#and these are the same people who have seen me run in heels so why are you saying i can't handle platform boots

[eyesintheskycryinggeysers]

I have this pair of boots that I wear a lot that both my mother and my sister insist I don't know how to walk in and they just watch me every time they see me wear them and wait for me to fall or lose balance for any reason at all to try and use it as proof but as the person who wears the boots all the fucking time and sees these people like twice a year and has had these boots for the last like four years now I can confirm that I don't fall or lose my balance wearing them any more than I fall not wearing them and I feel like my mom and my sister maybe just don't like them and don't want to either tell me that or accept that everyone isn't going to live and dress based on other people's preferences

[heavenbarnes]

I wanna make it (so badly)

Art Donaldson x Fem Reader

Warnings/Contains: reader is AFAB with she/her pronouns, swearing, inappropriate employer/employee relationship, dry-humping, a lot of heavy petting, implied age gap, effective-infidelity (reader tested, tashi approved), oral sex (f!receiving), art is a bit of a pervert and mega-pathetic (endearing), references to religion (worship).

Word Count: 5.8k

i white knuckled the steering wheel on the way home from this film thinking about art donaldson- this is, essentially, an ode to that

Youth tennis lessons, $20/h, call for details

Finding work was hard, keeping work was harder.

Cleaning, baby-sitting, pet-sitting, pet-walking. There was virtually nothing you hadn't tried.

Odd jobs, odd hours, and the occasional odd employer.

You'd played tennis for the last couple years of college. Nothing remotely competitive but you and your friends had looked cute in the skirts and they'd give you whole hours out of class to play.

You were above average with a good arm and better patience.

Another odd job to add to your growing list.

You'd been particular about where you'd posted the ads, the neighbourhoods you'd chosen. Only the ones with manicured lawns and white picket fences.

Tacking the paper to boards in upmarket cafes, fancy supermarkets, ladies-only gyms.

The kind of people that want their kids playing tennis and could find their way to increase your pay- if you did well.

You always did very well.

So your little car looked a little out of place in this neighbourhood, fingers holding the scribbled post-it note with the address. Your scrawling handwriting detailing the "Donaldson's" were enquiring within.

Pulling up outside the house, you had a quiet inkling that you might've been out of your depth. Whoever owned this house deserved more than an above-average-ex-college-student that only learnt the sport to spend time with friends.

But they'd requested you, you'd have to let them come to that conclusion on your own.

Your knuckles only hit the door once before it was being swung open by someone that looked destined to be a security guard, like he'd come out the womb with his future decided.

What the fuck had you gotten yourself into?

He'd left you in the "formal lounge" to sit smack-bang in the centre of a couch that wouldn't even fit in the lobby of your apartment building- let alone the apartment itself.

As you admired a painting on the wall that you'd only ever seen in books, high heels on the stone floors made you jump in your seat.

The most beautiful woman you might ever see in your life appeared before you and said your name in a way that had you standing from your seat.

Your face faltered just enough that you hoped she didn't notice. There was something about her that told you she noticed everything.

Fuck me, that's Tashi Duncan.

If you know a thing about tennis (or even just watched the news) you know exactly who this woman is. You remember her more from your childhood but you remember her all the same.

The woman that once held the world by the balls.

She apologised for her husband's absence, that he was busy. It wasn't lost on you that the "husband" she casually referred to was Art Donaldson, US Open champion.

The Donaldson's.

Ah fuck.

Tashi went on the explain that they were wanting to begin lessons for their daughter Lily. You assumed this was the one you could hear running circles around the informal lounge.

"With all due respect, am I not the least qualified person in this home for that?"

You watched a perfectly formed cheekbone lift in what was nearly a smile. Strangely enough, something in the pit of your chest was dying to make her do that again.

There was something about her that demanded to be impressed.

You were no exception to the rule.

"My husband and I have seen some of your matches, we liked what we saw."

How? Your 'matches'- if you can even call them that, were nothing of note. You don't even think faculty bothered to watch them. You weren't quite sure why they'd even recorded them.

A silly part of you began to wonder how they'd even got a hold of them- until you remembered who they were.

The Hermes and Peitho of tennis.

"You did? I always thought of myself as more of a casual player."

"And that's what we liked, we know better than anyone how brutal tennis can become. We want someone to help Lily enjoy the game."

Oh, okay then.

You'd made a quasi-college-career out of purely enjoying the game. You were sure you could foster the same spirit for the six-year-old performing the entire 'Encanto' soundtrack in the other room.

Tashi laid down a tight schedule, Monday to Friday, 3pm to 6pm. You would teach Lily the wonders of the game on the court behind their home.

Their home you'd come to find out was a luxury rental when you'd complemented Tashi on another of the art pieces that'd apparently come with the place.

You'd also come to find out they typically live in hotel rooms, but they'd settled in this area for the time being as Art had a good thing going with a regular playing schedule and a sporting-goods deal.

You nodded along like you could begin to understand a life like that.

As she showed you back to your car (the one you suddenly felt humiliated for her to see you own), she called your name one last time from the doorway.

"You undersell yourself, we'll give you eighty an hour."

She left you choking on your tongue with one foot in the car and the other on an Italian cobblestone.

You were never going to walk or sit another dog again.

Lily was going to win her first Grand Slam by ten if that's what they'd pay you.

As your peeled your car from their turn-around area, you watched a Jeep Wrangler slow as it passed you. You couldn't see through the tint but you just knew it was him.

And you knew he was watching you.

-

The minute you'd told your roommate the situation you'd come into, she'd called bullshit.

A few texts from Tashi's now saved icon and a weird little photo you'd taken from inside the guest bathroom, it'd been enough to convince her.

"Fucking hell, are you God's favourite or something?"

You'd argue you were quite the opposite, she of all people should know. She'd seen some of the states you'd come home in after your other random jobs.

Felt good to be the winner.

Even just once.

In the air of some girlish fascination, she brought up a Youtube video of "Tashi Duncan Career Highlights" courtesy of "tennisguy779."

You'd protested it, rolling your eyes while feigning disinterest. No use, the minute you caught her out the corner of your eye- you were captivated.

It was entirely possible to imagine she hovered above the court, like there was a greater force placing her exactly where she needed to be, exactly when she needed.

It was even easier to believe she was just that good.

As you watched her play, listened to the sounds the game could draw from her- you wondered if this was how she and Art had felt.

Had they curled up in their informal lounge like you were right now? Had Tashi studied your every move meticulously like you assume? Had Art passed comment on your form? Did he think you were any good?

Tennisguy779's lineup changed quickly to "Art Donaldson Career Highlights" and you felt your chest constrict. An inexplicable feeling washed over you.

Like you'd been caught with God's forbidden fruit.

Your roommate had tried to question why you'd effectively flown off the couch, only to be met with a muttered 'goodnight' as you shut the bedroom door behind you.

Thin walls meant you drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic sounds of Art, grunting his way through an ATP Challenger.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

-

The Donaldson's tennis court was down a steep set of stairs, set back into an oasis of lush greenery.

Perfect for a 6-year-old's first lessons.

You didn't know if it was the grand balcony that overlooked the court or the fact a well-manicured Tashi stood atop it, but you felt positively observed.

Lily was in the midst of showing you how she could do a cartwheel (she couldn't) when the voice in the back of your head started echoing a promise of $80/h.

"Alright, lets channel some of that into your elbow."

Give a six-year-old a racquet half the size of her and she's going to blow effective chunks, but at least she has the spirit. Maybe it's her energy, maybe it has been a while since you've been on the court-

The kid's running you ragged.

Coupled with her height, you're spending more time bent over than you are up straight and it's all going to your head. All you can hope is Tashi isn't up there watching you stumble after the ball.

But you're sure there are eyes on your back.

Lily is a quick learner and you work out a tradeoff of one tennis skill for one spinning heel kick (mandatory that you watch).

Roll on 6pm and she's dog-tired, however, she's managed to hit the ball at least twice. Surely that's earned your keep. She lays star-fished on the turf and murmurs something about a piggyback.

You know you're about to earn your keep.

By the top of the staircase, you're more than happy to hand over a Lily-shaped-sack-of-potatoes to Tashi's mother. As you emerge from behind an ornate gargoyle, your suspicions proved correct.

Art Donaldson had been watching your every move.

Left alone on the balcony with him, you're acutely aware of the fact he's standing between you and your exit, and he's just had a full show of you bent over and flitting about his tennis court.

That and you still haven't said so much as 'hello' to the man.

You dwell on it for a moment and then there's that feeling back in the pit of your stomach, like any minute you'll be caught with fruit in hand- in throat.

The Original Sin.

Luckily, Art made the decision for you, crossing the space to shake your hand. If he noticed the way your hand trembled, he didn't seem to mind.

"It's nice to finally meet you."

You wished you had more to say to him, or maybe something more intelligent. Something better than a quiet "and you."

He was the better conversationalist, thankfully. Head motioning to the court, he looked down his nose at you when he spoke.

It should've felt condescending. It didn't.

"How did she go out there?"

"Yeah, really good- not a Disney character I can't name now."

He laughed.

Really laughed, like the joke was better than it was.

Like there was a preening little flutter inside you that said "do it again!"

You shrugged your shoulders like making him happy came naturally as you squinted up at him, as if he was the sun.

"You were watching? You must've seen her picking it up?"

Because he was the expert. Because he is the champion.

He hummed as he nodded, eyes skywards like there might've been something more important behind the clouds.

"Must've been distracted."

Within an instant- his eyes flickered to your own and you were sure he watched them change. He must've seen something he liked, the corner of his lip quirked up before he spoke again.

"Come on, I'll sort your payment and then we'll let you get home."

And for whatever reason, his hand fit perfectly in the small of your back as he lead you inside.

-

And how quickly did you become a strange piece of furniture in the Donaldson's home- in their life?

An ottoman for Tashi to rest her tired feet on.

An abstract piece on the wall for Art to admire when he passes it.

A projection of constellations across the ceiling to keep Lily bright behind the eyes.

At least you belonged- there was no doubt that this was where you belonged.

That wasn't to say your tennis skill had improved any, lesson after lesson you still couldn't wrap your head around why they'd even signed you on, let alone kept you.

"Ok, don't watch that one either- maybe just do what I say and not what I do."

You hadn't nailed a single one, at this point you couldn't blame Lily for skipping around pretending her racquet was a horse.

Wasn't like she'd be learning anything if she was paying attention.

"Ok, here we go just- ok right, when your parents ask how today went, please be kind."

"Your elbow is too low."

It was a miracle you didn't scream.

Art entered the court with a swagger that you could only assume struck fear when he was your opponent.

Right now it struck pure embarrassment and Lily wasn't helping.

"Daddy, she didn't hit a single one!"

"Alright, I don't think daddy needs to know that-"

"Daddy knows, daddy's been watching."

Daddy really needs to stop calling himself that.

Lily and her racquet took off for another tour of The Grand National as Art approached you with quiet determination.

It was like waiting for impact, his eyes never wavered off his daughter as he made towards you. At the last moment, he snapped his attention in your direction- with a smile that should've felt condescending.

It wasn't.

"If your elbow is too low you lose topspin and power."

If you deserved the $80/h you were earning, you might've known that.

As Art stepped up to you, the turn of the planets on their axis slowed down and it could've been entirely possible to believe it was only you two.

And Lily upon her trusty steed.

The gallops of her tennis shoes thinned out as Art placed one hand around your elbow, lifting it higher. His other hand held your waist as he pulled your back flush to his chest.

"Lily, go find grandma."

Then it really was just you two.

Your heart hammered against the shell of your ribcage, blood rushing around your ears as you felt Art's chin perch at your shoulder.

"If your elbow is high enough," His hand lifted it up and you let it stay there. "And your hip is turned."

He didn't have to say it with the gravel in his voice, but he did. He didn't have to hold your hips as he moved them, but he did. He didn't have to stay without so much of an inch between the two of you, but he did.

With one hand in the curve of your waist, he tossed the ball into the air with the other- then he whistled.

Like the obedient thing you didn't know you were, you raised the racquet and sent the ball flying through the air without even blinking.

As the streak of green hit the court and rolled away, you found yourself lying in wait, as if you were waiting for something- your next command?

"Good girl."

There it was.

Under the all consuming effect that Art Donaldson just seemed to have on people, you'd entirely forgotten you were in a position you could be 'caught' in. By his all consuming wife, of all people.

So, you should've moved.

Quite honestly you should've straightened up and cleared your throat and thanked him and told him it was time for you to go home.

You should've moved.

But Art wasn't moving. If anything he was staying purposefully still at your backside.

Obedient thing you seem to be.

"Show me that again?"

So,

You teach Lily the bare basics of tennis for three hours and receive $80 on the hour.

Then Art spends three hours of his spare time teaching you to perfect your swing- in a way that couldn't ever vaguely resemble professional.

A simple transactional arrangement.

Your tennis improves on a slow but sure basis and he gets the most off-court action he's seen since college.

Even if it is just heavy petting on astro-turf.

A hand under the hem of a tennis skirt. A pressing hip against your own. A deep breath as your hair brushes past him.

You figure Art will take what he can get.

And it's never enough to raise alarm. Sure, there's that fluttering in your chest that warns you might get 'caught' but you're never quite sure what one might 'catch' if they found you out.

It's undoubted who that 'one' is though.

The one who holds the cards- holds the throat, maybe.

Tashi, who's presence precedes her perhaps more than her reputation. Even when she isn't there, she's there.

So, when Art's hand lingers too long on the outside of your thigh and you think you can feel it verging into the territory that'll change everything- it's Tashi on your mind.

You're beginning to think your conscience sounds a lot like Tashi.

-

Who are you if not obedient to the Donaldson's?

Chasing Lily around a court.

Adhering to Tashi's every request.

Being Art's fantasy.

Being Art's.

Most of the time, anyway. Three hours a week.

Something to keep him bright behind the eyes, maybe. Something to keep him happy. Something to keep him-

Winning?

He tells you he plays better with you around. The way he says it makes you giggle, a girlish little noise that sort of just slips out. He serves the ball with his eyes on you and, sure enough, it lands smack where he wanted it too.

Everything where he wants it. When he wants it.

Shy and inconsequential touches and glances shared just between you.

Until, well- until they weren't.

"Would you like a coffee?"

Tashi's mother had taken Lily off to bed, leaving you and Art separated by an island. Kitchen island.

He braced both palms against it as he watched you watch the door, wondering if you should cut and run, wondering if someone else might come through it.

Talking yourself out of it. Whatever it might be.

"Yes please."

Even he looked surprised, brows raising an inch as he turned to the Nespresso machine. You took the moment to watch his back, the muscles moving under the cool-dry fabric of his shirt.

You spent all your time pretending not to notice him that actually allowing yourself the chance to study him made you lightheaded.

Had he always looked this captivating?

He broke your focus with a coffee cup, sliding it towards you as he rounded the bench. His eyes didn't even waver off you as he took a sip of his own.

It wasn't lost on you that he managed to tongue foam off the tip of his nose.

This was the longest you'd stuck around after a tennis lesson, longest you'd allowed yourself to be in his presence. You weren't quite sure how big this thing could get.

Your mouth was opening before your brain had decided it was a good idea.

"Mr. Donaldson-"

"Art."

"Uh, Art- I really appreciate the help you've been giving me- uh, you know- with tennis."

He placed his coffee mug down, nodding as he did it. "My pleasure."

Naturally.

That brain of yours was still firing off at a mile a minute. There was a very tiny voice right at the back that said it was up to you how this night would end- you had a choice to make.

Placing your coffee mug beside his, you scanned his face to find him already looking at you. Perhaps the choice was already set.

Maybe it was fate.

All he said was your name, it could've been the way he said it- but your whole body was losing the rigidity it'd formed when he first asked you to stay longer. When he'd made the choice.

Crossing the small gap between you two, Art was careful to keep one hand on the kitchen bench as the other hovered beside you. Not touching you,

Yet.

One step closer and the tip of Art's nose was touching yours. You think you might've been able to smell the coffee off his breath.

It thinned out- leaving you with his sweat. Musk. Art.

A sudden surge of morals overcame you, your voice broke out as a gasp.

"What about Mrs. Donaldson?"

"Actually, it's still Duncan."

You screamed.

Right in his face.

Tashi's voice made you jump out of your skin.

However, Art didn't move. As you turned your head to gauge the way his wife stalked across the kitchen, you felt his nose brush against your cheek.

Tashi retrieved a tall bottle of Pellegrino from the fridge, taking a poignant sip as her eyes flitted between the two of you.

What a fucking sight.

Her husband, eyes shut and face pressed pathetically to their daughter's tennis instructor- his hands itching to close around your waist.

You, young and bleary eyed looking utterly caught. Staring up at her like she might decide your fate.

It took all your strength to find your words.

"I’m not here to teach tennis, am I?”

“No, of course not. You’re frankly terrible at tennis.”

There's the Tashi you were expecting.

Her words should've stung, but they didn't. They couldn't, not when her husband was laying his hands against your back and rubbing soothing circles down the length of your spine.

Not when his lips were mouthing wet kisses along your cheek.

Not when she was right. Spade's a spade.

"Why am I here?"

She snorted, a real dissatisfactory sound- like she hoped you were smarter than that. She was halfway to her bedroom before she cut you loose.

"Careful, he makes that sound before he cums."

-

And he had, just like she'd said.

Art had cum in his shorts, pressed up against your thigh with his face still smushed against your own.

And you'd taken it, obedience in spades.

You'd stood there and let him hump your leg like a bad dog and you'd even pat his head and whispered kind words in his ear after the mess he'd made.

Then you slipped out the front door to your car and you'd pretended not to notice that there were two bedroom lights on upstairs.

You hadn't even divulged the freaky details to your roommate when you got home.

But the showerhead knew all about them.

Visions of Art on the clouds of steam- replayed in your head the sounds he'd made right in your ear.

How he'd whimpered your name when he splashed his boxers like a fucking teenager.

It was no surprise you dreamt of him.

You even showed up next day, valiantly. You didn't run for the hills or even straight to a tabloid about how weird the Donaldson's really were.

And maybe that's why you hadn't told your roommate either.

Because telling someone what Tashi allowed? What Art liked?

That'd mean you'd have to admit your dirty little secret.

You loved it.

When you showed up, something was different. No usual chatter in the house, no shoes by the front door. You checked out the front window to see what you'd missed when you arrived.

Tashi's car was gone.

"She's taken her mom and Lily to the ballet."

At least you didn't scream this time.

