonna get you killed someday, and you’re gonna wish you listened to me!”

Arthur decided to bite his tongue and reached for his drink, only to find himself gripping the glass harder and harder the more Robert prattled on about him.

“Nothin’ to say, Mr. Morgan?” The man challenged. “Oh, you’re big and bad when you’ve got a gun in your hand, alright, but face a real man for once, and suddenly you’ve gone mute!”

“Daddy!” Mary reiterated. “Please! That’s enough. I didn’t bring Arthur here just so you two could start an argument! I brought him here because I wanted you two to start gettin’ along! Is that so hard?”

“He’s got no place in this family, Mary!” Robert exclaimed. “In fact, he’s got no business being on this farm at all. I only let him in because you asked me to. But look at the man! He hasn’t got a single, goddamn clue what any of us are talkin’ about. He’s got no education, no real job, and no real family! The closest thing he’s got to family is a group of dirty, filthy, worthless inbreds!”

Arthur suddenly sprang straight up from his chair and glared at Robert, unable to restrain himself anymore.

Mary jumped at the abrupt motion and held an arm in front of Arthur, desperately attempting to diffuse the situation.

“Arthur! Please, sit down!”

“See?!” Robert accused, pointing a finger at him. “What’d I tell you? The man’s an animal!”

Arthur firmly placed his hands on the table, leaning towards the other man.

“You got somethin’ to say, you say it to my face when you ain’t cowering behind your own daughter. The only reason I agreed to share a meal with you is ‘cause I wanted to smooth things over, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna sit here and take this nonsense!”

Robert glowered at Arthur. “...Excuse me?”

The young man tore the napkin from his lap and tossed it down on the table. “No, I’ve excused you enough for one night. I’m done.”

Storming out of the farm at the speed of light, Arthur made a swift exit and left the rest of Mary’s family in a state of shock as the woman herself chased after him, following her fiancé into the cool weather of the night.

“Arthur!” She called out. “Wait!”

But the young man ignored her and simply carried on with his escape, heading towards the hitching posts.

“Arthur!” Mary repeated, desperate to get his attention. “Please! Just... hold on a moment!”

The outlaw stopped in his tracks, letting out a frustrated breath. “What, Mary? What more do you want from me? Look, I tried, okay? I really did. But I can’t go back in there. There’s nothing in this world that could please that sorry excuse of a man.”

The young woman frowned. “That’s my father you’re talkin’ about, Arthur.”

Arthur unhitched Abitha from the post and retrieved his gun belt. “Well, what else d’you want me to say, Mary? That he’s a nice man? That... he’s kind and compassionate?”

Mary sighed. “Whatever you may think of him, he’s still my father. I just want you two to get along. Is that too much to ask?”

The man shook his head. “Listen... I love you, Mary, but your father is never going to accept me. It’s clear that he’s already made up his mind, and there’s nothin’ we can do to change it.”

“Well, your outburst certainly didn’t help things, Arthur.”

The outlaw was perplexed. “What did you expect me to do? Just sit there and take it? You heard the way he was talkin’ about Dutch and Hosea. About these people I consider to be my family. How can you expect me to respect him when he doesn’t respect me?”

Mary crossed her arms. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I know my father did wrong tonight, but all I wanted this evening was for the both of you to put your differences aside. Can you not even do that?”

Arthur mounted his horse, gesturing back to the farm. “Maybe you should ask him that question.”

Falling into silence, the couple took a minute to gather themselves as Mary’s family started cleaning up inside, causing the distant sound of clattering plates to reach their ears.

It had been a long night for the both of them, but Arthur was especially worried about what sort of impact this incident was going to have on their marriage. He couldn’t help but repeat what Benjamin said to him over and over again in his head, and the more he thought about the man’s words, the more he started to think he may’ve had a point.

Perhaps Mary was going to choose Robert over him. It was evident that she still loved the man despite his drunken behavior, and no matter what Arthur did, it always felt like the other man had the upper hand when it came to influencing Mary’s decisions.

Jesus Christ... what kind of hole had Arthur dug himself into this time?

“...Look, Mary,” Arthur said softly, breaking the silence, “I’m sorry for what happened tonight. I didn’t mean for things to turn out like this, but... I just can’t deal with that man anymore. I can’t go back in.”

Mary nodded in an understanding manner and watched sorrowfully as Arthur led Abitha away from the posts, preparing to go home.

“I... I understand, Arthur. Thank you for trying, at least. I know you didn’t want this. I just wish things could’ve gone better.”

Arthur hung his head low. “...Yeah. Me too.”

She walked up to him. “Well... anyways, it’s gettin’ late. You should probably head back to camp now. I reckon Dutch and Hosea might be wondering where you are. Try to stay safe, okay?”

The outlaw gave her a reassuring look. “I will. You take care of yourself too, Mary.”