You were lucky your back was to him, lest he see the self-righteous little smile that broke when the words settled.

"Oh, ok."

"I'll see you on the court."

Oh, ok.

Lest he see the disappointment that took over.

Following him close behind, you didn't know why you were effectively surprised that he still wanted to continue with your lessons. You'd half expected- hoped, he'd bend you over the kitchen island.

Tennis was fun too, you guess.

Thinking about it, something that bold didn't seem the style of the man who'd nearly blacked out rubbing up on you. Beckoning you onto the tennis court with two fingers and a wry smile did, however.

You fell into your usual position, hip turned and elbow curved on your side of the court. You waited for him to appear behind you, chest melding into the curve of your back.

It never came.

Art took long strides towards the net, vaulting it in one smooth motion. He ended up parallel to you, waiting with a ball and racquet in either hand.

The smile had left his face, a rather blank expression taking over as he sized you up. And there was that fear- knowing what it felt like to be on the wrong side of him.

This was going to hurt.

From the moment he pressed the ball to the neck of his racquet, it was all over. Your feet were never in one place for more than a second, your arms burned above you, your head permanently on a swivel.

Art didn't look like he'd broken more than a sweat.

You knew he had, you could see it in the neck of his shirt. But he didn't look it.

He looked calm, he looked in control, he looked-

Like he was enjoying himself.

For every rally that you managed, you thought you saw an inkling of pride set in his features.

For every serve that you missed, you knew you saw unbridled lust.

Not a point scored in your favour, you hit the ball towards him one last time before you collapsed to the turf. Flat on your back, reminiscent of your first lesson here.

You watched the clouds shift over your head, listening to your pulse thick and fast in your ears. Just underneath it, you could hear footfalls approaching.

No hurry, but impending.

Soon, the sun above you was eclipsed by Art Donaldson. His golden hair shone with the halo of light behind it.

Now this was God's favourite.

"You can't be giving up this easily?"

Forcing a laugh, you threw your arm up and over your eyes. "Wanna bet?"

Turns out he did- turns out Art struggled to do anything but win.

Somehow, you found it within yourself to stand back up. This time it was only a practice, you weren't brave enough to face off against him another round.

This was more your speed.

The hand that wasn't holding your elbow was curving around your front, the pleats of your tennis skirt lifting over his fingers. You felt a warm hand slowly moving across the front of your underwear.

Two fingers migrated south, pressing against the seam of you- he must've felt the pure heat radiating beneath his fingertips.

Turning your head even an inch, you found the curve of his nose pressing into your cheek.

"I didn't give up."

He hummed, the vibration rolled across your shoulders.

"Mmm, you didn't."

The hand sans-racquet dropped between your thighs to press his palm into your cunt. It was Art who flexed your fingers and cupped it.

"Where's my prize?"

There was no trophy, no podium, no medal.

But there was Art between your legs, slinging a knee over each shoulder like he might've been the real winner.

You'd never been inside the 'changing shed' behind the court, of course it was nicer than your actual home.

Your head made contact with the hard wood behind you, bench digging into your ass as you felt a hot mouth moving against the seat of your underwear.

Running your fingers through his hair, your gripped the ends of it- tugging him closer until you felt the flat of his tongue through the thin fabric.

Needy fingers tugged the ruined garment down your thighs, tucking him into the pocket of his shorts. You knew all too well that you'd never see them again.

You were sure Art would be seeing a lot of them.

His tongue ran up the split, one long stroke before you felt the curve of his nose press to your clit. The ridge of it moved as his tongue retreated back to your entrance.

With everything he had.

Your eyes had been rolling back in your head as you arched your back, the moment you were able to find a semblance of control- your gaze fell before you.

Naturally, Art was already looking up at you. Two hands splayed across each side of your hips as he pulled back to wrap his lips around your clit.

You couldn't help the hazy little smile on your face as you watched his eyes.

Utterly devotional.

The more you tugged on his hair, the hungrier he seemed. Pulling from the root seemed to spur him on, seemed to tell him 'good job' and he was responsive.

His tongue flicked beneath your clit, pressing it to his upper lip as he brought two fingers to your entrance. He stroked a couple times, making your hips twitch against him, before he sunk in to the last knuckle.

Turns out Art had a style about him. One he brought to the tennis court and, seemingly, to the floor of his changing shed.

The style was calculated.

Every move he made was engineered to get something out of you- a reaction, a whimper, a twitch. He was doing what he did best.

Playing a game.

Art struggled to do anything but win.

"Fuck- Mr. Donaldson."

"Art."

Even muffled against your cunt, you were good at following his orders. Even more so when he was the decider of your imminent orgasm.

You threaded your fingers in the sides of his hair, pulling his face flush against you so you could ride his mouth. Taking every last thing from him you could.

It drew the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard, straight out of his chest and hit you straight at your core. The burning coil tight within your stomach was unraveling quickly.

You heard the murmurings of words, among the blood rushing in your ears. Easing up just enough, you let him pull back to speak.

"Tell me this feels good, please."

Your chest thumped, the sight of Art helpless between your legs was one thing. Hearing him beg?

You might black out.

"Art- you feel so fucking good," Dragging him right back where you needed him, the tip of his tongue drove against your clit. "You're gonna' make me cum."

He whined.

A heady drawn-out sound that quite literally sent you over the edge. Your hips lifted off the bench, the heel of your foot digging into his back and making his whine turn into a whimper.

Your orgasm broke you apart until it felt like white-hot flame licking up your sides. Of course, Art never relented, drinking in everything you could give him- literally.

The moment you felt the peak begin to subside, the urge was ramping right back up. Like he knew what he was doing, his eyes locked back onto yours as he sucked at your clit.

He was going for gold.

A quick second orgasm hit, seemingly out of nowhere. Your thighs clenched around Art's head, his hands coming to each of them.

You relaxed yourself a bit, feeling like it might be too much- until you felt him pressing your thighs even harder to either of his ears.

Oh, ok.

Art Donaldson knew what he liked.

You physically had to push him off you, watching him fall back on his outstretched palms as you let yourself breathe for what felt like the first time.

Wet eyes, wet chin, chest rising and falling like he'd run a marathon- Art sat sprawled out before you like he'd stumbled upon an alter (he had).

Breathless, you gestured towards him. Your hand dropped a little as your eyes fell between his legs, wordlessly offering a deal.

A deuce.

His cheeks flushed, more so than they already were. His eyes fell an infinitesimal amount before he spoke up.

"Uh- I already have."

Of course he had. He makes that sound before he cums.

Instead, you heard him shuffle back onto his knees as he all but crawled towards you. He draped his upper half into your lap, head resting against the soft cotton of your skirt.

Coming off the other side of a high, the reality of your situation began to settle for you. Why they'd really called you here- what purpose you really served.

All you could do was gently stroke a hand across Art's head, feeling him go limp against you. Boneless, but not spineless.

He must've known you were going to speak, he must've heard the intake of breath or just felt you shift. He cut you to the chase- beat you to the punchline.

Art nuzzled his face further into your lap as you felt him mumble against your thigh.

"I can't lose- you."

[snekdood]

the problem with conservatives is they think you challenging their beliefs is somehow oppressing them

[natalievoncatte]

3. Dress

Kara wore dresses. Lena had seen her wearing sundresses and skirts and even a cocktail dress once, and of course she’d worn a dress at the wedding and look very

(Painfully)

pretty

(Gorgeous)

in it.

So it wasn’t as if Lena had never seen her in a dress before. Still, if you asked Lena to picture Kara in her head, Lena would imagine her best friend in khaki pants that hugged her hips and displayed the impressive girth of her thighs, and of course the buns of steel. She would further visualize Kara wearing a plaid button-down tucked into a broad belt that emphasized the inhumanly flat plane or her muscular belly or the broad set of her block shoulders.

(If she didn’t visualize her wearing nothing at all)

Dresses simply didn’t seem to be her thing. She just felt right when she was a little… masc, one might say. Kara had a way about her, a swagger that worked with the belts and a habit of setting her arms with her hands in her hips that emphasized her physique.

Lena sometimes wondered how a pair of glasses had actually fooled her.

For the last eight weeks or so, Lena had been living in Kara’s apartment, sleeping on the couch in a weird state of limbo after she sold her penthouse. They had decided that Lena would soon be moving, but not where or when. Obviously she’d stay close -her life was here now, after all- but she wanted a change.

In a way, Lena was following in Kara’s footsteps, trying to relate to the world as her whole self. She’d come upon the idea of using a sort of checklist- reinventing herself with the same ruthless efficiency she brought to the lab and the boardroom. That was one part of herself that needed to go.

Lena’s whole life was constructed. She did everything she for a purpose, and that purpose no longer meant anything anymore. There was no longer a Lex or a Lillian to outmaneuver, no longer a board to persuade or dominate. She was running the Foundation, but from her laptop, and had hired Sam to handle the financials. She wasn’t even meeting with benefactors; she had people for that. Her main work focus now was a science education program for elementary school girls.

It was so liberating, not having to be the badass boardroom bitch. She’s stopped straightening her hair, abandoned her contacts in favor of chunky glasses, and, in a colossal shock to everyone, Kara included, stopped dyeing her hair black, a habit she’d picked up and kept because it pleased Lillian and kept up because stopping would be annoying.

She had even worn sweatpants. In public. Everyone in her family had been gifting her goofy clothes to wear; she was currently swaddled in a “Why Hex a Little When you Can Hexalotl” t-shirt that Kara had regifted, originally from Nia.

That was when Kara walked out of her bedroom area of the loft and Lena’s brain spun around and smacked against the front of her skull.

Kara was dressed to the nines in a black a-frame halter top mini dress that bared her shoulders and magnificent back, and she’d matched it with dark eye shadow and plum lipstick that was striking against her sun-kissed skin, and a pair of strappy high heels.

“Hey,” she said, sounding glum.

“Where are you off to?” Lena said, trying not to add the mental dressed like that.

“A date,” Kara sighed.

Lena kept her face even, despite the fact that her mind had just ripped in half. She was desperate to know why Kara sounded so glum, and also flat fucking terrified.

The idea of Kara going on a date horrified her. It made her instantly sick with worry -not just for Kara which was honestly a little silly- but because… because…

Lena was suddenly very aware that she didn’t want Kara to date. At all.

(Because she should be dating me)

Which sucked, because Kara was straight, because there was a god and he hated Lena Kieran Luthor and her accursed blood. That had to be why Lena was cursed to suffer a crush on

(be madly in love with)

the perfect girl who came from the sky.

“You look lovely,” said Lena. “Have fun.”

Kara blushed for a moment, then Looked at Lena a little oddly, a little forlorn.

“I’ll text you.”

Okay.

Kara left, and Lena was alone in Kara’s

(their)

loft with just herself and Zillow open on her laptop.

Lena browsed for a while, but none of the places looked right. They were all as if HGTV had puked onto an old house. The minimalism and open concepts reminded her too much of her Old Life. She wanted quirky. She wanted unique. She wanted a place that reflected who Lena really was.

Jesus H Christ, was this a mid life crisis? She wasn’t that old.

Lena was startled out of her reverie when the door swung open and Kara stormed in, slammed it shut, and kicked off her shoes, storming barefoot across the loft.

“Fucking asshole,” said Kara.

Lena blinked, stunned by the profanity, only to be filled with outrage.

“Kara? What happened?”

“This is the last time I let someone at work set me up on a date. I didn’t even want to go, Alex badgered me into it.”

Lena put her computer aside. Kara grabbed a pair of beers from the fridge and popped the lids with her thumbs as she sat down, which was literally one of the hottest things she did on a regular basis. She offered Lena one and took a pull on her own.

“He was a jerk,” said Kara. “I tried asking him whether a hot dog is a sandwich, and he just said ‘who cares’.”

“Kara, a hot dog is a sandwich. We’ve been through this.”

Kara glared at her. “I’m not doing this again, Lena. Not until you admit that a burrito is a sandwich.”

Lena rolled her eyes.

“The last straw was when he told me I shouldn't work out so much. He said my muscles make me look like a man."

Lena blinked. "Where did your coworkers find this jerk?"

"Accounting. He wouldn't shut up about his finance degree. He insisted on paying for everything, too. Oh, and he told me I eat too much! All I did was order some appetizers!"

Lena drained her beer and grabbed another. She listened patiently as Kara vented about this guy and the other various jerks she'd gone one date with.

"I'm doomed, Lena. Every guy is a dick and insecure around me."

At around this time, she finished beer five. Lena nodded.

“Even if I think it’s working I lose the spark. Like when James finally wanted to go out with me and I was just like ‘nah.’”

“James… was nah for me too,” said Lena.

(Honestly, Kara, you should try dating girls.)

“Wait,” said Kara, “What?”

Oh.

She said that one out loud.

Shit.

“Um,” Lena said, lamely panicking, “I um, that was a joke, I meant… well it… worked out for your sister?”

Kara gaped at her.

Lena swallowed hard. “Would you believe it sounded funny in my head?”

“Have you… ever dated girls?” said Kara.

Lena’s stomach almost shot out of her throat. She put her most recent beer down to keep it from sloshing as her hands shook. She looked at Kara, who looked back, expectant… and hopeful?

“Yes,” Lena admitted. “Jack was the only man. I ever dated except James, but there have been women, too. Not that many. Despite my reputation I was never that social.”

“Who?” Kara asked, immediately.

Lena licked her lips. “Andrea.”

Kara stared. “Andrea? Andrea Rojas? Really?”

“It was a teen thing that ended in our eariy twenties, but it was serious. So do you remember how I told you I knew Roulette from boarding school?”

Kara nodded.

“Well, I knew her, um, biblically.”

Kara snorted. “No way. Who else?”

Lena smiled. At least she wasn’t being weird about it.”

“You’re not saying no to trying it yourself,” said Lena.

Kara looked away.

“I…”

She took a drink of beer.

“There are no queer people on Krypton, Lena. There weren’t, I guess I should say.”

The pain in Kara’s voice made Lena shift closer, set aside her drink and curl a hand softly around her arm.

“You don’t have to tell me this if it hurts.”

Kara shook her head. “I… my culture would not allow anything, uh, gay. Or homosexual. Like we literally don’t even have a word for it, it’s so foreign to us. We were taught that the only acceptable pairing was for the best possible offspring. Most of my people didn’t have sex at all, it was all artificial. My aunt and uncle were some who did, they had Clark naturally.”

“So Kryptonians can’t be gay?”

Lena’s heart sank.

“I didn’t think so, but, there was this girl once and she made me feel something I never felt before… and seeing her made all of my other feelings feel different. After I saw her I suddenly felt like I was just going after guys because I was supposed to. Even when I was with Mon-El I had this feeling that… I mean it felt good and I liked being able to cut loose but it felt like…”

Lena waited, not wanting to push her.

“Frankly, it felt like using him as a sex toy. Nothing else in our relationship really felt that deep. Even when he came back and went to Argo with me, I was more happy about my mother seeing me continue our family line than I was about him actually being with me. The second time he left I almost felt relieved.”

“That’s a lot, Kara. I had no idea.”

“I had no idea you liked girls either,” said Kara.

“I really do,” Lena admitted. “Who was she, this girl that stole your heart? High school crush?”

“No,” said Kara. “I met her as Supergirl. The first time I ever saw her, I saved her.”

“Very romantic.”

Kara sighed. “She was the prettiest. She’s so soft, so inviting, and whenever she looks at me I feel like she’s staring right through me, seeing everything in a good way. She’s smart and kind and brave and she has the prettiest blue-green eyes and one of them is a little more blue and the other is a little more green.”

Lena felt the blood drain from her face as her hand shook. Kara smiled wistfully.

“I was always too scared to say anything. I didn’t think she’d ever want me the way I want her.”

Lena looked up and met Kara’s gaze.

“I want more than to not be alone,” said Kara. “I want to be understood. I want to be with someone but I want to be together with someone I can be alone with. Somebody who gets me, who likes what I like, who takes joy in sharing the things we love. Who looks really cute in my clothes. Especially the hexalotl shirt.”

Lena blinked.

“Oh.”

(Oh)

“I like all that stuff but also blondes with big muscles who fly.”

Kara lunged across the couch and had Lena’s arms in her grip, and suddenly was lying on top of her, in that dress. Lena stared up at her.

“I wonder who we know who fits that description,” said Kara.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Kara smirked and leaned down, bringing her lips to Lena’s, and Lena honest to god moaned into her mouth as the kiss deepened, panting with excitement. As if her intentions weren’t obvious, Lena ground herself against Kara, working her thigh between her legs.

“I thought you were straight,” Kara blurted out.

“As spaghetti,” said Lena.

“What?” Kara blinked.

“I’ll explain later. As great as that dress looks on you, darling, it’d look better on the floor.”

[honeyshiddendesire]

Office Secrets

Chapter One: Wine Spills and Bright Ideas

Summary: You hated office parties but when your boss personally invites you then the fun and long list of secrets begin. 

Characters: CEO! Trafalgar Law x EMPLOYEE! Reader

Warnings: 18+ !! flirting! Law catches reader in undies! Mentions of masturbation and sex! Reader can’t stand her coworkers! FEMALE reader! 

Masterlist

You were the employee who kept to herself, you ate alone, kept the small talk, if any, to a minimum, hell you even skipped out on all the office parties. You tried to stay low on everybody’s radar because despite working in the same office for a number of years you didn’t want these people to be anything more than just coworkers. Friends? In the workplace? Yeah you’d rather smash your own head in then have these people know anything about you. You only needed this place for the big ass checks and you wanted to keep it that way. So for years you avoided every party that went on in your office, that was until your boss personally asked. 

You never spoke to him up close, his assistant Bepo, was always the one that handled things around the office most of the time so it shocked you when on your way out one day that he called your name. 

“Excuse me Y/N.” His deep voice made you freeze, the hair on your neck standing up as you slowly turned around. Your brain racing in different theories of why he would call your name, the fact that he even knew it made you nauseous. “Uh…yes sir. How can I help you?” You reply as you adjust your glasses to look up at him. 

“The party tonight.” He says simply not continuing and you just raise a brow. You watch his tattooed hands go to adjust his black tie and it makes your heart skip a beat, you never seen them so up close before. The word D E A T H  was on his fingers in black ink along with a weird symbol but you didn’t want him to catch you staring for too long or he might notice the drool coming out of your mouth. 

Ugh do men even understand how hot the tie thing is let alone adding some tattoos into the mix or maybe they do it on purpose as a trap. 