The woman returned the remark with a caring smile, bidding her fiancé farewell as he disappeared into the night. “I will.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 story

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nelllraiser · 5 years ago

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jailbreak | marley & nell

LOCATION: the wcpd precinct. PARTIES: @detectivedreameater and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: nell and marley show travis who’s boss.

Being found in the back of a police cruiser wasn’t exactly a foreign experience for Nell, especially when it was either Red or Bo’s. This evening, it had been Red’s and she’d been caught trespassing. Honestly at this point, it was somewhat amusing for her, and she didn’t even really try to run anymore at times. After all, if she ran she wouldn’t get to harass Red from the back of their police car. Still, it was a little inconvenient to be trapped in the holding cell after being brought in, just waiting to be let loose. But...she was fairly tired of waiting, patience having never been a virtue of her’s. Thus was how she’d ended up half hanging out the ground level window that was in the very top corner of the cell, a good nine feet in the air with nothing around it to climb on. It was one of those basement windows that were far too small to ever be considered an escape route, but here was Nell with her shoulders already through, trying to pull herself the rest of the way out, taking this moment to thank her small stature for once in her life.

Smoking was bad, and Marley had heard it enough times to have picked out a few spots in the alley where no one would see her. Finishing off the last drag, she flicked the butt away spritzed herself with whatever spray she had swiped off Jane’s desk the other day so that she didn’t immediately smell of nicotine. But as she rounded the corner from her little secret alcove, she spotted something she had never expected to see, even here in White Crest. Someone was crawling out of one of the holding cell windows. Which was truly amazing for several reasons, one of which being that they were at least 8 feet off the ground, and another being the bars of pure steel that lined the window. “Hello there,” she said, striding up in front of the girl, not bothering to crouch, “can I help you with something?” Crossed her arms in a way that let her jacket ride up a bit, displaying the badge on her hip.

The bars had certainly proved to be a little inconvenient, but after using just a bit of magic, it was easy enough to slide a couple of them out of place, and sneak between the minuscule opening she’d made. The crunch of boots was unmistakable, and hard to miss, but it was already too late when Nell heard a voice from above, and all she could think to say for a moment was, “God? Is that you?” The shit-eating grin on her lips probably wasn’t the best way to sell the question, but she didn’t think the woman with the police badge would have fallen for it either way. It was more meant as a troll-like move, anyway. She should probably say something else, though. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though. But I think I could definitely help you. Do you see these bars? Very unstable. Unsturdy, even. Pretty much anyone could get out of here. You’re lucky I caught it when I did.”

Arms still crossed, Marley just raised a brow. “Uh-huh,” she said flatly, tilting her head as she looked at the girl. No older than 25 probably. She’d seen her around the precinct before, but never bothered with it. Domestic issues weren’t her department. “Well, thanks so much for letting me know, but I think the window bars inspection was scheduled for tomorrow actually.” She took a step back so she could see her better and leaned against the dumpster. “But please, do continue,” motioned with her good hand, “I’d love to hear what other excuses you can come up with.”

Nell hadn’t really expected the woman to believe her story, but it was still far too fun to go along with it as she spoke once more. “Huh- no, no, it was definitely meant to be today.” In tandem, she looked at the wrist of one of the arms she’d freed from the window, no watch in sight for her to possibly consult. “Honestly I’m insulted that you would think- that I would- me, of all people, could possibly be doing something that isn’t what I say I’m doing.” Of course, the other woman had absolutely no reason to believe anything of Nell either way, this having been the beginning of a previously clean slate. “Who are you, anyway? I thought I knew most of the cops.”

Marley had to admit, it took guts to continue a bold-faced lie to a cop while you were sticking out of a precinct window, half stuck. And, admittedly, it made her like this girl even more. Smirking, she quirked a brow. “Oh, my bad,” was all she said, shrugging. She didn’t admit the fault in her ruse, but the next question came anyway. “Detective Stryder. I don’t uh-- usually stick around the office all that much,” she said, tilting her head. Red eyes watched the girl from behind sunglasses. “So are you gonna tell me how you scaled an eight foot wall with no holds or steps or should I just start guessing, Houdini?”

Thankfully, this didn’t seem like one of those stick up their asses, rulebook thumping cops that got off on flexing their perceived power on any mere mortal they might come across. And this Detective Stryder didn’t particularly seem to mind that Nell was hanging out of a holding cell window. “Detective? That’s an odd thing to name a child. No offense.” It wasn’t a stretch to say that one of Nell’s favorite past times was poking fun at any member or affiliate of the WCPD she met, Winston included. “Why aren’t you in the office much, though?” Even now, halfway through a window, it seemed that Nell’s nosiness was alive and well. She shrugged as much as her position could allow before going on to say, “I’m really good at gymnastics. Even went to state a few times.” Nevertheless, the Houdini comment earned an uptick of the corners of her mouth, amused that Stryder was unknowingly rather close to the truth.

“My parents were horribly unimaginitive,” Marley said with an exaggerated frown and wave of her hand. “Too bad I turned out to be a professional balloon artist. Really confuses people when I introduce myself.” Whoever this window child was, Marley was amused. She’d needed some fun in her life, after being stuck on desk duty for so long. And she still had so many desk days ahead of her. Plus, the witty banter helped. Reminded her a little of herself as a teenager, though Marley had never gotten stuck in a window. Intangibility helped with that, though. “Because it’s boring as fuck in there,” she said, rolling her eyes, “all those stuck up officers. I’m not exactly the most liked member of the squad.” She admitted through clenched teeth and a dull shrug. “A gymnastics star? Are you saying I’m in the presence of a famous athlete? Oh, please, can I have your autograph?”

“I mean- it’s original to say the least,” she quipped back, rather amused with this banter. “So are you just some sort of self fulfilling prophecy then? You said well my parents named me this, so I guess this is what I’ll be?” Nell acted as if she were heavily involved in the conversation, like her words weren’t solely a means of finding amusement. The woman’s explanation seemed valid enough, though, and Nell simply placed her chin in her hands, still hanging through the window, but looking as if she were simply shooting the breeze at a bar top. “Ah well- half of them are little shits, anyway. Fuck them, amirite? Who wants to fit in with a bunch of narcs, anyway?” Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to essentially say ‘fuck cops and the law’ to a detective but...here she was. What were they going to do, anyway? Put her in a holding cell? But she quickly brightened, taking on her next personality without so much as blinking. “Oh, you know me,” she said with an award winning smile, “anything for my fans,” and proceeded to hold out her arms as if looking for a pen and paper.

“Don’t give them credit for my name,” Marley said, as if offended, “we were supposed to agree that it’s a terrible name. We were bonding over this.” She was enjoying watching the girl act nonchalant, as if this were totally normal and like this was a completely okay thing. She decided in that moment that she was going to help her out once she felt like it, and let her go. She definitely deserved the credit. “Mmmm, you said it. I can’t actually say it, something about like--” held up her hands in quotes-- “‘unprofessional conduct’. But pretend I did say it and that I do agree.” After all, Marley hadn’t become a cop to be a stickler or a boot licker, as Online Butch liked to call her. She’d done it because she was good at it and she was one of the only ones out there who could control the supernatural gone awry. And although this girl was probably something along those categories, she didn’t much care to find out what or why. She liked this, instead. “Oh, really? Gosh, you’re just the greatest,” she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a pen. She came over to her finally and bent down, holding out her hand. “Right here, right next to the sling so people see it.” Too busy keeping up the witty banter to notice someone coming around the corner.

“I didn’t say it was good!” Nell said with added passion to her tone. “I think Mikayleigh is an original name and so does the Susan who named her, but that doesn’t mean I think it’s good.” But then, that teasing smirk was back, the glint reignited in her eyes. “Oh, we’re bonding now? I didn’t know you were so soft, Stryder.” Her eye roll was quick to follow, sharing very much the same feelings on people who thought certain ‘conducts’ weren’t appropriate. Honestly, Nisa probably could have made a terrific police officer. “Who cares about conduct if you get shit done.” It was true, wasn’t it? What did the means matter if you caught the bad guy? “I won’t rat on you, though. I’m not a cop,” she offered in dry sarcasm, apparently still far too ready to poke some fun at Marley’s profession. “But I know, right?” she began, offering that lofty tone once more. “All my fans say that about me. I’m so glad you saw it, too.” Nell didn’t hesitate to sign the woman’s arm, not actually entirely foreign to the concept. There were some people at the Ring who loved to have signatures, and well— Nisa had made all of them practice signatures when they’d been young, no doubt preparing them for their lucrative career as stage magicians. Once she was done, the voice of a man rang out. “What the- who let the Vural girl out?” Nell’s frown along with a disapproving and dismissive look was quick to find the newly appeared cop as she simply said, “Keep moving, Travis.”

“Uugh, Susan,” Marley scoffed. “I hate Susan and her vegan family rights and Mikayleigh who’s in the honor roll and choir.” They all knew someone like that, didn’t they? Experience really was universal, in that way, though Marley doubted individual experience was anything like that. She shrugged. “Must be all the pain meds I’m on. Or that you just don’t know me, considering we just met, Houdini.” She looked at the signature once it was done-- noticed the practiced hand at it, and wondered if perhaps this girl really was the next Houdini-- before turning to look at the newcomer. “Yeah, Travis,” she said, “keep moving. I let her out because I needed help with checking out this window. Someone said it was accessible from the inside and I wanted to make sure before I told Sarge. And, well, lookit that!” she pointed at Nell, still stuck in the window, “it is! Cool, great. Thanks for your concern, but you can leave now. I’ve got this.”