“Yes?” Your tone was an obvious question that made him give a small smirk. “I noticed they’re not your cup of tea but…” He pauses to look around, as if he was making sure the both of you were alone before he leaned down a bit toward you, his voice lower as he spoke again. “I would love to see you there.” You really didn’t want to go but with a man as handsome as him leaning down into your personal space with that charming smirk of his, the strong powerful scent of his cologne invading your nose, who were you to refuse. 

That’s how you found yourself currently standing in front of the mirror contemplating your choice in attire, almost regretting never going to one of these parties cause you had no idea what to wear. You wore a long loose blue sweater dress, blacked heeled boots with your hair slicked back into a ponytail. You could’ve cinched your waist with a belt but clothes showing off your curves wasn’t much of your speed, instead you left the sexy for underneath. You had quite the guilty pleasure when it comes to all things lingerie, you always took out some of each check just to splurge on a couple nice sets. No one ever got to see them but whenever you were feeling anxious about going to certain events you gave yourself a nice confidence boost with some pretty pieces underneath. 

So taking a deep breath you said fuck it and grabbed your purse, you were already running late so there was no point in changing now that you were already dressed. It wasn’t long to get to your job, that was always a plus in your eyes. Sighing as you parked into your usual spot, you rolled your eyes at the fact that your smoking hot boss was able to sway your decision so quickly. Why the hell did he even want you there so bad? 

“Fuck my life.” You mumble as you get out of your car and head into your office, glad that you at least were by yourself for a short moment on the elevator ride up. The sound of awful music playing loudly along with chatter among all your coworkers was heard the second the doors opened up making you mentally groan. You walked out with your eyes glancing around to spot a drink or something to wash down your growing nausea that this damn party was causing. You found the table that was full of soft drinks and food but none of it caught your eye like the bottle of moscato that was almost empty. Pouring the rest of the moscato it barely filled your glass which made you frown until you heard that same unmistakable voice speak to you.

“I’m sorry I should’ve brought more, I didn’t realize there was someone else who enjoyed moscato like I do.” Your boss observed with a tone of amusement from behind you that made you look in his direction. “Oh sir, it's not a problem at all.” You smile politely as you stare into those charming stormy grey eyes of his. 

“I’m glad to see you here.” Your boss smirked at your shocked expression and the way you fidgeted with your glass in your hands. “Thank you sir.”  You never had an issue with staring people in the eyes until your boss started speaking to you. One of his slender tattooed hands went up to run his fingers back in his hair, your eyes unable to look away from him, the glint of his gold earrings shining brightly making you wonder how they moved when he was railing someone in bed. Specifically you- but you were way too shy to ever make the first move when it came to that sort of thing. 

“You look beautiful.” He says as you take a sip of your wine nearly making you choke on the beverage. You miss how he licks his lips as you go to reach for a napkin to wipe your face, his mind racing with ravenous thoughts of you. “Sorry- thank you sir.” You mumble out awkwardly as you throw out the napkin in the can beside you. “So I have to ask…What usually happens at these office parties anyways?” 

You smile when you notice his grey eyes roll like beautiful storm clouds as he lets out a sigh, “Nothing besides me dying of boredom.” His voice whispered as he scanned the room and his admittance made your heart race with excitement. “Ah~ so I’m not the only one who hates these things.” You joke and he only nods. 

“The difference between you and me is that I have to attend. My father always said it was good for business if the owner shows a different side of himself to his employees.” Your boss tells you, his tone irritated but still holding amusement which made you laugh. Leaning over a bit to keep the conversation just between the two of you, “Okay so tell me why I had to come here if I’m not the CEO like you.” Your boss only chuckles as he once again gets closer. 

“Because if I had to suffer alone one more time at these stupid parties I’ll end up on the news.” His joke makes you laugh louder than you expect which catches the eyes of some of your female coworkers who instantly give you dirty looks when they notice the hot boss talking with you. “Oh my god seriously? I’m just your insurance policy so you don’t burn the place down huh?” You joke back and he nods his head, a smirk on his face as he looks down at you. “Keep that between us okay? Shh people are coming over.” He says making you frown as you turn your head to spot the office birds flying over. 

“Oh my goodness Y/N I never thought I’d live to see the day you actually attend something.” The woman known as Sharon says, ugh that woman’s god forsaken voice could make paint peel in a second. “So anyways what’s so funny. I love a good joke.” 

“Wasn’t anything worth repeating.” Your boss says making you inwardly cheer at your shared secret. “How are you enjoying yourself Sharon?” He asks and you can’t help but notice how his body tenses up, his voice losing the amusement that he showed you just moments ago. 

“I’m having a great time Mr. Law, I just love~ how you always attend.” She tells him and his mouth goes in a tight line, a vein in his forehead threatening to pop at her comment. “Well it is my office. Can’t leave you all to yourselves now can I.” Sharon must have thought he was trying to be funny because she laughs like a mad woman, her arm going out to slap yours and in the process knocking her glass of wine all over you. Red fucking wine might I add. 

“Fuck!” You say out of pure natural reaction feeling the cold wine soak your whole front. 

“Goodness I’m so sorry I’m such a clutz sometimes. You should really go take care of that, you don’t want to ruin that fun sweater you’re wearing.” Sharon says with a sassy tone, the use of the word fun clearly a jab at your attire. 

Fucking bitch, you found yourself thinking but unfortunately you just had to smile. “Yeah I’ll go do that no problem. You should probably take it easy though or everyone might get the impression that you’re a messy drunk.” You bite out with a fake smile as you head to the ladies room, missing the way your boss has to hold in his laugh at your remark. You instantly flooded Law’s thoughts the second you walked away, the woman yapping away in front of him but he couldn’t care less. From behind him he heard some other females talking about how annoying they thought you were, or how you thought you were too good to ever attend these sorts of things and that you deserved Sharon’s wine all over you.  It was Sharon making a joke about you that had his thoughts stop in their tracks. 

“Excuse me?” Law said, making Sharon halt her words with wide eyes. “Sir I was just joking, it’s just harmless hazing. It was only a little bit of wine.” Law’s breath came out sharp as his eyes lowered into a glare that made her blood run cold. “I didn’t realize I hired someone so disrespectful in my company.” He snaps as his fists ball up in his pockets, his eyes watching you go down the hallway towards the bathrooms in the back. 

Heading into the bathroom you peel off your dress angrily shoving it into the sink and under some cold water. That bitch must’ve just poured herself a full glass since there was so much on the front of your dress. You just bought the damn thing and you highly doubt that it would be fixed, “Dammit.” You used your nails to scrub against the fabric completely stopping when you heard the door, which you thought you locked, suddenly open. 

“Y/N I wanted to ask-oh uh.” Law, your boss immediately paused as he saw you bent over the sink with your dress off trying to get the wine stain out. He knew you would be trying to get it out; he just never expected you to take the whole dress off leaving you in that lacy embroidery you were currently wearing. His eyes were unable to look away at the different color flowers that did nothing to hide your nipples and your pussy, he could tell the lingerie was for sex appeal definitely not for coverage. The garter on your mid section connected to leg rings that squished your soft thighs and suddenly he was never more jealous of a piece of fabric in his life like he was now.  

“Sir!” You shouted his name like three times till your voice had to get louder, his beautiful grays finally looking back up at you in shock. “This is a lawsuit, you know.” You say to him putting a hand on your hip, no point covering up since he already got a good eyeful of all your special bits. “Shit! Shit - I’m sorry, you’re right.” He panics but for some reason his body won’t seem to turn away, his eyes dropping down to look at you over one more time. A curse coming out of his mouth in a raspy breath that made you smirk as you called out to him again. His body finally cooperates as he turns to face the door but doesn’t leave, his face heating as his brain recalls everything over at superspeed. “I had to ask you a question but- are the women here usually so catty with you?” 

Law’s question had your brows raise before your face dropped into a frown, your hands going to shut off the water with a sigh. “Yeah but I don’t give a fuck. They try to see who can get under my skin but all this place is to me is a fat ass check.”

“I see.” Law says making you mumble a ‘sorry’ but he only chuckles, “Why be sorry I should be the one to apologize? I can understand now why you hate these things.” You throw on your dress after you ring it out as best as you can but still some of the wine remains. You walk towards the man, the sound of your heels making Law stand up taller at the sound.

 “So Mr. Law you let me in on your little secret of hating office parties so maybe we can add this ordeal onto the growing list huh?” You joke as you go to step in front of him, leaning in close, his tanned cheeks heating up as you smile at him. “Sorry again. It seems like I owe you a raise.” 

“HA! If that’s your way of trying not to get me to sue for sexual harassment then it’s a deal but-I’m still heading home. I enjoyed our banter though  sir. I must say I’m shocked you noticed me despite my skills at trying to stay off the radar.” You say as he opens the bathroom door for you, both walking down the hallway back toward the office. “Actually it’s because you try so hard to remain unnoticed that I noticed you.” He smirks and it makes you fidget a bit as he stares down at you. “Oh I see nothing gets by you then. I’ll see you next week sir.” He just nods and you turn quickly to grab your purse off your desk and head out of this dreadful place, your boss’ eyes staring you down as you walk away. 

The image of you in that beautiful lace was making his body hot, and if he so happened to think about you in it while he fisted his cock between his hands later on then that was his business. It’s not like you needed to know that as he laid in bed that whole weekend that the thoughts of you only grew stronger, or that he pictured what would’ve happened if he bent you over the bathroom sink. The filthy thought of just coming up behind you to push those lacy panties to the side as he shoved his long cock into your dripping pussy made him groan into his elbow. Thinking of one of his tattooed hands having to cover your mouth that would hopefully spill out lustful moans, picturing himself having to look over your shoulder to stare at your fucked out expression in the bathroom mirror. The way you’d moan out for him as he shoves a few fingers into your drooling mouth as he runs kisses along your neck with his hips moving at a rushed pace so neither of you would get caught. 

“Fuck-” Law finally groaned deeply as he came all over his black silk sheets, rolling his eyes at having to change them now but the carnal desires were just to powerful. The whole weekend was tortuous for him and here he was at 5 in the morning on a Monday needing a shower before work. At this rate he’ll be running late to his own business because of you and that only made him want to see you more. Dressing in his nicest all black suit he headed to the office the thought of you still plagued his mind. Now as he drove his fancy sports car he started to picture you riding him in the backseat making the tinted windows all steamy.  

“Fuck my life.” Law grumbles as he heads up the elevator, shock washing over him as he noticed you were the first one there. That was rare, usually you showed right on time so you wouldn’t be spotted. “Y/N I see you’re here early.” 

The sound of your boss making you go still, your cheeks growing warm as your brain replayed all the dirty fantasies that you came up with over the weekend. Turning in your desk chair you looked at him walking over toward you, that same amused smirk on his face just like at the office party. “Sorry sir, I hope that’s alright. I realized after going home that I still had something to add to my pitch for the meeting later.” Your honesty made Law groan as he ran a hand over his face. “Shit I might have to make you my second assistant because I forgot all about that.” He groaned as he leaned against your desk and you couldn’t help but smile at him being so relaxed whenever he was around you. Law always made sure to look so polished and strict around everyone but here he was letting his walls down with you for some reason.

“It must be rough with Bepo on vacation. He seems good at his job.” You say as you cross your legs, sitting back in your chair. You weren’t the most flirtatious woman around but there was no way you could miss the way Law’s eyes immediately dropped to your legs. His stormy eyes following up from your sexy stilettos all the way to the hem of your skirt, swallowing the lump that he suddenly felt in his throat. He couldn’t help but wonder if you had on another lingerie set, hidden from view and man was it getting hard to breath all of a sudden.

 “Mr. Law if you keep staring at me like that then people will think I earned that raise in some unsavory ways.” You smiled as you noticed his eyes snap up to your face. 

“Yes…that would be quite -unfortunate wouldn’t it.” He comes to mess with his tie as he licks his lips before giving you that damn smirk of his. “I guess if those unsavory things were to happen we’ll just have to add it to our list of little secrets don’t you think.” His words had your whole bravado shattered just as you thought you had him where you wanted him, he proved that he was a man always with a plan. Hearing the elevator ding Law stood up from your desk just before the door opened, saving the both of you from prying eyes. 

“Good morning Mr. Law.” The birds squealed out happily making him wave a hand, “Morning ladies.” Giving them a small wave and nod he turned to you giving you a charming wink before heading to his office across from you. You watched the man stroll to his office with his earlier statement in the forefront of your brain. Did he want to fuck me? Your face warm with the thought of him bending you over his desk made you take a deep breath to settle yourself. 

Hours passed before it was time for the meeting where you would be making your first big pitch. The project was a banquet to raise money for children who don’t know what it is to celebrate their birthdays because they don’t have the money that would allow them to do so.  Since it was the company's 30th anniversary coming up you thought it was the perfect time to finally speak your mind and throw in some ideas of your own. Instead of the company getting the gifts you figured it would be nice to give back you just hoped your boss would think so as well. 

Gathering your stuff you head into the meeting room, your anxiety growing and bringing the nauseous you tend to feel with it. This would be the first time you ever stood up in front of these fuckers and you were not happy about it, you wish you could just come up with the idea and tell him privately but nope. Every month there would be this project meeting where everyone would lay out their ideas at that moment. Now knowing that he dislikes these people coming to him all the time though it made sense, one meeting every month was better instead of everyone popping into his office all hours of the day. 

“Okay everyone, who would like to go first.” Law said as he sat at the head of the table leaning back in his chair, his face stern as he scanned the room until his eyes got to you where the corner of his mouth lifted a bit. Before you could raise your hand though Cheryl beat you to the punch, standing quickly before Law could even tell her too. 

“I had this super interesting idea if I may Mr. Law!” She squeals and Law only sighs as he clasps his hands on the table, “Well seeing as you already stood up.” There was an underlying irritation to his voice that she clearly didn’t catch and you only smiled down at the table holding in your laugh that threatened to spill. 

“Animals.” She says and puts her arms out to her side like she just pitched a million dollar idea. You couldn’t hold it in seeing her face with a cheesy grin that quickly dropped hearing you laugh. You tried hiding it with a cough but she just put her hands on her hips and gave you an eye roll. “What’s so funny Y/N? I doubt you have a better idea.” 

“Sorry my bad.” You say not wanting to laugh at her pitch; it was just her mannerisms that had you lose it. Law leaned forward now, his eyes looking at you intensely. “Now Y/N I like to treat my company as a family so I won’t tolerate any rude behavior so please why not share your pitch for the rest of us.” He was trying to sound stern and strict but he couldn’t hide that glint in his concrete eyes. Your eyes widened as you looked at the man giving you a scolding, your body heating up under his intense gaze and as much as you wanted to stay focused you just couldn’t help your mind from wandering. 

“Okay, as great as animals are- we just held a banquet for them a month ago to save animals from deforestation. It was a big hit but I was thinking of the children this time around.” You say standing up and walking over to the projector to insert your usb, your presentation popping up on the screen. “I was thinking with the company’s 30th birthday coming up that we could celebrate by holding a banquet to gather donations to send all kinds of gifts to kids for their birthdays.” 

“How is that better than animals exactly?” Cheryl spat out and you sighed. “I never said either or is better I was just saying that we already did a fundraiser for the animals these past two banquets. The banquet held for saving Koalas and the one for deforestation were both super big hits so I just thought maybe we could try something different.” You further explain and she just rolls her eyes, Amber doing the same when they locked eyes. 

“I just think since you’ve never really done much here that you should just wait and let the rest of us come up with the ideas like we usually do. What do you even do here?” Amber says and you just give her a ‘are you for real’ look that makes her huff. 

“I’ve been working here longer than the both of you and I do the same job you all do. That means I’ve seen endless fundraisers for animals, all of which are great but there’s nothing wrong with some new ideas.” You state back before carrying on, “Anyways- I think we could set up a whole website where you list a child’s name, age and things that they like along with your address and someone anywhere in the world can choose what and how much they want to send. As a company you already have so many people who can donate thousands and that would jump start the whole program. Just think of schools and parents being able to give every child a birthday gift and bringing joy that's immeasurable just over one present to make them feel special. Each gift would be sent out before the child’s birthday to ensure they have at least something to open along with a card with a special note for them to hold onto years to come.”  

You flip through all the slides and mock ups of the website that you came up with along with possible ads that you could put on different platforms to make the whole thing possible. You had thought of everything, there was no loophole, or loose end that you left and it had everyone stunned. You may have kept quiet for years but there was a reason, when an idea was too good you never wanted to spoil it by sharing it too early. After you finished speaking you waited for them all to vote like they usually did but Law just stood up clapping his hands for you. 

“Outstanding! Absolutely incredible. This is life changing. Imagine how one gift could drastically change the hope for a child who never thought someone cared. Think about what they could achieve.” 

“It’s just a dumb birthday gift.” Amber mumbles, pissed since she’s usually the one that makes the winning pitch in these meetings. 

Law held out a hand to silence her, “Enough. It’s more than a gift, it’s a symbol that people care, that despite the circumstances you live in there’s still something for you in this world. I love it. We need to work on this as soon as possible. I’ll call my investors, we need vendors and caterers, I’ll leave those to you Y/N. Anything she needs, all of you help her, it’s her idea so she’s the lead on this. No more nonsense fights and childish behaviour. Break for lunch first everyone. Great work Y/N. I’d like to have a word alone with you in my office, please.” As everyone leaves you unplug your usb and put it in your pocket to fix your papers before following your boss to his office.

Once in his modern designed office, you gasp as you notice the view of the brightly lit city shining like something out of a movie. “I must say you’ve been holding out on me Y/N.” Your boss leans down to whisper in your ear making you shiver as he catches you off guard. “I’m glad to see that your brain matches that beautiful face of yours.” His voice drips with seduction that threatens you to partake upon but all you do is turn your face to his with a sly smile. 

“I’m glad you think so sir.” His eyes glanced down to your lips before he backed away to lean against the front of his desk. “Y/N I have a secret I’d like to add to our list if that’s alright with you.” Smiling you give a nod making him continue, his tattooed hand going to fidget with his tie, not missing how your eyes watched with lustful intensity. “Are you sure you want to hear it? I might have to give you another big raise so you don’t sue.” Taking a step forward you tell him it’s okay and he only smirks as his eyes scan your body. 

“I really can’t stop thinking of you. Have dinner with me tonight.” It wasn’t a question and you both knew it, he knew you’d say yes, hell- even you knew you’d say yes. But you both had a good banter between the two of you so it was only right for you to walk toward him. You let your hand grab onto his tie gently pulling until he leaned closer, “Hmm you’re right sir. I think I will need that raise but- if you can show me a good time after dinner then I think we can settle a good deal.” 