Nell’s own face was a rather accurate representation of the slanted face emoticon she so often used online when she said, “Um, vegans have rights, too,” in the most valley-girl accent she could muster. “And you’re forgetting she’s also captain of the volleyball team.” At the mention of pain meds, Nell’s gaze went back to the injured arm, curiosity striking once again. “What happened? To your arm, I mean.” Meanwhile, Travic paused at the edge of the scene, as if uncertain whether or not he wanted to tangle with either of the girls today. Nell quickly stretched out her arms into the dirt, as if trying to grab purchase there. Slowly, but surely, she inch-wormed her way out of the window and onto the ground, straightening herself to stand next to Marley. “Lookit that!” she echoed, her arms posed in a sort of ta-da motion. “Good thing we caught that, isn’t it?” Travis didn’t seem all that sold on the concept, but decided that he’d rather not deal with whatever was happening here, today. “Whatever,” he replied grumpily. “Just don’t make me do the paperwork for it. And I’m throwing you under the bus if this comes back to bite me in the ass.”

Marley frowned, turning to look at Travis. “No you won’t, Travis,” she said flatly, glaring at him from behind her aviators. “Because I know,” she nodded at the cup in his hands, tapping an invisible one in the air, “what you’ve really got in that cup.” At that, Travis clammed up, looked around, then backed away. “Fucking hell,” he said, before turning, “fine.” And bolting. Marley nodded to herself before turning to look back at Houdini. “You know, there’s a lot less of you than I thought there would be,” she said out loud, turning to face her fully. “But I gotta hand it to you, that was one neat trick. Where’d you learn to do that? For real?” She looked down at her arm, tired of having to explain she was attacked by a fucking zombie mime of all things and just muttered, “I hate mimes.”

Nell grinned as Travis fled, always enjoying a cop on the run— especially after he’d been told off by another girl cop in badass leather boots. But that amusement quickly turned to indignance, arms crossing over her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” she asked, brows drawn together. “Only tall people can escape holding cells?” As for the secret to her escape….well— she couldn’t give that up so easily with Miriam still skulking around. So she shrugged, seemingly more serious about her words than she’d been about her previous, joking excuses. “They really were loose. And I really am good at climbing shit. So you’re welcome for the free check-up.” But if the mimes had been to blame for the woman’s injury...well there was obviously something supernatural about the fuckers, so the detective had to at least know there was something not normal going on in town, right? “Was it one of those uh- have you heard of all the people running around talking about clone mimes or something?”

Marley just shrugged at the girl’s indignance. “I dunno, just thought you’d be taller,” she said, waving her hand in a flat line at the approximate height she’d assumed. “Guess you do kinda have short girl energy, though. All that sass in one little body.” She grinned. She’d gone through something similar, having always been a small child, even through her teenage years. She’d really only reached her peak in her early twenties, and the boots helped, too. “Ah, sure, sure. I’m sure they were magically loose in the one cell you happened to be in,” she said, putting emphasis on the word magic. It was a more likely explanation than this girl being the Hulk. The bars weren’t bent, after all, so superstrength was out of the picture. “Anyway, please don’t remind me of the mimes. I had to deal with reports about them and them specifically on three different occasions in one week and in that week one of them broke my arm.” She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “You may also wanna scoot along here soon, I believe the shift change is coming, right?”

“Short girl energy?!” Nell burst out once more, indigence on her face. “My energy is the furthest thing from short! Or you know what- if being a badass means you have short girl energy— I guess you’re right.” She couldn’t deny the comment about sass in a small body, though. After all...was that not her to a tee? Nell simply let vague uncertainty cross over her features, as if she weren’t sure what Marley were trying to get at. After a lifetime of pretending like she didn’t have magic when it mattered, Nell was rather adept at playing the part. A shrug tugged at her shoulders before she went on to say, “I don’t know- they weren’t loose the last time I was in the last time I was in there. Not that I….come here often...or check them often.” It was pretty obvious she was in the clear with Marley, so Nell didn’t mind adding the last bit in to corroborate her story. “The mimes are literal pieces of shit, and I wouldn’t be mad if they were wiped off the face of White Crest. But sure- I’ll see you around, then.” Nell didn’t need another officer with more backbone than Travis to come by. With a wave, she sauntered off, glad to know that there was at least another decently cool cop on the force.

Marley chuckled, shaking her head. “I said what I said,” was her only response to Nell’s rebuttal. And though she could sense the fib in her words, or lackthereof, she decided to let it go for now. Nell could keep her secrets. Marley could at least understand the danger in telling them to anyone who asked. But she was bound to figure it out, anyway. Instead, as Nell backed away, she just gave a wave. “See you around, Houdini,” she called after her, before turning to look back at the window that still had missing bars. She was no spellcaster, so instead, she just took a trash can lid and stuck in front of the window for now. She’d tell Sarge about it later, with some egregious explanation so he wouldn’t think too much of it in an attempt to get her to stop saying weird things. It always worked. And then she stood up and headed back inside for another round of paperwork-- damn, she really shoulda asked Houdini if she was as good at fixing things as she was at breaking them.

#chatzy #ch:Marley #jailbreak #wickedswriting

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diyunho · 6 years ago

Text

The Joker x Reader-”The One That Got Away” Part 1

The terrorist attack targeting Wayne National Bank nearly three years ago left only one survivor behind: Y/N almost died from the injuries, but she was lucky enough to wake up at the hospital days later. It was so hard to cope with the news: on top of losing her eyesight, the young woman lost her co-workers also and strangely enough the one responsible for the entire tragedy wasn’t The Clown Prince of Crime.

“They told me you’re here again,” you smile and there’s no answer. “Are you going to come in or do you want me to bring you something to eat? We’re closing soon, it’s almost 10pm.”

The blind Y/N extends the cane until it touches the recipient of her visit.

“I understand that you’re shy and there’s nothing wrong with it; you just need to tell me.”

“I’m not shy,” the deep tone interrupts.

“So are you coming in this time?” Y/N asks while the man grunts and she correctly guesses he’s getting up from his spot. “Follow me,” you encourage and he pulls the hoodie on his face, steadily walking behind the woman leading the way. “Today we have chicken soup and spaghetti with red sauce. That that I want to brag, but it turned out pretty good,” you giggle to lighten up the atmosphere: you’re aware it’s not easy for some living on the streets to acknowledge they require help.

“Mina!” you shout as you enter the spacious room. “Another portion please!”

“Sure thing!” the assistant’s energetic reply is perceived from beyond the counter.

“You can take a sit at any table, she’ll bring the food shortly,” you let him know and then loudly inquire: “Who else is here?”

“I’m here,” Silvia answers, slurping on her hot soup.

“Me too,” you hear Walter. “I also see Dave, Russell, Angie. The rest I’m not sure,” the 70 years old informs, pointing at the newcomer.

“Hey new guy, you have a name?” Angie licks her fork, digging in the pile of pasta afterwards.

The man is silent for a few moments, then mutters through his teeth:

“Jay.”

“You’re lucky there’s still food left, son! It’s crazy busy all the time,” Dave huffs. “This is the best Soup Kitchen in Gotham, and the lady standing in front of you a true angel!” one of the regulars states with such conviction it prompts cheers from the others left in the cafeteria at the end of the busy day.

“If only,” you laugh amused at the affirmation.

“Here you go; enjoy,“ Mina brings over a bowl of soup and a plate full of spaghetti to the man that’s been lurking around for the past two months but didn’t step into the building until today. Jay mumbles something resembling a “thanks” and by the sounds he makes slurping on the hot liquid one could say it’s very appreciated.

The volunteers would tell you if they spotted him outside the premises and you would usually take food to him, offering a place at a table which he refused; not the first or the last to show restrain when shown kindness.

You’re a bit surprised he decided to finally join the crowd; maybe he doesn’t like being around people.

“Mina, are you ok closing with John and Sandy? I have to open the bakery in the morning,” you explain although it’s not necessary.

“Yes, of course; told you should have went home an hour ago. They’re almost done with the dishes and we won’t have that much left to do after the last guests finish their meal. We’ll be fine, don’t worry. OK?” the young woman gives you a soft nudge towards the door and you feel the ground with the cane, eager to take a shower after the long day.

“Good night then,” you smile,” see you guys soon.”

“Good night!” several voices respond back.

The apartment is just three blocks away, conveniently situated on the top of the bakery you own: “Sweet Temptations” is one of the most popular bakeries in Gotham, slowly becoming a contender for the first position.

Once outside you stop for a few moments to enjoy the silence and the soft breeze on your cheeks before reprising your walk. Police cars alarms start blaring in the distance and you sigh, annoyed: quietness never lasts for too long in this damned city.

You turn left on Glissan Avenue and halt, carefully listening: you could swear you discerned some snickering ahead of you. Maybe not?...

A few more feet and your cane is abruptly yanked out of your hand, almost making you lose balance:

“Hey pretty girl, can I get a kiss in exchange for the stick?”

You straighten your shoulders, frowning:

“Randy, is that you?!”

“Umm…it’s possible,” he chuckles and you feel the air around, trying to find his body.

“I’m exhausted and not in the mood for your crap!” you admonish and want to continue but you get interrupted:

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You know my brother’s an idiot!...Hey…Hey!!!! What the…,” the other young man yells and the noise of a loud punch and broken bone startles you. “Hey, leave my brother alone!!!!...Oh shit!” the turmoil of a struggle and more ruckus indicating a fight make you frantically search for your cell in the purse.

“What’s going on?” you ask, scared at the moans of pain.

“I think he broke my nose,” Randy manages to utter still dizzy from the unexpected attack. His sibling Steve is trying to defend himself from the aggressor, apparently without too much success since the thud reaching your ears indicates he got thrown on the concrete pavement.

“If…if you’re The Batman, I can assure you I’m not in any kind of danger!” you pant, scared about whatever the hell is happening. “I know them, please stop!”