“Son of a bitch.” Law breaths out shakily and it makes you smile at him, winking as you release him before heading to the door. “If you’ll excuse me sir I’ll be heading out for lunch. You can pick me up at 7, I’m sure you can look up my address.” 

You never felt as sexy as you did in that moment walking away, even your secret stash of lingerie couldn’t rival the way that Law made you feel. Your body was buzzing, you thought your heart would beat out of your chest and the grin that was plastered on your face just looked like excitement for the pitch that he praised you on. If only they knew the chemistry between the boss and you they would have a fucking field day but you could give two shits about these fucking snakes. That man was yours and when you have your sights on something you’ll break as many necks as you have to in order to get it.

[bingwriterxo]

a child?!

pairing: wednesday addams x werewolf!reader

summary: in which something strange happens to you

warnings: none

word count: 1400+

author's note: this was a request! also, i do not know how chlidren work!

Wednesday was sitting at her desk, fingers flying across the keys of her typewriter as she detailed the most recent mystery that Viper had to solve, when Enid burst through the door, loud and obtrusive as always. The raven-haired girl had half a mind to ignore her roommate, and she succeeded in doing so for what seemed to be the longest minute in eternity, until she ultimately had to turn in her chair and glare at the blonde for the ruckus she was making. 

"Why must you be so loud?" Wednesday deadpanned. 

Enid squeaked and whirled around, hiding something behind her back. "We--Wednesday!" she exclaimed in a pitch much too high for Wednesday to appreciate. "I didn't even realize you were here!"

Wednesday furrowed her eyebrows, watching her roommate closely. "You're acting strange. Granted, you are strange, but today you are even stranger." I didn't even think that was possible, she thought. She would have said it out loud, but she had begrudgingly promised you that she would try to be nicer to people, even if it made her want to claw her own tongue out.

"What?" Enid asked, shifting where she stood like the floor was littered with hot coals. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Your hair is mussed"--Enid reached up, patted down her hair--"your uniform has become undone"--Enid glanced down, noticing that her tie was untucked from beneath her vest--"and there is...snot...on your shoulder." Wednesday narrowed her eyes at the blonde. "What is going on?"

Enid sighed in defeat and hung her head, letting her shoulders slump as she looked at the floor, revealing the unicorn plush that she had come to the dorm for in the first place. "You should probably come with me."

* * *

"Why are we at Xavier's shed?" 

Enid didn't answer. Instead, she moved to stand in front of Wednesday before the raven-haired girl could push the door open. "Now, when you see what's inside, you can't kill us, okay?" 

"Us?"

"Yes." Enid nodded, her face more serious than Wednesday had ever seen it. "Us."

Wednesday contemplated this for a moment. She wasn't one to make agreements when she didn't what the other half of the bargain entailed, but Enid's stoic look was starting to make her uncomfortable (and not in a good way) so she nodded. 

"Fine," she said. 

With a hefty sigh, Enid turned around and pushed the door open. Wednesday followed close behind, her eyes flitting around the room as she looked for who 'us' was. It wasn't hard to find them: Xavier, Yoko, and Ajax all stood in the middle of the shed, their backs to the pair and their attention on something that Wednesday couldn't see. 

"What is this, some sort of odd club?" Wednesday asked, and everyone spun around on their heels. She scanned her friends' (in loose terms) faces, and it wasn't difficult to see the guilt and worry coating each of their expressions, or feel the anxiety radiating off of them. 

Xavier's lips were pulled into a frown, and his eyes were glazed, staring behind Wednesday rather than at her. Yoko was playing with her fingers, and her head was tilted upwards, lips pursed like she was about to start whistling at any moment. Ajax waved shyly and then scratched at the back of his neck, eyes on anything except Wednesday.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Wednesday hissed. "What is happening?"

All three of them started to speak at the same time. 

"Well--"

"There was--"

"So, something happened--"

They were cut off by a small babble, and then, between Yoko and Ajax's legs, a child appeared, running full force at Enid. Enid crouched down and took the child in her arms, standing as she handed her the plush. 

Everyone's eyes landed on Wednesday while her own were trained on the child cuddling Enid's stuffed unicorn, and when she also glanced toward the raven-haired girl, everything clicked. 

"Is that my girlfriend?" Wednesday seethed through gritted teeth. 

Enid shrank in on herself at the question and looked down at you before glancing back at her roommate. "...Yes?" she answered sheepishly. 

Wednesday wished that she didn't take verbal agreements as seriously as she did because she had never wanted to kill her roommate and her friends more than in that moment. She clenched her jaw as she stared at you, who stared right back at her with wide eyes and a childish grin, and then held her arms out. 

She could hear Yoko gasp, and Ajax made some sort of noise, and Enid took a step back. "Are you going to hurt her?" 

"Why would I hurt Y/N?" Wednesday asked. "I was going to hold her."

Enid blinked at her. Xavier spoke up. "Do you even know how to hold a kid?" he asked, but you were reaching out to Wednesday, leaning forward so far that Enid had to oblige the raven-haired girl or risk you falling onto your face. 

Wednesday took you into her arms easily, resting you against her hip. You were watching her, the unicorn clutched in one hand and your other playing with the end of one of her braids. 

"Pretty," you mumbled. 

She wasn't paying any attention to you, turning her sights back on the three idiots--well, four now, as Enid had joined them in the center of the room--and narrowing her eyes. "And why is my girlfriend"--she glanced down at you, then looked back up--"currently three years old?"

You tugged on the braid, and Wednesday was only half-surprised by the amount of strength you had. As a werewolf, it made sense that you would be stronger than the average child, but she hadn't expected it to sting. 

She looked down to see you frowning up at her. "What?"

"Pay 'tention," you demanded with a pout. 

"No." She looked back at her friends. "Answer me."

Ajax, Yoko, and Xavier all glanced at Enid, and the blonde stepped forward. "Well..." She inhaled deeply and all of her words tumbled out. "Y/N and I were trying to make a serum to suppress our heats, and we must have forgotten an ingredient or something, but we thought we did it correctly, so Y/N tried it and then...shrunk." She gestured lamely at you. "Or, well, turned into a kid."

You tugged on Wednesday's hair again. "Pay 'tention!" you repeated loudly.

"Uh, Wednesday," Ajax began, "I think she wants you to pay attention to her."

Wednesday glared at the boy. She looked at you. "What do you want?"

Instead of answering, you giggled and threw your arms out. "Pretty!" The unicorn fell to the floor, and you glanced down, whimpering. "Unicorn," you cried as though it were your best friend falling off the edge of a cliff. 

"Don't cry," Wednesday said. She knelt down, grabbed the stuffed animal, and gave it back to you. You cooed happily, nuzzling into it. She looked at her friends again, all of whom wore strange grins. "What?"

"That was so cute, Wednesday!" Enid exclaimed. "I didn't know you could be cute!"

Wednesday's eyes narrowed. "Call me cute again, Enid, and you won't have a voice box to call anything cute."

The blonde didn't seem to take the threat to heart as she continued to smile. "I have to get a picture of this!"

"I will kill you."

"And that's a risk I think I'm willing to take!" Enid pulled her phone out of her pocket and snapped a quick photo. She glanced over the top of the phone. "She's sleeping!" She took another picture.

Wednesday frowned and looked down. You were, in fact, asleep against her, your head pressed beneath her chin and soft breaths slipping from your mouth. You seemed at peace there, and, for a quick moment that she would never admit occurred, Wednesday didn't quite mind the fact that all of her friends were watching her. But then her senses returned to her and she looked at the four.

"You better figure out how to turn her back," she said. "Or I will bury you all alive."

bonus: when you did return to your normal age, you had no recollection of what had happened, and no one wanted to explain it to you. for a week, you were oblivious, until you opened wednesday's desk drawer to grab moisturizer for thing and found a new object inside. you picked it up, careful not to damage it, and found that it was a picture of you as a child cuddled up to wednesday.

"what the fuck?"

[addisonnie]

Baptize in Your Thighs

summary: Ellie doesn’t go to church. But when she does, it’s for the preacher’s daughter.

warnings: swearing, SMUT, fingering, oral, daddy kink (SORRY,) lowkey mean!ellie, dom/sub, religious mentions, talks of god, slight mentions of homophobia but hardly, let me know if I missed anything ALSO not proofread per usual sorry can’t be bothered!

an: surprise you dirty little dogs. im also a dirty little dog because what the FUCK is this. what did i just do? anyways time to do my homework now! enjoy you filthy little sluts

—————

Ellie doesn’t particularly believe in God. She doesn’t read the Bible, she doesn’t pray, and she certainly doesn’t go to church.

Yet, here she is.

The stained glass windows cast a rainbow haze over her skin, the freckles dotting her face twinkle under the glow. People slowly begin to fill in the pews surrounding her and she plays with the mini Bible placed in the wooden pocket of the seat in front of her. She looks out of place, feels out of place. People like her are usually struck by lightning the second they walk through those goddamn wooden doors— probably not the best time to use the Lord’s name in vain.

She’s gay, she’s grumpy, she’s occasionally mean. So, why is she here?

You. The preacher’s sweeter-than-a-peach daughter. Your smile is contagious, your laugh is precious, and Jesus Christ—again, not the best time— you have got to be one of the most alluring girls Ellie has ever seen. A floral dress hugs your waist beautifully and stops right above the middle of your supple thighs, tan pantyhose run up your legs and Ellie coughs into her hand when she accidentally makes eye contact with you.

You smile, of course you do. It’s nothing more than a formality your family forced upon you to keep raking in more church-goers—because who wants to attend a church run by an asshole family. Ellie smiles back before looking at her hands splayed across her thighs. She notices the click-clack of your kitten heels as you approach her pew, refusing to look up, she plays with the rip in her jeans.

“Is someone sitting here? With you.” Your saccharine voice floats through Ellie’s ears and wraps around her eardrum like a vice.

“No, go ahead.” She nods toward the open space next to her and you smile before sitting down and sliding closer to her. Your small hands smooth over your dress before you turn to face her, “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you a new member?”

Ellie has to hold back an eye roll—‘member?’ What is this? A cult?

“Just decided to finally come today. I usually don’t like getting up early on my days off.” You laugh and smile brightly at her, “I’m the same way. My daddy has to practically kick my door down to get me awake Sunday mornings.”

You’ve got a sweet little southern accent and Ellie feels herself growing aroused at the innocent aura weaved in every word you speak. She wonders if you’ve ever been aroused like this before.

Ellie notices you’re about to speak again before your father walks up onto the stage and begins his sermon. Immediately, your attention is brought to him and she sighs at the loss. The pastor is droning on about sinners and that those who are lost in the darkness should look for the light, Christ.

She doesn’t care. Ellie is much more focused on the fact that your dress has ridden much farther up your thighs due to the fact that you’ve crossed your legs. Her eyes trail up and down your pantyhose-covered legs and she shivers, drawing your attention back to her.

“Are you alright?”

Ellie’s eyes dart to your face, “just feeling overwhelmed, is all.”

You nod before pursing your lips and squinting, Ellie panics for a moment, thinking you’ve seen straight through her.

“Come with me.” You stand up in the pew and reach your hand out for Ellie to grab, quickly dragging her through the row and to the front doors of the church.

Your mother stands there, hands on her hips.

“Now, just where do you think you’re going? Your father is not going to be pleased that you’re skipping his sermon.” A whine escapes your lips and you tug on Ellie’s hand.

“Mama, this is Ellie. She’s feeling a little overwhelmed. I think the Holy Ghost is reaching out to her! I’m gonna take her to the house and let her have one of our spare bibles. You’re the one always saying we should help those that are lost!”

Your mother curtly nods at you before turning to face Ellie, “well, Miss. Ellie. You’re in good hands! I hope my daughter helps you work through your feelings. It’ll only lead to a healthier relationship with Christ.”

Ellie smiles and thanks her, in her head she’s rolling her eyes and telling your mom to fuck off. If anything, you’re the one in good hands. Ellie wants nothing more than to coax another whine from your plump, glossy lips.

Your hand is grasped in Ellie’s while you drag her across the dirt-filled church parking lot and into an old Victorian style home about a yard away from the side of the church. A couple cats sunbathe on the front porch and you happily greet them as you drag Ellie up the stairs and into your house.

It smells really nice. It’s creepy as fuck, though. The only thing she can really focus on are the abundance of crosses littering the walls. Who needs that many crosses? Do you beat intruders with them? Do they keep the demons away? Ellie shudders when she realizes that she’s probably the very thing they want casted out of her house.

“We can head up to my room, I’ve got a couple bibles there. You can have one, if you’d like!” There’s that sweet little voice again.

You pull her up the stairs and quickly lead her to your room. It’s exactly what Ellie expected. Pink toile wallpaper, a precious white bed frame, and a fluffy white comforter topped with way too many decorative pillows. A Bible lay open atop your bed, colorful markings and annotations scatter across the pages.

“Sorry! S’a bit of a mess, I don’t usually have people in my room. Mama and daddy don’t like it.”

Your mom and dad won’t like what Ellie is thinking about doing, either.

The two of you sit criss-cross on the bed and your nimble fingers quickly reach out to grasp at your Bible, “so, today my daddy’s sermon was meant to be about temptation. We can start there.”

How ironic. Temptation.

“How do you keep from giving into it? Temptation, that is?” Ellie leans in to be closer to your body, you look at her with wide eyes.

“I just—I usually just pray.”

Ellie smirks, “yeah? Does that make it go away?”

You push a stray strand of hair behind your ear and frown slightly, confused.

“Make what go away?”

God, you look so innocent like this. Big doe eyes staring up into Ellie’s, your legs crossed out in front of you. It’s sinful.

“Those butterflies you get in your tummy. The ones that make you feel funny.” She’s trying to dance around the topic of general horniness rather than just straight up asking if you touch yourself. Speaking to you about this is difficult, you’re a butterfly on a stray flower, and if Ellie jumps in too quickly, she’ll startle you and run you off.

“I—I don’t know what you mean.” You’re wiggling under her intense stare and a soft blush begins to bloom over the apples of your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, I think you do. Tell me what you do when you get that feeling.” Ellie leans in much closer to you, her minty breath fans over your face and she doesn’t miss the part when you clench your soft thighs together.

“Hebrews 13:4.” Ellie scoffs and swats at your knee, “that’s not what I’m asking you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and huff out a breath, “Ellie. I’m trying to help you here. You wanna know what I do? I read the Bible and pray that God will rid me of those sinful feelings.”

And then Ellie is leaning closer, both her hands resting on your thighs, “are you going to pray right now? Ask God to get rid of that wet feeling in your panties? Ask him to smite me where I stand, hm?”

A bright red blush spans across your cheeks and you can’t bear to look at Ellie. She tuts, “look at me, angel.”

It’s ironic that she’s calling you angel when you feel like the complete opposite. The feeling of your cotton panties sliding against your sticky folds is enough to make you feel like the spawn of Satan himself. And to feel this way about a woman? You don’t even want to think about the repercussions of that.

“I touch myself. At night—after they’re asleep.” Ellie grins and squeezes your flesh between her fingers, “you’re a bad girl. What else do you do?”

A whine escapes your lips while you shove at Ellie’s calloused hands, “I can’t.”

Her face drops and she moves a hand up to squeeze your jaw in between her fingers, “you can. Tell me—better yet, why don’t you show me, angel?”

A gasp slides out of your mouth and your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, “I—what! No! Ellie, I can’t do that. I won’t.”

Her unoccupied hand slowly trails toward the hem of your dress, “I thought you were supposed to be a good girl? Sweet little pastor’s daughter can’t follow simple instructions?”

You whimper, “M’a good girl.”

“Then act like one.”

Her hand releases your jaw and she smirks when she watches you inch backward on your bed until you’re resting against the headboard. Your legs are crossed in front of you and Ellie gives you a moment to uncross them before she grabs your ankles to spread your legs.

“Go on, then.”

Your fingers slowly raise the hem of your dress until it pools around your tummy and Ellie sucks in a breath when she sees your flowery pink panties underneath your pantyhose. One hand travels underneath the elastic of your underwear and a soft whimper leaves your parted lips when the pad of your fingertip ghosts over your clit.

Ellie can’t see your pussy through your undergarments but she can clearly make out the little wet spot growing between your legs. She watches while your finger swirls in a circular motion under your panties and feels her own growing damper when you let out a soft moan.

“More, sweet girl. I know you can.” Ellie is leaning back on her hands while she watches your hand speed up, you choke out a pathetic whine while looking at her, “can’t, Ellie!”

A deep frown settles across Ellie’s face after your outward denial, “fucking pathetic. Do I have to do it for you? Hm? Is that what you want?”

Your hand slides out from under your panties and you shimmy down on the bed and spread your legs to be bent on either side of her body.

“Does your daddy know how much of a filthy little slut you are?” She’s crawling up the bed until she’s sitting on her knees in front of you, one arm on either side of your head. You whimper and jut your hips out toward her.

A simple phrase passes through her lips, one that has you sucking in a breath and squeezing your eyes shut, “beg.”

“Please.” It’s a pathetic attempt at begging, but you were raised to always be polite, at least you said please.

She leans forward on her hands and quickly moves one of her legs forward to shove straight into your core, grinding roughly onto your puffy clit.

You let out a soft moan and clutch onto her bicep, “I said fucking beg. I wanna hear you pray for me like the good little church girl you are.”

She surges forward and immediately presses her lips onto yours in a messy kiss. Her lips are soft yet chapped, a clear juxtaposition to the supple, cherry-flavored skin of your pouty lips. Ellie doesn’t even give you a chance to deny her tongue before she’s prying your mouth open with her lips, immediately sliding the wet muscle into your awaiting mouth. The harshness of her jeans continually ruts into your clit and she doesn’t plan on giving you any more until she hears that prayer fall from your lips. Fingers are digging into her biceps and she has half a mind to complain when you finally pull back, “please touch me. Please, please. I’ll be a good girl—fuck. Please.”

Hearing the naughty word slip from your sweet lips has Ellie chuckling, “atta girl.”

She immediately sits back on her knees before running her hands up and down your spread thighs, the wet spot on your panties only growing more prominent. Her fingers reach your core and you whimper for the thousandth time, she bunches the material of your pantyhose and rips the fabric apart at the seam, leaving an open hole directly to your underwear.