“It’s not…it’s not The Batman…” Randy gags, the taste of his own blood making him nauseated.

“I’m calling 911!” the cell phone is taken out of the bag and Randy shrieks:

“He’s running away…”

“Please don’t call the cops,” Steve mutters, not having the strength to get up yet. “I’m sure they’re not gonna like the fact that two teenagers fresh out of the juvie already got involved into an altercation.”

“I can testify you got assaulted!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t see anything,” Steve groans while his brother helps him up. “They might twist it against us and I don’t want to go back to detention.”

“Me neither,” Randy grumbles, wiping his bloody nose with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Did you see who it was?” you inquire, placing the phone in your pocket; you sure don’t want to create any more trouble for them.

“No,” the cane is returned to the anxious Y/N. “His mug was covered with a hoodie.”

***************

Next morning, 5:43am

The bell dinging makes you aware someone entered the bakery.

“I’m sorry, we’re still closed until 6am,” you announce to the customer while brewing a fresh pot of coffee.

“Hello Y/N, it’s me”, the familiar voice makes you smile.

“Good morning Mister Wayne; your box is ready,” you slide the package on the other side of the counter.

“Thank God! I hate early corporate meetings and this amazing stuff makes me wake up a bit, enough to seem like I’m interested, you know?” he soundlessly yawns and you burst out laughing.

“I’m glad it helps. Coffee?”

“Please!”

“The usual?”

“Naaah. Surprise me,” Bruce smirks and watches Y/N quite fascinated as she puts together his drink. Even if she can’t see, she moves with such ease and he takes a remorseful deep breath, wishing he could share his thoughts.

“Here you go Mister Wayne, triple shot. I think you need it today,” you hand over his cup and he takes a sip, smacking his lips in the process.

“This is very good,” Bruce praises your skills because lingering around the bakery for a few minutes it’s so much better that the dreadful meeting he’s about to attend. He takes a big stack of money from the inside pocket of his suit and hands it over to you.

“Are these…are these hundreds?!” you inquire, puzzled.

The lack of an answer confirms it.

“Mister Wayne, you don’t have to do this each time you come in. This is just... a lot again and the total for your box is only 46 dollars.”

“If I want to leave a tip, then I will. Share with your employees,” the stubborn heir suggests because this is how he usually convinces you to accept the money.

You want to protest but he keeps rambling on:

“There are also two checks in there: one for my monthly contribution to your charity, the other one you could say it’s an investment. Entirely up to you of course, but I would love for you to expand your business: a location next to the Wayne Tower would make me very happy. Every time I’m there pretending to be working I could run and get me a delicious treat to make my day better. ”

You blankly stare at him, deciding to speak up.

“Mister Wayne…You don’t have to do this… It wasn’t your fault…”

Bruce is grateful you can’t see his painful grimace at the candid words meant to alleviate the guilt of an event he failed to predict as both the main shareholder of Gotham National Bank and as his alter ego.

“You are not responsible for the lives that were lost. You just owned the bank, nothing more. It was very unfortunate, but please stop blaming yourself.”

He doesn’t comment yet, oddly enough paying attention to Y/N’s advice.

“You might not realize it, but you make this city a better place Mister Wayne; your generous donations truly make a difference. With your aid, my charity allows me to literally assist hundreds of those in need. That wouldn’t be possible without you. Take The Batman too for example; because of him this town is safer: he can’t get rid of all the rotten evil eating away at its core, but his watchful eye is a tremendous boost of hope for the rest of us. One person can’t do everything and he is not accountable for every bad action he cannot stop. You’re not more responsible than he is for the fate of others.”

Bruce sniffles, somehow relieved by the sudden monologue.

“You’re a good man, Mister Wayne. The tabloids might depict you as a carefree playboy, still they should mention your achievements also. Or at least bring up some details about that nice cologne you wear,” you giggle and his body relaxes at the small joke after being tense throughout the whole speech.

“It’s Dior,” he admits with a grin meant to alleviate the seriousness of what you just told him. And Bruce certainly appreciates it since he had no idea how much he craved to hear a confirmation of his own flaw: he is human after all, either as the rich billionaire or as The Batman. “Thank you…” he briefly touches your fingers while taking the box from the counter.

“I meant it Mister Wayne.”

“I know…” he sighs. “Think about the business proposal, OK?”

“I will,” you promise although you are not convinced it’s such a great plan on top of the numerous projects you’re involved in.

“I’ll see you next week,” Bruce promises and exits the pastry shop, abandoning its owner until their upcoming rendezvous.

You feel sorry for him, you really do. You hope what you told him stuck in the back of his mind: remorse is a strong poison Bruce Wayne should stay away from at any cost, especially when he’s in the center of attention due to his social position. Plus, he’s not liable for the tragedy that occurred nearly three years ago, even if he believes otherwise…

You were working as a teller at Wayne National Bank for eight months and that day was nothing special until the shift was almost over. The 25 year old Y/N went downstairs with her drawer in order to go over her daily transactions and make sure there were no discrepancies. Moments later, a powerful explosion shook the building and leveled it out in a matter of seconds, taking down walls and people alike as it sunk into rubble.

The only survivor was you since you happened to be in the vault; the metal crate protected you from the blast and you were lucky the emergency response team dug you out from under the debris in time: Y/N nearly perished and woke up at the hospital days later blind and unable to cope with the news: on top of losing her eye-sight, she lost her co-workers too.

Bruce Wayne felt responsible: he took pride in having the most sophisticated and advanced security system in place, yet nothing is fool proof, including the engineers that built it and sold out the secrets to the wrong people for the right price.

The terrorist attack was claimed by the Triple Star gang, another one of their attempts to take over Gotham in the never-ending battle for the top spot with The Joker. And Gotham’s citizens got caught in the crossfire. Again.

Bruce paid for everyone’s funerals and handsomely rewarded the grieving families along with his public apologies; the media tried to shred him to pieces, dragging his name in the mud again. It all died out once the family members of those killed in the attack sided with the billionaire: there’s nothing more off-putting to the press than dust settling over sensationalism without backup evidence.

You used the share you received from your ex-employer to open the bakery and start the kitchen soup, both venues flourishing under your patronage. Bruce was a constant customer and donor from day one, which aided raise awareness to the point of Y/N becoming some sort of local celebrity: despite her blindness after surviving catastrophe, she found the strength to rise above the shattered pieces of her life and help the less fortunate, which gained her the nickname of Angel of Gotham.

“Y/N,” Shane gets you out of trance, “do you want the chocolate croissants on top shelves today?”

“Yes, by the apple fritters and blueberry muffins,” you answer while the rest of the opening shift brings out the trays with freshly baked pastries from the kitchen.

The bell dings and Andy rushes in, frantically repeating:

“I know I’m late! I know I’m late!”

“AGAIN!!!” almost everyone teases in the same time, the choir urging more clumsy excuses:

“I know, ok? I’m deeply sorry. My car died out!”

“AGAIN!!!” the crew mocks and the poor guy sniffles, flustered to the maximum and you decide to give him a break.

“It’s fine; go wash your hands.”

“Y/N,” Andy halts in front of you. “Mister Wayne’s limo is parked outside and his chauffeur said he wants to talk to you.”

“He’s still here?!” you grab your stick and walk around the counter, heading outside the bakery.

“This way Miss,” the driver holds the limousine’s door opened until you get inside, slamming it shut as soon as you are next to your former boss. But something is off… the man doesn’t smell like Bruce’s cologne.

“Mister Wayne?...” you hesitantly mumble and the weird chuckle makes you cringe.

“Nope. Just rented a limo like his and waited until he left so I can take over. Luckily enough we saw an employee rushing in and he had no clue that the rich, pretty boy is not the one requesting a meeting.”

You panic and try to exit the car but it’s already moving and the door won’t open.

“Calm down, would you? If I wanted to hurt you I would have already done it.”

You exhale, nervously adjusting yourself in the comfortable seat.

“Who are you?” Y/N carefully stirs the conversation.

“A philanthropist interested in bestowing my fortune upon those in need,” the strange snickering comes to an end. “Here’s my business card,” your hands are placed on the person’s face without any warning. “Well, can you guess?”

“Umm…” you gulp, anxiously touching the skin. “Maybe mid-thirties…”

“Wow, that’s pretty good,” the man snorts, somewhat amused. “Go on.”

“Handsome…”

“Nailed it!!” he snarls and it gives you goosebumps.

“Green hair…”

His crazy silver grin diminishes a bit.

“Blue eyes,” and your eyes focusing on his astonish The Joker which is not an easy thing to accomplish.

“You…you can see!” he growls and your hands slide off his face. The King of Gotham had you on surveillance for months before he made contact today and nothing indicated the revelation he witnessed by pure chance.

“I was wondering if you‘ll show up,” your change in attitude baffles the usual emotionless King of Gotham. “Are you interested in money laundering throughout my charity?” you cold tone skips to the main topic. “Others have asked and no, I don’t do that; I don’t care about how much it would put back in my account. Dirty money has no place in my…”

“Says the perfect Angel lying to the world about her handicap,” The Joker sarcastically cuts you out.

“I’m not lying,” you mutter. “My vision comes and goes, it’s a neurological anomaly after the injury I sustained. I was warned that might happen and frankly I don’t have to announce it on TV or to my doctor when I’m blind and when I’m not. It’s easier to deal with it since at one point I might find myself in the blackness forever.”

“Interesting,“ The Joker huffs, crossing his legs. “I couldn’t care less about your sneaky ways; I’m not here to negotiate a deal. I’m here to get what I want. Money laundry will bring you more funds to do whatever the hell you do, help people and all that,” J flares his arms around, done with the charade.