“Ellie!” She grunts and gives you a sour look before attaching her lips to yours again. Sloppy, wet sounds fill your ears while Ellie kisses you, spit is trailing down your chin and onto the valley of your breasts as Ellie fumbles with the soft material of your panties.

Sliding them to the side, she runs the pad of her pointer finger along your cunt, eliciting a gasp from you. Her finger dances over your folds and circles around your clit a few times before she trails back down to your hole, slowly pressing a finger inside.

“Oh—fuck! Ellie, please.”

She moves to kiss down the column of your throat while she slowly pulls her finger out, pushing it back in again.

“Better than your tiny fingers, hm, baby?” You nod and move a hand down to tug at her wrist, “more.”

Ellie moves her head away from your neck and scowls, “where have your manners gone?”

Tears are beginning to fill your doe eyes and for a minute Ellie feels bad for having such an attitude with you, but not bad enough to stop.

“Please. I want more of you.” That’s enough for her it seems, she slides her second finger in knuckle deep moans at the feeling of you digging your nails into her toned arms.

Her fingers quickly move in and out of your pussy, scissoring and twisting inside of you. You’re moaning, but quietly; Ellie doesn’t like that.

“Let me fucking hear you, sweet girl. Don’t be shy.” She speeds up the movement of her fingers and soon slides in a third finger, twisting her wrist around to hit you at a different angle. Her other arm moves to lift your leg onto her shoulder and the new angle has you releasing a borderline pornographic moan. It’s loud, and for a second you’re worried the church across the driveway heard it.

Her thumb repositions to quickly swipe over and circle at your clit. Your toes curl over Ellie’s shoulder and she listens to you squeak and cry out from under her. Teeth sink into your calf resting upon her shoulder and another loud moan slides from your parted lips when you feel Ellie harshly bite down on the skin and slide her tongue across the indention.

She feels you clenching religiously around her fingers and watches in awe as your wetness seeps into the palm of her hand and puddles on your pristine comforter.

“Close, baby?”

You whine in response and Ellie quickly halts her motions and slides her fingers out, “too bad.”

Your soft eyes full with tears and you slam your head backwards onto the pillow behind you, “fuck! Just—please, Ellie! Please please please—“

A harsh slap onto your pussy sends your hips jolting upward and your head flying forward. You whimper from the pain “m’sorry.”

“Rule number one. You only cum when I say you can. Got it, slut?” She delivers another harsh slap onto your clit and you arch your back in an attempt to be closer to her, “yes.”

She tuts, “yes, what?”

A confused look crosses your sweet face and you whine, shuffling your hips downward in hopes of some form of contact, “yes, Ellie?”

Another slap to your cunt, “ah—fuck! Yes! Yes, daddy!”

She smirks before lifting your other leg to rest on her shoulder, moving down on the bed until her face is settled in between your thighs.

“What are you doing?” You sound genuinely confused, which only confuses Ellie. Certainly you know what head is, right?

“M’gonna eat this pretty little pussy, baby. You want that?” She can practically hear you gulp. Your head nods and both of your hands slide to rest on top of her head.

Ellie leans in to pull your panties further to the side, pressing a chaste kiss right onto your clit, “oh my—“ you cut yourself off before you can say His name.

She smirks, “say it.”

And then she’s licking a long stripe up the expanse of your cunt, only stopping to suckle at your clit. Her tongue darts around in several circles before she finally fully takes your clit into her mouth and sucks harshly, “oh my God!”

She smirks into your pussy before moving her hand back up to slide knuckle-deep into your cunt again. Her long fingers piston in and out of your slick core while she hums and sucks on your clit. Fingers are digging into her scalp and yanking at her hair, your heels are digging into her back, and ear-shattering moans are diving out of your mouth.

Ellie does believe in God, because this, this is heaven.

She feels you constricting so hard around her fingers that it’s starting to get difficult to continually fuck in and out of you, her bicep is burning from the amount of effort she’s putting into getting you there.

“Daddy—fuck, please. M’so close. Please please please.” You’re babbling at this point, and Ellie is pretty sure you’ve literally never came before because she didn’t even edge you for that long and you’ve already got tears streaming down your round cheeks and onto your neck.

She moans onto your clit before slightly pulling away, “good girl, you can come.”

That’s all it takes, the vibration of Ellie’s words send shockwaves through your clit and immediately you’re seeing stars, clenching down onto Ellie’s fingers like a vice. She fucks you through it, she doesn’t stop, either.

Her mouth continues to suck on your clit long after you’ve come, and her fingers are still buried to the hilt inside of you.

“Oh! Please—please, can’t do more.”

Her teeth graze over your puffy clit, “yes you fucking can, roll over.”

She pulls away just long enough for you to roll over onto your tummy, “face down. Gonna have you on your knees praying for me to stop.”

Your face is mashed into the pillows and Ellie uses her knee to shove your legs further apart, her large hands immediately move to spread your pussy apart and she licks a long stripe from your clit to your tighter hole.

“Fucking shit! Fuck fuck fuck!” The filthy words pass through your lips like nothing, and Ellie almost laughs at the idea of the sweetest girl in the world having such a foul mouth. She moves back down to stuff her tongue into your pussy, sliding the wet muscle in and out, licking and sucking on your folds like a woman starved.

You’re babbling and sobbing into your pillowcase, begging for literally anything. Ellie keeps her mouth connected to your pussy, but moves both of her hands to grip the globes of your ass and quickly spreads them. One hand stays planted on your ass, the other trails upward until her thumb rests over your tight hole, pressing in slightly before circling around it. She uses her previous spit as lube before slowly sliding her thumb into your ass, leaving it there while she licks on your cunt.

A sob erupts from your lips and immediately you’re rocking back and forth on her face, “good fucking girl. Use me, baby.”

Her thumb slides farther into your ass and before you know it, she’s sliding her other hand to meet it. She presses in her second thumb and you squeal, clenching around her fingers.

With one last lick to your clit, your orgasm hits like a truck. Your juices leak down Ellie’s chin and spurt out onto her cheeks, effectively covering her face with you. It’s deliciously sweet and Ellie happily laps up everything that drips from your pussy lips, slurping and gurgling like a feral animal.

She pulls away from your cunt and turns her face to the side, rubbing your juices onto her clothed shoulder. Her thumbs stay planted in your ass and she lightly pulls her thumbs apart, spreading you open.

“Fuck—fuck. No more. No!”

Ellie chuckles and decides to remove her fingers. She watches your knees buckle and you drop fully onto your bed, shaking and whimpering, “oh my God. Oh my God.”

You keep repeating it. Over and over.

“It’s actually Ellie. But, I told you I’d have you praying for me instead.”

You grunt into the pillow case and Ellie laughs, moving to rub her hand soothingly up and down the expanse of your back. She presses a kiss between your shoulder blades and helps you slide your shredded pantyhose down your legs along with your underwear.

Your dress is still bunched up around your chest and Ellie rugs the fabric down to cover your ass after pressing a kiss to the plump skin.

Just as she slides your dress fully back down, a knock sounds at your bedroom door, “honey? It’s dad. The sermon is over and I’m heading back to the church for the potluck. Are you coming?”

Ellie squeezes the flesh of your thighs in warning, “no, daddy. I’m staying here, don’t feel—ah, don’t feel good.”

Her fingers drift over your puffy lips while she listens to you answer your father outside the door, “okay, honey.”

His footsteps clank down the stairs and Ellie waits to hear the front door slam before she whispers in your ear, “I don’t think I’m done with my sermon yet.”

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 5: We Stay Silent

All jokes aside, Wade had too much stuff to deal with. Keeping up his mask was way too hard.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, panic attack, mental health issues.

A/N: chapter five is up!!! this one is directly connected to the previous chapter, it's basically the same chapter but from wade's pov, so please make sure you read Part 4 before reading this one!! Please don't be made at me I love wade so much😔✊

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist / Previous Part / Next Part

Wade woke up later than usual, sunlight already creeping through the blinds. His phone buzzed on the nightstand with a few missed notifications, but he didn’t bother checking them right away. He stretched lazily, rubbing his face. The apartment was quiet, almost too quiet. Logan and Y/N had already left for work, probably hours ago. Good. He didn't think he was in the mood for any morning chit-chat for once.

After throwing on his running gear and grabbing a water bottle, Wade slipped out of the apartment and into the cool morning air. He’d hit his usual route— nothing too long today. He wasn’t up for pushing himself too hard.

He never liked running. He always wondered what part of running was actually satisfying for some people. It helped him clear his mind, gave him space to think, or better yet, not think at all. Maybe he had a toxic relationship with running. Maybe it worked like a drug on him. But he knew he would rather run until his legs give out rather than go down the same path he followed years ago. He knew better now.

The streets were familiar, and Wade let his feet carry him through the neighborhood without much thought. His mind wandered, as it often did, from jokes he was working on to what gig he had next to the weird thing Logan had said last night. Everything felt scattered, but that was normal. He was used to living with his thoughts bouncing around like a pinball machine. His mind felt like a computer with thousands of tabs opened.

But then, just as he rounded a corner near the park, Wade froze. Vanessa.

She was standing there, a few meters away, looking just like she used to—like a ghost from a past life. She hadn’t seen him yet, thank god. His heart slammed into his chest, panic rising as he quickly debated turning around and bolting. Too late.

“Wade?”

Her voice caught him mid-step. He turned, awkwardly waving like an idiot.

“Vanessa, hey!” Wade’s voice came out higher than he wanted, and the grin he plastered on his face felt all wrong.

Vanessa smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, looking genuinely happy to see him. “I knew that was you. How’ve you been?”

Wade’s brain scrambled for something, anything to say. How have I been? That was a fucking big question. How do you explain six years of missing someone without falling apart? He ran a hand through his hair, nervously glancing at his shoes.

“Oh, you know… same old, same old.” He tried to laugh it off, but his voice cracked.

She didn’t seem to notice his internal chaos. “It’s been so long, huh? We should catch up sometime, what do you think?”

He wanted to run. Run so fast he could break his legs and never even feel it. Catch up? What does that even mean? How do you catch up with someone you’ve been in love with since forever even after you both decided that being friends would be better, and bla bla bla, why was he thinking about this again?

He did his best at hiding his internal panic and forced himself to stay still, nodding like an idiot.

“Yeah, totally! That would be great.” He was still smiling like a maniac, but inside, every alarm bell was going off. Abort. Abort. Abort.

Vanessa seemed pleased with that answer, though. “Great! I’ll text you.”

“Yeah! See ya around, V,” Wade blurted before turning on his heel and jogging away as fast as he could without looking completely insane. He could feel her eyes on him as he sprinted, and he didn’t stop until he was several blocks away, breathing hard.

“Good job, Wade. You fuckin’ idiot,” he muttered to himself, wiping sweat from his forehead. His chest felt tight, but it wasn’t from the run. It was that familiar pressure building inside him, the one he tried so hard to ignore. The feeling of not being able to handle any of it.

———

Wade stood outside Blind Al’s door, debating whether to knock or not. He hadn’t seen her in a while, but she had been a constant in his life during the toughest times. Before Logan. Before everything fell apart.

He knocked, and her voice came through the door, as sharp as ever. “Took you long enough to visit, jackass.”

Wade smiled despite himself, pushing the door open. “Miss me, Al?”

“Not in the slightest,” she quipped. Wade knew she couldn’t see, but the way she was standing in front of him made it look like she was staring right through him, “Something’s going on with you. Spill it.”

Wade plopped down on her couch, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Ran into Vanessa.”

Blind Al didn’t react. She just sat back in her chair. “That so? And you didn’t completely lose your shit?”

Wade snorted. “Define ‘completely.’ I told her we’d catch up, and then I ran away like a coward. Does that count?”

“Yeah, that counts,” Al said, her voice gruff but understanding. “So what now?”

“I don’t know.” Wade rubbed his temples. “She seemed happy, like genuinely happy to see me, and I just… I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Al said bluntly. “She’s part of your past, and that’s fine. Doesn’t mean you have to dive back into that mess.”

“Yeah, but what if…” Wade trailed off, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking.

“Look, you’ve got your life now. You’ve got Logan, and now this new girl, Y/N, right? Stick to what’s real. Don’t go chasing ghosts.” Al’s voice softened slightly, and Wade felt a pang of gratitude for her, "Or go for it. Just, don’t think about it too much. Let things go their own way." she added.

Easier said than done, but duly noted.

Suddenly, she got up from her chair and walked towards her kitchen. Wade watched her come back with a cup of not-at-all full of alcohol coffee and settle back in her chair.

"So, you didn’t tell me about that new roommate…"

He stayed with her for lunch and then they talked all afternoon. He told her everything she had to know about Y/N, and how Logan was doing, too. But still, he couldn’t shake the thought of what had happened that morning. Vanessa. Al was always right, but the pressure in his chest still hadn’t gone away. It wasn’t just Vanessa. It was everything. 

———

By the time Wade got back to the apartment building, the weight in his chest had doubled. He made a turn into an alleyway, the walls suddenly feeling too close. His breath came in shallow gasps, and his hands started to shake.

No no no no no, not now. Not here.

He pressed himself into the corner, knees pulling up to his chest as he tried to get control, but it wasn’t working. He felt like he was drowning, like the air was being sucked out of the alley. Everything was overwhelming.

Breathe, Wade. Just fucking breathe.

He fumbled for his phone and dialed his therapist’s number. He knew she had given him her personal phone number just for emergencies but maybe, maybe this time, it was an emergency. He needed it. Because breathing wasn’t working. After a few agonizing rings, she picked up.

“Wade? What’s going on?”

He could barely get the words out, his voice shaking. “I…I c—can’t »

“Okay, okay,” she said calmly. “You’re going to be fine. You know the drill. Slow your breathing.”

Wade tried, focusing on her voice. After what felt like hours, his breathing steadied, but the tightness in his chest remained.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked and Wade had no idea what to answer. Air was back in his lungs, yes. But that was it.

"I’m losing it. I don’t know what to do." He waited a few seconds for his therapist to answer. When she didn’t, he continued. "I’m lost. I can’t make a choice. I feel like a fuckin’ loser and I don’t know why people are still keeping up with me. And I called you, god, I’m so sorry, I know it’s supposed to be for emergencies only—"

She interrupted him, "Wade, this was an emergency."

Wade shook his head and he watched his free hand for a few seconds, it was shaking like crazy. He didn’t say anything for a while. "Can we have a session soon?"

“Of course, Wade. Can you get to someone, right now? A friend?”

“Logan,” Wade muttered. “I could go see Logan.”

“Good. Do that. You’ve got people, Wade. Lean on them.”

Wade nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll go see Logan.”

He hung up and dragged himself to his feet, wiping at his face. Get it together, Wade.

———

Logan’s classroom was quiet when Wade arrived, a rare moment of calm at the end of a long day. The coffee shop near the center was still open, so Wade grabbed a box of donuts and two coffees before heading over. Showing up unannounced wasn’t unusual for him—Logan never seemed to mind (he did– Wade chose to ignore it). Besides, the guy could use a donut break anyway.

But as Wade neared the door, that familiar tightness crept back into his chest. Logan’s gonna see right through me. He paused, forcing down the rising anxiety, plastering on his usual grin before pushing the door open.

“Hey, I come bearing gifts. You looked like you could use a sugar rush.”

Logan frowned as soon as he saw him. “You okay?”

I hate him so much.

Wade waved him off, doing his best to sound casual. “Me? Of course! I’m always okay. What’re you talking about?”

Logan didn’t press further, but Wade could feel his friend's eyes lingering on him, studying him like he could sense the tension beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Logan to ask again or not. Wade kept talking, cracking jokes, doing his usual routine, but something in Logan’s steady silence made it harder to maintain.

They sat together, sipping coffee and biting into donuts, the atmosphere light but heavy at the same time. He knew Logan saw through him. He always did. But Logan didn’t push, and for that, Wade was grateful.

As they left the center together, Wade kept the conversation rolling, letting his words spill out faster than usual, a habit he’d sharpened over the years. Keep talking, keep things light, and maybe Logan wouldn’t dig deeper.

“...and I swear, man, if this one guy hadn’t backed off, I would’ve–”

“You sure you’re okay?” Logan’s voice cut through Wade’s ramble, and oh my god, was he using a gentle tone on me?

The question sent a jolt of panic through Wade. He felt the familiar tightening in his chest again, the pressure pushing against the cracks. Not now. Not here.

He immediately forced a laugh, one that felt too loud in his ears, like he wasn’t the one laughing . “Of course! Stop worrying about me, peanut. You’ve got your own crap to deal with. Speaking of which,” Wade added quickly, redirecting the conversation towards something he knew Logan wouldn’t press on, “how’s it going with Y/N, huh? Been hanging out together without me, yet?”

Logan rolled his eyes, but Wade didn’t miss the shift in his expression. He knew Logan had caught the distraction, knew the guy could read him like an open book. But Logan didn’t push, not yet.

“She’s our roommate, Wade,” Logan said.

Wade threw him a wink, keeping up the act. “Sure, sure. Got it.”

Logan let it slide, like Wade knew he would. He always did. Pushing Wade for answers never worked. Logan had learned that a long time ago. He’ll ask again later, Wade thought, the weight of it settling somewhere deep inside him. But for now, at least, Logan let it go.

Wade kept talking, kept deflecting, but even as his voice filled the air, he could feel Logan’s gaze on him, steady, waiting. Logan would be there when the time came, ready to listen. Wade knew that. He always knew that.

But right now? Wade wasn’t ready. Not yet. So he smiled, cracked another joke, and pushed the feeling down a little further.

Maybe later.

XXX

[rainbowmothed]

── I'M NOT A VIOLENT ANGEL. I DON'T KNOW WHY I BITE.

· ★ · basically just me rewriting vaggie's fall + chaggie first meeting. trigger warning for blood, gore, murder, classic extermination stuff!

Vaggie felt the pressure settle on her shoulders as she spread her wings, lines of black smearing across the crimson sky of the underworld in a flurry of feathers as she and her kin descended from the beaming light illuminating the once darkened sky, atmosphere thick with the already fresh scent of bitter blood.

Guilt was all Vagatha could manage to muster in her soul, her very being. She never liked to be an exterminator. She didn't know why– most of her kin adored slaughtering the “demon scum” of the underworld. And Vaggie knew she was no different than them, no less shameful in comparison despite feeling butterflies churn in her stomach before she drew her angelic spear. Six years she had spent as one of Adam's top girls, always cast to be on the front lines, praised by her peers for being one of the most merciless, blood-thirsty ones out there.