“Yes, I help them and you kill them,” Y/N gives The Clown a mean glare. “Or beat them up for no reason,” you hint at the two teenagers he attacked since you actually saw him do it.

“Somebody gotta keep the balance,” he jokes about it like it’s some kind of funny topic.

“Mister Joker, I am here to help people and that’s it, “an apparent serene Y/N grumbles even if her heart is pounding out of her chest. “Can you please drop me off at the back entrance of my bakery? If I go missing or end up dead, people will notice. My disappearance or demise wouldn’t go unnoticed and you don’t need more unwanted attention, do you?” you play the best card you have because frankly you have zero aces in your sleeve.

The Joker sucks on his teeth, debating upon this dumfounding outcome that didn’t ruin his day; from time to time he loves a good challenge and the opportunity basically jumped at him so to speak. He gets easily bored and shit, this little project isn’t boring at all. Turned out to be quite interesting.

“Hey Frost!” The Joker shouts. “Let’s take McGillivray Street and return this lost Angel to her business. We don’t want a poor blind woman to get lost in this huge city; we’ll consider this our good deed for the year!”

“Of course sir,” the henchman switches lanes and you strive to remain composed because showing weakness could mean disaster while in the company of the unpredictable psychopath.

The limo takes a left and in a few seconds you reach your destination since Frost basically just slowly drove around the block. The fancy vehicle stops and you get out, preparing to bail when The Joker interrogates:

“Who are you really, hm?” J suspiciously squints his eyes.

You bent over to look at him, cautiously choosing your words:

“I’m the one that got away, Mister Joker. The only one.”

He puffs, signaling you to close the door.

“Good for you, sugar. We’ll keep in touch,” and he yanks the door out of your hand since he doesn’t have patience to wait for you to close it.

Oh my God, you think and reprise your stroll, sensing the concrete with the walking stick. What was that?! you shiver, just a few feet away from the back entrance of the pastry shop. How am I… but you can’t continue the argument since a van slams the breaks right by you, five guys quickly running out and pulling you inside.

“Did you see that boss?” Frost inquires, still waiting at the red light while watching the rearview mirror. “It was so fast nobody noticed.”

“It’s them,” The Joker sneers.

“Do we… … do anything?” Jonny throws the option out there for the heck of it.

“Do you have to fucking ask??!!” his boss shouts. “This is my goddamned town, not theirs! I decide who lives or dies, who gets kidnapped and who doesn’t. ME, not the Triple Star gang!!! I am sick of them interfering with my plans!”

“Call for reinforcements and discreetly follow?”

“No, tell the guys waiting to escort us on Andresen Avenue to intercept the van and follow it. We need a plan.”

“Yes sir,” Frost smirks, craving to take on another invigorating assignment since today was quite a dull day.

Back in the van, the men keeping you captive in between them didn’t articulate a single sentence yet. They have no clue you can see so they didn’t bother cover your head with a cloth. You know The King of Gotham is not present but you have to go on with it; what other choice do you have in this dangerous situation?

“Mister… Mister Joker?” you plead. “I’m sure we can…”

“The Joker?!” somebody laughs, finally talking and everyone snickers like it’s the best stand –up comedy act they ever heard. “No honey: this is the competition.” **************

Five days afterwards, 6pm

Everyone at the soup kitchen is eating in silence, the usual cheerful chit chatting absent from the premises: Y/N has been missing for five days, gone without a trace and despite all the efforts, her whereabouts are still unknown.

“Something bad happened,” Mike shakes his head, worried. “I can feel it,” he wipes his teary eyes.

“She wouldn’t just abandon everything and flee…” Clara whispers to her fellow table mates. “I’ve been homeless for a long time and this is the first place I found some real help, you know? Thanks to her I have a job interview next week,” the woman’s voice breaks. “Nobody would give me a chance and she put in a good word; I might have an opportunity to actually…” Clara blows her nose in a tissue, unable to finish her confession.

“We’re in the same boat,” George turns around from the nearby table and his eyes get big when he recognized who the man entering the establishment is. “Holy…”

The Joker is holding Y/N in his arms, both looking like they escaped a war: dusty, ripped clothes and visible bruises to match the unusual view seen by the 137 souls eating there for the moment. You are unconscious and a few people try to get up, startled.

“SIT DOWN!!!” The Joker screams, lifting you higher in his arms.

“Mister Joker, we gotta go!” Frost advises while keeping the door opened; the other goons temporarily blocked the traffic at The Clown’s orders. A few onlookers on the street are already dialing 911 and J is aware he can’t linger, but he won’t ignore an outburst either:

“Tell everyone The Devil brought your Angel back !! ME, not The Batman!!!” the insane green haired man barks. “Not all heroes wear capes, huh?!” he addresses everyone as he places you on an empty bench and hurries outside, taking one last glance behind to see a weary Y/N barely opening her eyes that cannot focus.

And The Joker knows that after the events he whiteness too, The Angel of Gotham is in complete darkness again.