And oh, how she despised it with every single fiber of her being.

Vaggie cringed as she remembered the proud slaps on the back and reassuring pats shoulders after every extermination as they rose back to the skies above afterwards, the shouts of “good jobs” and “that was even better than last year” filling the air, choking her, suffocating her as the words shoved their way down her throat until soft tears pricked her eyes and her skin flustered with shameful heat.

God, she hated her job. And it was strange. She was created for this. Created in the Heavens for the sole purpose of reigning massacre upon people who were seen as nothing more than the dirt under their heels, when, in reality, Vaggie knew they were far more than that. They were once human souls, who once had lives, and who once had families, who maybe still did have families. She knew she'd killed at least one husband who had a wife and kids at home, waiting, and one wife or one child. Likely far more than that.

So many denizens had crumbled to their knees at her hands as she lodged the blade of the spear into their flesh. The flesh she was meant to see as worthless, puny, disgusting, sinful. Wretched. But the flesh she saw only bore hints of light, shimmering under the surface, waiting to be unveiled, until it was cut short and dulled as their black blood splattered across the alleyway floors and concrete sidewalks, heads slamming down as they met their gruesome fates. Perished.

And this year, Vagatha knew she would do the same thing. Or rather, should do the same thing. She was given a sharp nod to descend as she continued through the air. Her previous guilty thoughts had made her work up a tad bit of a nervous sweat, so she pulled away the mask that concealed her face, swiping away the sweat that stuck to her forehead like bothersome glue. Not bothering to put it back on, Vaggie simply attached it to her waist, feeling it thud against her hip as she flew down into the alleyway, boots finally making contact with the glass-lined gravel below.

Expecting to see some looming, wretched soul, Vaggie was only greeted with a cowering little child, far younger than her, far less defenseless. Where were its parents? It didn't deserve to fall. Not like this. “Go, run.” Vaggie urged, before she could form a second thought about her own actions, pulling her blade far away from the thing's throat and waving it off. Sparing it. The guilt had become unfathomable, and she was no longer even in control of her own body. Pathetic.

However, the sounds of footsteps behind her made Vagatha quickly snap out of her daze, wings perking up with surprise as she drew her blade, expecting some idiotic, bold sinner, only to feel a hand grasp her shoulder. Vaggie’s eyes widened as her lips parted, attempting to let out a flurry of excuses as she saw Lute’s face before her. Grinning, merciless.

Oh God.

Vaggie let out a shrill shriek of pain as she felt the angelic weapon pierce her eye, gouging it out and letting it roll onto the ground below. Vagatha’s stomach churned with nausea as she naturally fell to her knees, letting out another cry as she felt Lute’s boot press against the top of her skull.

“Traitor scum like you have no place in Heaven.”

Vaggie attempted to choke out a plea, a beg for mercy, but was cut short as she felt Lute’s gloved hands wrap around the base of her wings, pulling back with relentless force as they were ripped from her body, another pathetic splatter of neon green, angelic blood splashing across the ground. Vaggie felt like she was going to retch from the pure amount of adrenaline and pain pumping through her skin, her being, her very soul.

Guilt. Harsher than before.

Guilt for betraying Heaven. Guilt for slaughtering the people of the underworld. Guilt for not living up to her superiors’ standards of her. Guilt for every single thing she had ever done wrong, crashing down on her at once.

—

Vaggie shakily stumbled up to her knees as Adam and Lute walked away, snickering under their breaths and beaming with nothing but pride. No guilt themselves; nothing but happiness and unfiltered glee at finding a traitor amongst their ranks and properly punishing her for it.

All for sparing one measly child.

Vaggie tore away the mask that still hung to her belt, exterminator uniform soaked with blood and torn in some places. In a moment of anguish, mixed in a blurred puddle with hints of anger, she ripped it all from her body, leaving herself in the clothes she had underneath. Vaggie tossed it into the dumpster that lay against the wall of the alleyway, her neon green blood splattering down the side of it as she threw it to be picked later.

Still weakly clutching the spear in her hand, she leaned her back against another dumpster, trying not to brush the stumps of her ripped off wings against anything to prevent any further agonizing pain. She already had plenty of that, her eye now an empty socket, vision nowhere to be found beside the one she still had. Thank Lute for that, she mused. Didn't take her vision completely.

Vagatha was silently praying for some random imp to come pick her off. Finish the game her superiors had started, end her pathetic life once and for all. Lay her corpse against the dirt of the ground she once saw as beneath her. Funny, seeing as how the people she once saw as her victims, albeit with a bit of shame, could slaughter her right here and now with absolute ease.

Vaggie didn't even cry. The tears would've hurt her eye too much. She felt them boiling under the surface, yes, but they never trespassed that burning point, never spilling or teetering over the edge just right to drop. Vagatha soon enough heard footsteps approaching. Great, her future murderer had finally come, just as she felt herself drifting in and out of consciousness due to the sheer amount of blood loss.

Instead of the expression of a cruel murderer, she was greeted by the face of a shocked denizen. Gorgeous, with blonde hair, streaked with honey hues. Pale skin, with rosy cheeks, akin to that of a marionette. Beautiful. If this woman was the last thing Vaggie was to see, she would definitely be able to go out happy compared to her earlier predicament. The bitterness flushed out of her soul as she stared up at the demon, waiting for the blade to press against her neck. For her to end her suffering.

But it didn't.

Instead, a bandage was carefully wrapped around her missing eye, the denizens fingers soft and delicate. Perfect compared to her own, scarred with the memories of the lives that had been taken by them. It made her expression soften. It was the little things that made Vaggie swoon like that, and this was definitely one of those little things.

Was she falling for the woman who she thought was going to slaughter her just a moment ago? It was a tad funny, actually. The flusterment only grew as she saw her tuck a piece of blonde hair behind her porcelain-hued ear, diverting her gaze as she cheekily smiled.

This girl would definitely be the death of Vaggie, but in a completely different way than she was originally anticipating.

[brave-and-gentle]

The Patient

MDNI!!!!

Summary: As a dental hygienist for six years, nothing throws off Jean Kirstein. Until he meets you, his newest patient.

Pairings: afab reader x Jean

Warnings: lots of teasing, SMUT, oral of course because it's dentistry

Word count: ~8,000 (I uh, got carried away with this one)

Author's note: To my sister wife, @babypaloma, plz enjoy this time with our husband!! Also you should all know this is my first time writing true smut, plz be nice to me.

As a dental hygienist for six years, nothing throws off Jean Kirstein. He works at a small clinic in western Mitras, mostly patients under the age of 50 who live and work in the city. Though it's fairly relaxed, Jean has seen it all – one time, a seed stuck in a patient's retainer grew into a sprout. He's also seen rotting flesh inside a patient's mouth. Thankfully, those are rare cases.

But Jean is never phased by the unhinged things he's witnessed in people's mouths. He got into the profession simply because he likes helping people – he spends more time with the patients than the actual dentist. And he finds the science fascinating.

Jean has never been phased until he sees you.

You're flustered when you burst through the doors of the clinic. He notes how flushed pink your cheeks are and how wild your hair is from the wind. Outside, a fall storm rages. Bright orange, red and yellow leaves swirl around and slap the rain-soaked window. Though it's mid-morning, the storm has darkened the skies.

Jean hovers behind Sasha, the office manager, to see who his next patient is. Sasha opens the schedule on the computer and the cursor hovers over a woman's name. It's someone he doesn't recognize, and Jean remembers all his patients – so you must be new.

Sasha calls your name and Jean's eyes lock with yours as you dart up to the desk and apologize for being late.

“I didn't expect the storm today,” you say and peel off your soaking wet jacket.

Something unfamiliar jolts through Jean's body head to toe as you reveal a form-fitting shirt underneath your jacket. It's not inherently sexual, not at all, but with the way the rain drips off the ends of your hair onto your shirt – warmth courses through Jean's body and he's not quite sure why.

Your name rolls off Jean's tongue with ease. He's frozen as you lock eyes with him.

“I'm ready for you,” he says with a warm smile.

“Great.” You return his smile with bright eyes.

A shiver runs down Jean's spine. Before he loses his composure, he turns on his heel and leads you down to the exam room.

“After you,” he gestures and can't help but sneak a peak at your ass.

Keep it professional, Jean reminds himself. This certainly isn't the first time he's had an attractive patient. But something about you feels different.

He's about to run through all the routine questions for a new patient, but he notices most of your chart is already filled out – your name, number, address, etc.

“Are you a new patient?” Jean asks, perplexed.

“Ah, yes and no,” you explain. “I went to a clinic under the same system in eastern Mitras, but I just moved, so now I'm here.”

“Gotcha, same system, different clinic.” Jean notes that your emergency contact is a woman's name – Pieck Finger. Either you don't have a serious significant other – or you're not interested in men at all. There's no relationship listed, but he can add one.

“And what's Pieck's relationship to you?” Jean clears his throat.“Friend, roommate, partner?”

“Oh – friend and roommate,” you answer from the exam chair. Jean nods and adds that note into your chart. Of course, it's still a possibility that you're dating someone, but he's not exactly sure how to ask. Or if he should. No, Jean knows he shouldn't. It's not professional. Dr. Levi Ackerman would throttle him.

“And what brought you to the western side?” He asks and pulls up your dental records.

“Pieck and I just wanted to explore a different part of the city,” you answer and shrug.

“Yeah? How you like it here so far?” Jean mindlessly scrolls through your records. He's skimming them, stalling for time to chat with you, to learn more about you beyond what's in your chart.

“Love it,” you emphasize. “The eastern side was a bit too corporate for me. I like all the small shops around here.”

Jean swivels in his chair to turn to you. “So you don't miss the east side at all? Nothing tying you there?” This is about as close as he can get to asking you if you have a boyfriend without making it inappropriate.

“Nope.” You make direct eye contact with Jean. The mischievous glimmer in your eyes sends ripples up and down his body. “That's the great part about moving to a new place. I'm open and available for anything.” Heat rises to Jean's face. He didn't expect you to answer so confidently. He puts on his face mask on to cover up his blushing face. Well, that answers that, he thinks.

“Oh by the way,” Jean says as he realizes there was something in your chart worth noting. He turns back to the computer screen to double check. “Just a heads up that next time you come in, we'll have to do updated x-rays.”

“Ugh.”

Jean chuckles. “Sensitive gag reflex?” The words are out of his mouth before he realizes the implications of what he asked. He didn't mean it like that though. Plenty of patients struggle with sensitive gag reflex, so it's not something he's thought of as inherently sexual. But with you on his exam chair? It's a totally different connotation.

“Oh, very,” you drawl. Jean's eyes practically pop out of his skull. He's relieved that he's looking at the computer screen and not you. Not while he's wondering exactly how sensitive your gag reflex is, especially if -

No, no, NO, Jean reprimands himself. He clears his throat again.

“Alright then.” He's not sure how to segue out of that. He pulls on a new pair of gloves and gets to work.

It's no exaggeration for Jean to say you have the prettiest mouth he's ever seen. He's glad that he has several years of dental cleaning experience and can turn his brain on autopilot. If he were less experienced, he might get distracted. Since you're unable to talk, Jean loses himself in his work, moving from one tooth to the next to remove plaque. There's not much too of it – he can tell you keep up with your regular cleanings.

After a couple minutes, Jean wipes the scaler off and returns to your mouth, which you've closed. Obedient, you open your mouth as Jean moves closer to you – and you lick a gloved finger tip. He freezes.

Did that really just happen?

No, that had to be an accident.

But you're making direct eye contact with him again, as if presenting a challenge.

Jean clears his throat, again, and tries to ignore the faint pulsing in between his legs.

Get your shit together, Kirstein, he berates himself.

He continues his work, but Jean's finger tip is still warm where you licked him. After a few more minutes, he's finished with the plaque removal.

“Nice,” he says and switches to the polisher. “I can tell you're pretty good about coming in for appointments.”

“I am a pretty good girl about that,” you answer in a low voice.

Jean gulps.

He turns to you and rolls his chair closer to yours.

“Um – ready?” He holds the polisher in one hand.

“Ready.” You lick your lips and open your mouth.

The faint pulsing in between Jean's legs throbs as he imagines what your mouth would look like wrapped around his dick.

His mental filter is destroyed.

Jean is a goner.

He forces himself to focus on polishing your teeth, even though his eyes are pulling him to sneak a peak at your cleavage. What he wouldn't give to rip his gloves off and trace your body while you lie on the exam chair.

Jean is grateful that you can't possibly see the raging boner under his long, white coat.

After he's done polishing your teeth, Jean gives you a swig of water and places the suction in your mouth to finish up. You hold on to the suction as it cleans out the water in your mouth.

Jean's hand trembles as he holds it inside your mouth. You hold onto it for far longer than necessary.

“Mmmm,” you hum and gaze at Jean with lazy eyes.

His heart pounds.

He wants to make you hum like that again.

With his fingers, his tongue, his cock, anything.

“Alright, how we doin'???” Dr. Hange Zoe bursts in to greet you two.

You open your mouth and Jean quickly removes the suction.

“Good,” you both answer at the same time.

“Can I take a look?” Dr. Zoe plops onto the other chair and rolls toward you. Jean tears himself away and busies himself with going over your chart on the computer again. “Any issues, Jean?”

“Nope, she's perfect,” he answers. And he means it. He's not quite sure what it is pulling him toward you – your bold attitude, your confidence, your sparkling eyes, and most obviously, your plush lips. Jean folds his hands in his lap, silently begging Dr. Zoe to stay focused on you and not his still present boner.

“Wow, you've got a great set of teeth!” They exclaim. “No risk of cavities anywhere. I'm not worried about anything. We really don't see mouths like this every day, do we Jean?”

“Um, uh – no, we don't,” Jean stutters. He stares at your phone number in your chart. It would be all too easy to write it down while Dr. Zoe was examining you.

But he couldn't – he shouldn't – cross that line. No, he's not some perv.

“I think we're all good here,” Dr. Zoe says and removes their gloves. “Jean boy, why don't you schedule our fine patient's next appointment?” They run off to see the next patient before waiting for a response. Jean pulls up the schedule and clicks through to the spring.

“It'll be the usual six months out,” he explains. “How's Friday morning again?”

“Sounds like a date. Though I was hoping for sooner than six months.”

Jean's mouth goes dry.

“Yeah, standard procedure, it's too bad. . .” he trails off and sneaks a peak at you behind his shoulder. You're sitting up now and grinning like a devil. “Anyways, I'll walk you out?” Thankfully, his boner has mostly dissipated. Mostly. He folds his hand in front of his crotch just in case. “Any plans for the weekend?”

“I haven't made too many friends on this side of town yet. The weekend might be a good opportunity though. Actually - I'll be at the bar down the street Saturday night.”

“Oh really?” Jean's voice squeaks ever so slightly. He knows exactly what bar you're talking about. After shifts, he and Sasha sometimes stop there and meet up with a few of their other friends.

“Uh huh,” you nod slowly and grab your still damp jacket from the rack. Jean towers over you as you slowly zip it up. “I guess I'll see you in six months – or maybe sooner.” You wink as you dash out the door before Jean has a chance to say goodbye.

Like a zombie, he walks back behind the desk over to Sasha.

“Um, how much time before my next patient?” He asks and leans over to see the schedule on her computer.

Sasha whirls around. “I have a more important question who was that? She sounded like she was begging you to go out with her!” Her amber eyes beg Jean for more information.

“What now?” A deadpan voice forces Jean to stand up pin straight.

“Nothing, sir!” Though Dr. Levi Ackerman was nearly a foot shorter than Jean, he never ceased to scare the shit out of him. Dr. Ackerman gives Jean the side eye. “I heard something about flirting? I swear to god Kirstein-”

“It was nothing sir, I swear!” Jean tries to explain, terrified that his professional behavior is being questioned, or worse, that Dr. Ackerman will reassign you to another dental hygienist.

“Tch.” Dr. Ackerman stalks off, temporarily satisfied.

Relieved, Jean collapses in the chair next to Sasha.

“Your next appointment is in about 15 minutes – Floch, do you remember him?”

Jean wracks his brain. “Ah yeah, serial cavity offender. Can't wait,” he grumbles.

He wishes all his patients looked like you.

~ ~ ~

You and your best friend Pieck cackle on the floor of your living room together. You clutch your stomach, aching from laughter.

“I can't believe I did that,” you gasp out and wipe tears of laughter from your eyes. As soon as you came home from the dentist, you told Pieck everything. You're not usually that bold, but relative anonymity empowered you.

“Way to start out our move with a bang,” Pieck laughs. “Although, not quite,” she gives a wry smile. “What did he look like? Tell me more!”

“Ugh,” you groan and roll onto your stomach. “Sexy as hell. Tall, really tall. Ashy brown hair – kinda shaggy, but it works for him. Hazel eyes. He seemed pretty fit too.”

“Sounds like you got a pretty good look. I still can't believe you did that,” Pieck shakes her head, her dark waves flying all over. “You're going to get banned for sexual harassment!” She teases.

“And I'd do it again,” you giggle and shrug.

You mean it – mostly. It might make for an awkward appointment in the spring, but with the way Jean flushed every time you teased him, you couldn't help but egg him on.

“Do you think he'll actually show up tomorrow night?” Pieck asks more seriously.

“I dunno.” You place your hand on your chin. “But I think it's worth going regardless.”

You and Pieck pick a seat at the bar that gives you two a perfect view of the front doors. You sit on margaritas all night, but the tall dental hygienist you're looking for never shows. You admit you're a little disappointed. With how flustered Jean was, you thought he might return your interest, but perhaps not. Or maybe he was seeing someone else. Guilt sinks into you as you wonder if pushed the poor guy too far. You shake it off and chat with Pieck about all the new places in your neighborhood you want to try.

The next six months pass by in a blur. You start your new job, which is boring, quite honestly, but it pays the bills. You and Pieck make new friends through various activities like a book club, yoga classes, and the community garden. You go on a few dates here and there, but nothing really sticks. They're a fun time, but thoughts about a certain tall dental hygienist come back like a boomerang.

You search the clinic website to try and find Jean's last name, but they only have the doctors listed. You've never been much into dating apps, but you download them all in hopes that you find him. You don't. So he's either taken or not into dating apps.

Admittedly, Jean begins to fade into memory as the days grow colder.

Then when spring hits, you remember.

You're practically skipping as you walk to your dentist appointment. The spring sun warms you from head to toe. You breath in the fresh scent of blooming cherry blossoms. You hope you didn't scare Jean away and that he's still your dental hygienist.

The same woman with long, brown hair and eager amber eyes greets you. Her name tag reads Sasha. You plop down on the white couches and aimlessly scroll through your phone.

A familiar voice calls your name.

You jerk your head up.

Jean stands in front of you with a wry smile on his face. “I'm ready for you.”

“Oh, uh, perfect,” you stutter and stand up. You follow him to the exam room.

He's even taller than you remembered. And more rugged – this time he's sporting a bit of scruff.

“After you,” he says and gestures to the exam chair. You sit down and turn sideways to watch him bring up your chart on the computer. You confirm that you have the same number, address, emergency contact, all the basic information.

“Any regular coffee or soda intake?” Jean asks.

“Occasional coffee,” you answer and swing your legs back forth. You twirl the ends of your hair. “I have an. . . addictive personality.”

“Oh yeah?” Jean turns to meet you with his earthy hazel eyes. He smirks and tilts his head. “What's your flavor?”

“Mostly bitter,” you blurt. “With a splash of milk.”

“Sounds right up my alley,” Jean says, holding eye contact. “Anyways.” He gets up and pulls out a strange looking machine. “We need to do updated x-rays today since your chart says it's been a few years.”

“Great,” you mutter. Last time you had to do these at the other clinic, you practically choked on everything the dental hygienist shoved in your mouth.

“Don't worry, I'll be gentle,” Jean purrs. “I remember you said you had a . . . sensitive gag reflex.”

You gulp as you turn yourself to sit the correct way in the exam chair. It's your turn to be flustered now.

Jean turns to you and holds a long, plastic device with his careful, gloved hands.

“Open up,” he whispers. “Nice and wide.”

You obey. You have no idea what the x-ray equipment is called, all you know is that it looks like some sort of instrument of torture devised for those cursed with small mouths.

“Bite down here,” Jean commands and taps on a red tab. You follow his instructions and fight to keep from gagging as the end of the device pokes the back of your throat. After a few seconds of extreme discomfort, Jean motions for you to open your mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises you as he slowly pulls the contraption out of your mouth. Goosebumps prickle up and down your arms.

Once the x-rays are done, you lie down for the regular cleaning and polishing. Jean runs a glove-covered thumb over your bottom lip as your mouth parts.

“Still looking good,” he murmurs.

You're not sure whether it's good or bad that you can't speak right now. Your soft lips burn under the gentle pressure of Jean's thumb. Your heart pounds with every movement Jean's fingers make in your mouth. It's not the exact actions – they're exactly the same as than any other dentist appointment. It's the sensual intention.

Or is it just your imagination? The urge to experiment rushes through you like a heat wave.

Jean's deft fingers move from tooth to tooth, perfecting them. In the middle of these movements, you find an opportunity to poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue. He pauses, hazel eyes widening. There's no hiding what Jean is thinking. The corners of your mouth tilt up, knowing that lewd thoughts about you are pouring into his mind.

He clears his throat and moves your tongue back with his fingers.

“Behave yourself,” he chastises you.

You want to giggle, but your mouth is full of, well – him.

Jean is finished with the cleaning all too soon. Dr. Zoe bursts in with the same gusto you remember from last time.

“How's our best patient doing?” They ask and bounce up and down on the chair next to you.

“Couldn't be better,” you grin and look past their excited demeanor to Jean. His hazel eyes burn with intensity. This time, he doesn't hide in the computer. Your body tingles knowing that he's undressing you with his eyes. His tongue slips out of his mouth and runs along his bottom lip. You have to break eye contact as Dr. Zoe does their own examination, albeit much quicker and less invasive than Jean's. It takes everything you have to refrain from jumping out of the chair and onto Jean.

“No issues,” Dr. Zoe confirms, almost a carbon copy of last fall. “Except watch the spot right behind your front teeth. It's not anything major, I can just tell that you're missing that spot when brushing. Anyways, I gotta do a root canal – see you in the fall!” They say your name and dash off to another less fortunate patient.

“So our perfect patient is not so perfect?” Jean raises an eyebrow at you as the two of you are alone in the room again.

“I guess not,” you sigh. “Seems I'm missing a spot.”

“I can help you with any spots you need help with,” he says, eyes lingering at your breasts. The sensitive spot between your legs begins to throb at that idea.

You cross your legs and smirk. The boldness you felt at that last appointment has returned. “And how might you help me with that?”

“I know a few ways,” Jean begins, “but it might be best for outside the office. Maybe at a certain bar tomorrow night.”

You pause. Tomorrow is Saturday. The same day of the week you suggested Jean meet you six months ago, and he never showed.

“A Saturday appointment? You must be a hard worker.” You tease. “How can I guarantee you'll be there?” You push, refusing to be let down again.

“I think I know a way.” Jean holds up a business card and drops it on the floor. You frown, not quite understanding. He gets up and leaves the room. “I'll walk you out when you're ready,” he calls.

You get up from the exam chair and grab the card off the floor.

Jean Kirstein.

It lists his title as a dental hygienist, the clinic phone number and his work email – nothing personal or interesting, aside from his last name. You flip the card over.

His cell phone number is scrawled on the back. A smile spreads across your face. He must mean it this time.

You pocket the card and flounce out of the room and walk side-by-side with Jean down the hallway. “I just realized we didn't talk about scheduling your next appointment. Same time, same place?” He asks, mischief dancing in his eyes.

You realize just how tall this man is when you have to crane your next up to look at him as you reach the lobby.

“Works for me. The earlier the better.”

Your heart throbs with anticipation – and nerves. You dash out the door without saying goodbye.

“Shut up.” You hear Jean hiss as you leave, no doubt to the woman who was checking patients in for appointments.

You know you won't have to wait another six months to see Jean Kirstein.

~ ~ ~

You tap your fingers repeatedly on the edge of the bar table in a sort of rhythmic trance. It's Saturday evening and you're waiting to see if your dental hygienist shows up – if Jean Kirstein shows up. You remind yourself to refer to his actual name, not his occupation. A dark-haired man sitting nearby you catches your eyes with his bright green ones. Well, if Jean doesn't show up, at least there's something to look at, you think.

Before arriving at the bar, you agonized over what to wear while Pieck sat on your bed and gave nods of approval for outfits you liked. In the end, you chose a springy dress with a black leather jacket. Cute, but a little edgy.

You've already downed one gin and tonic to calm your nerves. Jean seemed to be pretty damn clear that he'd be here this time. And you have his number to text if he doesn't.

You dig your phone out of your purse, wondering if it's been long enough that you should text. You're just about to type out a message when -

“Hey there.” You look up, expecting warm, hazel eyes, but piercing green ones meet you instead. The man who's been trying to catch your attention all evening.

“Hi.” A smile spreads across your face. Though you'd rather see Jean, you can't help but smile an another attractive man – you're only human, after all.

“Eren,” the man introduces himself and offers a warm hand. You shake it, noticing the rough calluses. Eren clearly works out. “I couldn't help but notice you're here alone. Can I buy you drink? My time is free.” He offers a sly grin.

You consider Eren's offer for half a second, but a hand with long fingers claps down on his shoulder.

“Actually, she's here with me.”

An even bigger smile bursts across your face. Any notion of entertaining a night with someone else flees from your mind.

Jean is here.

“Sorry for the confusion,” you apologize to Eren, though you're really not that sorry. “Nice to meet you though,” you call out as he turns away, disgruntled.

“And I'm sorry I'm late,” Jean apologizes to you. “I got a bit uh, preoccupied.” He runs his hand through his ash brown hair. He looks different outside of the dental office. Younger and more nervous. More human. He's wearing dark jeans and an olive green button up, though the last couple buttons remain open, giving you an open view of his throat and a glimpse of his chest – which seems to be as well defined as you imagined.

“No worries,” you reassure him and use your straw to shuffle the ice in your mostly empty glass. “I'm glad you showed up this time.”

Jean places his hands on the chair in front of you and leans over slightly. “Yeesh, I'm not off to a great start, am I?” He asks, another apology written on his face. “I chickened out last time, if I'm being honest. I was nervous about,” he pauses to think, “professional boundaries.”

“I didn't get you in trouble, did I?” You tease.

“Nah,” he waves and laughs, giving you a full view of his teeth. Of course the guy who works at a dental office has perfect teeth. You wonder what they might feel like on your skin. Heat flushes your face. “Anyways – what are you drinking?” He points to your empty glass.

“Gin and tonic.” You raise your glass. Jean takes it and stalks off to the bar.

You shift to cross your legs and can't help but smile as Jean orders drinks for you two. You've never been this bold before, so you certainly didn't imagine the dental appointment encounter would turn in to anything ��� but here you are. And here is Jean, returning to your table with another gin and tonic for you and one for him.

“I think you had a good idea,” he says, sitting down and placing the drinks on your table. “Spring is the best time for gin.” He takes a sip and holds eye contact with you. You haven't even made physical contact tonight, but those earthy hazel eyes threaten to shatter every part of your being.

You nod in agreement and mirror Jean, taking a sip of your drink. “So, back to the professional boundaries,” you begin. “Leaving your number on the card was clever.”

Jean chuckles. “I was mulling over that one for days. I knew your appointment was coming up and I didn't want to mess it up this time.”

“And you couldn't take my number from my chart?” You smirk and play with your straw with your tongue. Jean is captivated by your swirling tongue.

“Definitely would've been a privacy violation. Dr. Ackerman would've had my ass if he ever found out. But nobody can fault me for dropping a business card that just happened to have my cell number on it.” He shrugs in mock innocence.

“That makes sense,” you nod, taking on a slightly more serious tone as you find yourself wondering more about Jean's life. “Which one is Dr. Ackerman?”

“Small guy with dark hair. Usually looks like someone just shoved something up his ass,” Jean laughs. You recall passing this doctor in the hallway – and his photo on the dental clinic website. “It's a wonder Dr. Zoe saw something in him.”

“Wait.” You tilt your head. “Dr. Zoe and Dr. Ackerman are together?” You're a bit bewildered by this, given Dr. Zoe's erratic nature and Dr. Ackerman's stoicism.

“Yep,” Jean answers and takes a swig of his drink. “Most people wouldn't know by the way they act. But yeah, they met in grad school and started this clinic together.”

“And how'd you end up at the clinic?” You're not usually one to chat about jobs – to you, they're fairly meaningless, but considering it's a major part of how you met Jean, you want to know more.

“Mmm, I always found human biology interesting. I thought it would be fun to specialize in something, so I shadowed Dr. Zoe for a few weeks on summer and they never let me go. They're also a part-time professor at the university I went to, so it was an easy in. They tried to convince me to continue schooling to be a dentist, but I prefer spending time with patients, which you ironically don't get to do as much when you're a doctor. And, to be honest, I didn't want to go to grad school any longer than I had to.”

“Amen to that.” You lift your drink up and you clink your glasses together. You had briefly considered grad school, but the though of dropping another few thousand dollars didn't sit right with you.

You ask Jean a few more questions and learn that he lives with two of his best friends from college, Connie Springer and Marco Bodt. Jean is an only child and frequently visits his parents in Trost. He played basketball and ran track when he was in high school, but gave up sports in college in favor of his studies – and an art club.

“An art club? For real?” You ask.

Jean chuckles. “You'd think science and art don't mix well, but I think they go hand-in-hand. I think there's something beautiful about human biology, so I used that for inspiration for a lot of my sketches.” He pauses and stares at you with a wistful gaze. “Anyways. What about you? What more should I know about you besides your perfect mouth?” Jean gives you a crooked smirk.

It's like a live wire flashes through you. It's strange, this combination of genuinely getting to know you – and suggestive flirting. This isn't exactly one-night stand behavior. You aren't sure what to expect, but you can't deny the magnetic pull toward Jean's mind and body.

You tell Jean about how you grew up in smaller town in the southern part of the region, but had always craved something bigger. You went to college in Jinae, a step up, but it still wasn't quite what you were looking for.

Jean perks up at this. “Jinae? Really? My roommate Marco grew up there. Any chance you know him?”

You shake your head. “Sorry, doesn't ring a bell. It's a big area.”

“Figured it was worth asking.” Jean places his chin on his hand. “So why didn't you stay in Jinae?”

“I, um,” you bite your bottom lip, wondering why you're about to confess this to a near stranger. And yet, there's a warmth and genuine curiosity about Jean that encourages you to open up. “I didn't have the easiest time making friends.” Jean tilts his head at you, silently asking for further explanation. “I had friends in classes and clubs, sure, but I rarely got an invite to hang out after class or on weekends.” Weekends were the bane of your existence in college. You had often wondered if you should transfer, but weren't willing to fill out the mountain of required paperwork. Your face burns, wondering what Jean thinks of your difficult time in college.

“So how'd you meet Pieck?” Jean picks up on your nerves and deftly moves the conversation forward. “It sounds like you two are pretty close.” Jean slurps down the last of his drink.

You explain that out of sheer boredom on weekends, during your senior year you signed up to volunteer to help maintain one of the campus wildflower gardens. Pieck was there too, and you two have been inseparable ever since. When she asked what your plans were after graduation, if you'd consider moving to the big city with her, and you jumped at the opportunity.

“Pieck is a spit fire,” you laugh and swirl your straw in your once again empty glass. “She keeps me alive.” You're not sure if it's the alcohol or Jean's gaze that warms you from head to toe.

“Sounds like someone else I know.” Jean winks. Under the table, his foot nudges yours and moves up and down, tracing the outline of your calf. Your insides shiver. “I'm done if you are,” Jean says as he shakes his glass, the ice chiming like a spring melody. “Want to get out of here and sober up a bit?”

“Definitely.”

~ ~ ~

Jean holds your hand and leads you down a winding stone path that connects to another right by the river. The two of you meander along the river and make idle chat. As a seasoned veteran of western Mitras, Jean gives you a fair amount of suggestions of places that you and Pieck can check out – coffee shops, bookstores, theaters, wine bars, etc.

“Oh, this is the best part,” he interrupts himself and pulls you across a bridge that matches the stone walkway. With his long legs, you have to half jog to keep up with Jean. He stops in the middle and leans back against the stone. You mirror him and take in the view of the city lights. It's like dancing fireflies in the night.

“This view is spectacular,” you breath.

“Yes, it is.”

You look up at Jean, but he's not looking at the city skyline. He's looking right at you. A sharp, spring wind cuts into you like a knife. You shiver and automatically lean in closer to Jean's body heat. You're close enough to smell his cologne – sandalwood?

Jean cups your face with his hand, and leans down to you. Your heart beat thunders as he draws closer and closer. He stops just inches away from your lips. You can see every shade of his earthy hazel eyes. Jean raises an eyebrow – a nonverbal question.

You smile and nod, closing your eyes.

Jean closes the gap.

The first kiss is soft, tentative.

Jean's other hand wanders to the back of your head, twisting his fingers in your hair. His grip is firm, yet gentle.

You place your hands on each of his arms, craving to touch his firm biceps without the jacket in the way.

Jean's tongue flicks to your lips, asking another nonverbal question.

You open your mouth, and his sweet and sour taste floods your senses. Your kisses grow hungrier. You're both desperate for more. Your hands wander up and down Jean's chest, begging to touch more, as are his, as he slips a warm hand under your dress, tracing your thighs while the other hand holds your hip.

Jean breaks away for a half second. “You taste as good as I imagined,” he murmurs and returns to your lips for more. “Better, actually,” he adds in between desperate kisses.

You pull away, head spinning.

You know exactly what you want, and given the look in Jean's eyes, you know what he wants too.

“Pieck is home tonight,” you gasp, trying to catch your breath. “Your place?”

Jean grimaces. “Marco and Connie have a few friends over.”

“Ah.” You slide your hands off Jean and look at the stone bridge beneath you. So much for ending with a bang – like Pieck said.

“Unless?” Jean raises an eyebrow and a mischievous look takes over his face.

~ ~ ~

“This is insane,” you giggle. Jean holds one of your hands while the other digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door to the dental clinic. “Won't someone be able to see that you've used your key fob?”

“Nah,” Jean says and pulls you through the door with him. “Sasha's the only one can see it – and she never does. I could always ask her to erase the history from the security system if I really need.”

The clinic is completely dark, except for a few security lights. The only sounds are your nervous giggles and Jean's breath. “This looks completely different now.”

“You're about to get a whole new perspective,” Jean grins. “C'mon.” He leans down and grabs you by the waist to throw you over his shoulder. You shriek and laugh, both from surprise and that Jean is strong enough to throw you over his shoulder like you're a sack of flour.

Jean walks all the way down the hallway and opens the door to the last exam room. The one you two were in yesterday.

“I'm ready for you,” he whispers and turns the dimmed lights on while still holding on to you with one hand.

Jean lays you down on the exam chair. You take your leather jacket off and lie down on your back.

This is indeed an entirely different perspective.

Jean crawls on top of you and kisses you with intensity, your tongues hungry, searching for more. You run your hands through his ash brown hair that he probably spent hours getting just right. Jean's hand creeps up under your dress again, this time wandering all the way up to your rib cage. His thumb strokes just along your bra line. Jean wiggles his hand under your bra and squeezes your breast. He runs his thumb back and forth over your nipple. You give a small shudder. You only breath when Jean takes a short kissing break to nip at your bottom lip. He's pinned your legs together with his knees, forceful enough to make you shiver, gentle enough to let you know you can stop any time.

But you don't want to stop.

You want more of Jean.

You break away and trace the outline of his face with your finger, his scruff gently scratching back at you.

“There's something I want,” you whisper. You close your mouth and poke your tongue on the inside of your cheek, mirroring your actions from a previous appointment. Jean smirks in both surprise and wonder.

“You sure?” He asks as he undoes his belt buckle.

“Mmhmm.”

Jean unzips his pants and they fall to the ground, belt buckle clanging against the hard floor. His boxers fall to his knees.

“Open wide then, pretty baby.”

Jean grips the head piece of the exam chair and surges forward.

Enormous is the only way to describe the most intimate part of his body. Your eyes widen, unsure if he can fit in your mouth. No, there's no way.

But you're sure as hell going to try.

You stroke his dick up and down with tantalizing fingers. Jean groans, begging for more.

You lean forward slightly and lick the precum leaking from his tip. You run your tongue up and down his shaft. Jean twitches and moans louder in response.

“Be a good girl and take me,” he gasps.

You're more than happy to accept Jean's challenge.

You take in as much of Jean's dick as you can, sucking and salivating. Jean's groans turn guttural. His arms on either side of you shake and bulge.

You repeat the motions and use one hand to stroke the very last of him that you can't quite fit in your mouth. The bundle of nerves in between your legs flushes, wondering what Jean will feel like there.

“Hey. . .” Jean trails off in between moans, “I think I'm gonna-”

With Jean's warning, you lurch forward in attempt to swallow as much of him as you can.

Except when his tip nudges the back of your throat, your throat heaves. Your stomach jerks up to your throat. You involuntarily push Jean away and out of your mouth.

You turn your head away, mouth now empty, and cough up the saliva caught in your throat.

“Shit, you okay?” Jean lowers himself to make eye contact with you, his eyes frantic.

“I'm fine,” you sputter and wipe your mouth. His face softens.

“So you do have a sensitive gag reflex?”

“I told you!” You and Jean burst out laughing together at the ridiculous scene – the two of you tangled up together, breathless on a dental exam chair. “So you didn't. . .?”

“Not yet,” Jean winks. “You know, there's something I'd like as well.” He tugs at the hem of your dress. You lift up your arms up for Jean to take your dress off with ease. He tosses it to the ground.

Jean leans in for a few kisses, then trails his lips down your neck, your collarbone, and finally, to your breasts. Goosebumps prickling on your skin follow Jean's lips. He pauses at your breasts and savors them – taking one in his mouth and giving you a little nip.

A soft groan escapes your lips.

Jean looks up at you for a second, smirks and then bites a little harder as he marks your chest. He flicks your nipple back and forth with his tongue before continuing his descent.

Jean kisses your stomach all the way down to your hips, where he bites down. You squirm and gasp – a blur between ticklish and pleasure.

He continues his path of kisses, down, down, down. You barely register that Jean slips off your panties. He parts your thighs and places them on top of his shoulders, granting himself a full view of the most intimate part of your body.

“Beautiful,” he whispers before he peppers your inner thighs with kisses. A spark ignites in between your legs. Jean teases your slit with his tongue, running up and down. Your entire body is a single flame, begging for more kindling.

“Jean, please,” you beg as you run your hands through his hair.

“Please what?” He pauses his teasing to grin up at you.

“Please. . .” you trail off and sigh as Jean resumes his teasing. “Play with my clit,” you gasp.

“C'mon now, darlin',” he purrs. “Be a good girl and wait for me.”

Jean parts your lips with his fingers and pushes his tongue inside you and trails up to your clit – but only with feather light pressure.

You whimper, craving more. You squirm and buck your hips, physically begging Jean. He grabs your hips, restraining you. You begin to drip.

He finally obliges.

Jean swirls his tongue around your bundle of nerves.

You release a high-pitched gasp and dig your nails into his arms.

Your body blazes into a roaring fire.

Jean is relentless in his efforts to make you cum, and you're both soon rewarded.

“J – Jean, I – I – I -” you gasp.

You can't get a thought, let alone a sentence, out before you climax.

Your body explodes into a wildfire. Several waves of tension and relaxation roll through you. Jean grips harder onto your hips and digs deeper with his tongue, keeping you going as long as he can.

As the last wave of pleasure collapses over you, you arms spill off the sides of the exam chair. Every muscle, every cell in your body has melted from your wildfire. Sparks ripple through your fingertips and toes.

“Wow,” you breath, unable to string together a coherent thought.

“Ready for more?” Jean grins and places his dick right at your entrance, rubbing up and down your slit, wetting his tip from you.

You jerk up and prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Ah, wait, do you have-”

“Got it,” Jean answers and dives down to his pants to grab an unwrapped condom from his pocket.

“You came prepared,” you huff, still unable to return to your normal voice.

“Always am,” he gives you a sly smirk. “Uh, although,” he pauses, giving his statement a second thought. “Not that I always do this. You're the only person I've ever brought here,” he stammers, his earthy hazel eyes widening.

“Good.” You find Jean's back and forth bravado and awkward nerves endearing. You take the half-opened condom from him. You rip it all the way open and hand it back to him.

“I'm patiently waiting for you. Get it, because I'm also your patient?” You chuckle at your own bad joke and lie back down on the table, legs open.

“Yes, I get it,” Jean rolls his eyes and returns your smile as he rolls the condom on. “Are you ready for me?” He whispers, hovering over you, and kisses the shell of your ear.

“Ready.”

He nudges his tip at your entrance. Your lips part and stretch, making way for his length.

“All good?” He whispers. You nod and bite your lower lip in anticipation. “I'll go slow. Let me know if it hurts.”

“Mm'kay,” you breath as he sinks deeper into you. You grimace slightly as your walls adjust to his length. Jean pauses and raises his eyebrows at you. “Keep going,” you command and place your hands on his ass, urging him to melt deeper into you.

Jean obeys, sinking more and more until he's all the way inside you. He pumps slowly, glancing at you every so often to let you control his pace. Jean sighs with every stroke, worshiping your body as his hands wander and praise every inch of you. You release a mewl as his dick reaches your most sensitive spot, making your insides curl with pleasure.

“Right there, hmm?” Jean pumps harder and faster with a new desperation. He lifts your hips at a slight angle, closer to him – Jean can't get enough of you. He dives for your neck, sucking and biting, muffling his rising groans. “Need more,” he growls.

Without warning, he lifts you up off the chair and you curl around him like a koala, as if by second nature. You're slammed against the nearest wall, Jean still holding you by your thighs, and fucks you against the wall. You cling to him and rest your chin on his shoulder. His weight against you forces a breathy moan with every powerful stroke. Jean's dick reaches deep inside you, a spot you didn't even know existed releasing heat throughout your body. You rake your nails up and down his back as he rails into you over and over again.

“Soon,” he pants.

Curious, you lift your chin off Jean's shoulder and find his hazel eyes glazed over, drunk on you. His mouth is parted and a bead of sweat drips down his temple.

You give Jean a crooked smirk, and that pretty smile of yours is what pushes him over the edge.

He releases a moan of purse ecstasy, and chants your name like a prayer. His arms shake, but still hold you firm against the wall. You know he won't drop you until he's completely finished spilling into you.

After several final strokes, Jean carries you back over to the exam chair and collapses back on top of you. He rests his head on your breasts and you rhythmically stroke his ash brown hair.

As you both catch you breath, Jean looks back up at you with a devilish grin.

“So,” he starts and runs his pointer finger along your lips. “When do I get to see that pretty mouth again?”

“Definitely sooner than six months,” you say and nip at his finger.

“Good. I do want to see you again,” Jean confirms. “Outside the office. Very unprofessionally.”

“I think we can arrange another appointment,” you tease. “As long as I'm your star patient.”

“You are certainly the best patient I've ever had.”

[gallusrostromegalus]

the 'Kon :)' in the list of things you're pleased about in aeiwam has be EXCITED please tell us more (if you want to)!

Soon after Masaki died, Isshin Kurosaki moved his family. It's mostly because the original clinic didn't feel haunted- if Masaki's spirit were still here, Isshin would know what to do, but instead he felt like his heels were dogged by the hole where she used to be.

It didn't hurt that the new place was larger, in a better school district, and closer to his friend Ryukken. He's almost feeling cheerful about the new place when Ichigo runs up the stairs and from room to room before calling dibs on one, because he's a big kid now and doesn't want to sleep where he has to listen to his dad snoring all night >:(.

Isshin felt slightly less cheerful when he looked out the big window in Ichigo's room to determine if he needs to put up some child safety grates, and realized their new neighbor was a taxidermist.

"I feel like it gives them a sort of dignity- A Life After Life, if you will." she said when he went by to make sure his neighbor was only eccentric and not something out of a horror movie. He wasn't entirely sure which, actually- Ms. Tanaka was an octogenarian with skin like tissue paper and a back like a question mark, but her living room was a veritable zoo of reconstituted animals, many of them former pets, if the number of domestic cats was anything to go by.

"Oh. Yeah!" Isshin grinned, terrified, and was struck by the idea of some goon in the 12th division slavering in the afterlife, desperate for her to shuffle off the mortal coil and bring her undoubted skills with dead bodies to R&D. "We've always been very spiritual people."

(Continued under the readmore)

"Oh, just like the nice young man who used to live in your house!" said Ms. Tanaka, sitting down in her armchair that was adorned by an ostentatious past-tense peacock perched on the back. "Odd fellow. Worked nights, spoke like he was born in the Sengoku Era or something, but very nice."

"He's BEAUTIFUL!" said Ichigo, staring in awe at an enormous Ginger Tabby Cat by the window, mounted in repose on a emerald velvet cat bed. Ms. Tanaka had done an excellent job conveying a sense of benevolent egotism on his whiskered face, but Ichigo's growing fascination with the Macabre was beginning to worry his father- Ichigo had seen the taxidermy stoat in the back window and INSISTED on coming along.

"Isn't he?" beamed Ms. Tanaka. "His name is Bostov! He was my very best friend for many years."

"Wow! Can I pet him?" Ichigo asked, eyes wide with delight.

"Ichigo, that's uh- that's not a real kitty-" Isshin began to sputter.

"Of course he's a real kitty!" Ms. Tanaka laughed, a noise like an ungreased gate. "You can pet him if you're very gentle." Ichigo stroked the deceased animal with exceptional delicacy for an overexcited Kindergartner. "He's so soft!" he gasped.

"Do you like him?" asked Ms. Tanaka.

"I LOVE HIM!" Said Ichigo, cheeks flushed and eyes bright for the first time in months now. Perhaps having a distant relative of the Addams family for a neighbor isn't so bad, if her creepy hobby cheers Ichigo up... Isshin sighed.

"In that case, why don't you take him home with you?" Smiled Ms. Tanaka. "I'm sure he'll be a good friend to you too."

"UH." Isshin blurted out, nearly spilling his tea on a flock of quail under the side-table.

"I have SO MANY friends in my home with me- it's bordering on a fire hazard!" Ms. Tanaka chuckled. "I'd be delighted to send him to a home where he'll be loved. Please- consider him my housewarming present!"

"CAN WE? CAN WE TAKE HIM HOME? PLEASE DAD??PLEEEEEEEASE-!!" Ichigo asked, stars in his eyes.

Isshin froze, horrified at the prospect of having... That. In his house. Watching him. ...and at the same time, completely unwilling to dash his little boy's dreams.

"yEaH oKaY." Isshin grimaced, soaked in a cold sweat.

*****

Bostov The Former Cat was bad enough, but at least the taxidermy beast 'lived' on Ichigo's bedroom dresser and not down in the living room where Isshin would have to look at it's green glass eyes, which seemed to follow him around the room. It wasn't right having a hollow thing in the house like that- any wandering spirit could decide to climb in there! He resolved to have it warded, but Kisuke said he was on a trip to the Caribbean for "Botanical Research" , and wouldn't be back until "After the Big Holiday on the 20th". Isshin hung up the phone, groaned and rubbed his face. It was fairly late, and he was still at the kitchen table, going through all of the licensing paperwork to get the clinic up and running.

"Hey Dad?" Ichigo asked, holding up a small plastic toy. "What's 'Soul Candy'?"

"Soul Cand-?" Isshin frowned, turned to look at the toy and nearly jumped out of his skin, swiping it away from the boy. "WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS? DID YOU EAT ANY??"

"...it was upstairs, in the back of my closet." Ichigo pouted. "-and no, I didn't eat any strange closet candy. I'm not stupid."

"Oh thank the Gods..." Isshin sighed, sitting back down at the table and shaking the small, duck-headed pill dispenser. Empty. "-I'm sorry I yelled Ichigo, but this is Very Dangerous stuff."

Ichigo arched an incredulous Eyebrow at him. "Really? Is this the same kind of dangerous that the half my Halloween candy you confiscated and ate was?"

"Ah- well. No. That was Dad Tax. This is actually dangerous. Here, come sit with me a minute." he pulled out the other chair at the kitchen table. "Remember how I told you about the ghost that lived in my attic when I was your age?"

"The Shinigami?" Ichigo asked.

Isshin did not *enjoy* lying to his children, but a little knowledge was a dangerous thing, and not enough even more so, so he'd concocted a little fantasy to explain why he knew all about ghosts and why the children never saw their grandparents, so he could tell them about the dangers of this world without telling them too much.

"That's right- His name was Kaien Shiba, and he was a Soul Reaper. At night, he'd turn into a ghost and leave his body behind, and go escort spirits to the afterlife or fight hollows." Isshin said. he'd named the fictional soul reaper after his favorite nephew in a fit of inspiration- he'd started telling Ichigo a tale from his days as a Shinigami one night after slightly too many drinks and had to convince Ichigo that that was only a distant acquaintance.

"...Like what killed Mom." Ichigo muttered.

"Um. Yeah." Isshin nodded.

They were silent for a moment.

"-Anyway, the way he turned into a ghost was that he'd swallow one of these little candies that would come in these tubes-" Isshin pulled the duck's head back to show Ichigo the mechanism. "-and Poof! he'd jump out of his body as a ghost so he could use magic to save people! But-there was a little soul inside the candy that would come out and take care of his body while he was away! Like a babysitter, but for his own butt! After a few hours, the little soul would stop working, and Kain would be home to climb back in."

Ichigo blinked at the mechanism, thinking. "So. There's a little person in these candies?"

"If there were any in here, yeah." Said Isshin. "They're not like. Whole people. Just little collages of behaviors and phrases. You know, like the fake voice that talks on the phone when you call to refill a prescription!" Ichigo frowned, considering something. "...There weren't any candies in this thing, were there?" Isshin asked, suspicious.

"No." Said Ichigo, frowning at him. "It'd be really lonely, being just a little soul, stuck in a candy, wouldn't it?" he asked.

"I suppose so, but I don't think the little souls are aware while they're in there. It's like being asleep for them." Isshin shrugged, lying to himself as much as his son about that.

Ichigo still frowned. "...What happens if the candy goes into a body without a soul in it? Like a dead body?" "Huh." Isshin frowned. "I dunno, actually. I guess the little soul would run around and operate it for a while, until it faded out, like it did with a normal body?"

Ichigo nodded, still preoccupied.

"Why?" Isshin tried.

"...No reason." Ichigo muttered, kicking his little feet. "Just thinking."

"Alright. Promise me if you find anything else weird or see any random candies to not touch them and tell me right away, okay?"

"Yeah okay." Ichigo nodded, only sort of paying attention. "I'm gonna go to bed. G'night dad." he muttered, getting up from the table and handing the dispenser to Isshin before giving him a quick hug and stomping up the stairs.

Isshin watched him go, aching a bit. I wondered how old he was gonna be when he started keeping secrets from me. He sighed, looking down at the Soul Candy Dispenser. Not that I'm being a Paragon of Honesty for him to follow...

---

"GIRLS? ICHIGO? HAVE ANY OF YOU SEEN MY STETHOSCOPE?" Isshin hollered, searching fruitlessly under the couch cushions.

"NO!" Hollered Karin from where she and Yuzu were playing in the small front yard.

"TRY ICHIGO'S ROOM, HE TOOK A BUNCH OF LAUNDRY UP TO SORT." called Yuzu.

"THANKS GIRLS!" he called back stomping up the stairs. Ichigo was at karate- he'd finally returned to classes, or at least, Tatsuki had finally physically dragged him back into the Dojo. "Man I hope I didn't put it through the washing machine-" he muttered, opening the door to the boy's room and started searching through the basket of laundry on his bed.

Isshin stopped, and stood up, frowning around the room. Something was off.

Ichigo was a tidy boy, somehow, and his room was usually in order save for whatever video game he had out to play and the bed he never made but... Isshin turned fully around trying to figure out what was off before his eyes finally landed on the top of the Dresser.

The Emerald Green Velvet Cat bed, home of Bostov The Cat, was empty.

"Did he take the cat out of the bed to play with?" Isshin wondered aloud, hoping that that, and not several other horrible scenarios, was what was happening. He could hear Karin and Yuzu giggling through the window, and he peeked down at them- they appeared to be having a tea party on the thin strip of grass, and the guest of honor amongst the dolls and stuffed animals was a familiar-looking ginger tabby. "Oh! The GIRLS took him out to play with." he sighed with relief, leaning against the window to watch them.

...and watch a strange man approaching down the street, who stopped at the garden fence. Isshin frowned- maybe he was just watching the girls play, in a normal, wholesome way like he was doing right now. ...or he could be taking candy out of his pocket and waving the girls to come through the gate.

Isshin jumped on the bed, tore open the window with such force it jumoed out of it's track and was halfway out to jump down at the man from the second floor when the most EXTRAORDINARY thing happened.

Bostov, Who by all accounts had been deceased for the better part of a decade and was made of little more than a skin and some glass stretched over a wood-and-cotton frame, Suddenly leapt up from his chair, claws and teeth drawn like swords and leapt upon the man, battering him visciously with a stream of einvective so foul it made Isshin's barrack-hardened linguistic sensibilities blush, before chasing him back down the street like a short, furious, ass-seeking missile.

"GIRLS!" he shouted, jumping down anyway. "-ARE YOU OKAY?"

"DON'T GET MAD AT ICHIGO OR KON!!" Shouted Yuzu, tears in her eyes.

"...ichigo or who?" Isshin blinked.

"Way to spill the beans, Yuzu." Karin groaned. "Yeah Dad, we're FINE- Kon was here, he'll beat the crap out of anything."

"Who's Kon?" Isshin repeated.

"HEY DAD." Shouted Ichigo, skidding into the garden in his karate gi, and out of breath, clutching an unconvincingly stiff Mr. Bostov under his arm. "SO. UH- WELL MR. BOSTOV CAN MOVE NOW. FOR SOME REASON."

"Uh-huh?" Isshin glared at the cat, who glanced away nervously. "Why do you think that is?"

"...it's a Christmas Miracle?" Tried Ichigo.

"Ichigo, it's fucking April." groaned Karin.

"...Passover?" tried Ichigo.

"-This wouldn't have anything to do with that Soul Candy Dispenser you found, would it?"

"uhhhhhhh..." said Ichigo. Honesty might not have been one of the boy's virtues, but at least he was a terrible liar.

"PLEASE DADDY DON'T GET ANGRY!!" Sobbed Yuzu, throwing herself around his calf and wailing. "MR. KON IS THE MOST NICEST KITTY IN THE WHOLE WORLD! HE PLAYS TEA TIME AND DRESS-UP WITH US AND TELLS JOKES AND CHASES AWAY DOGS AND SCARY MEN AND HE ALWAYS WAKES UP ICHIGO WHEN HE'S HAVING A NIGHTMARE-!"

"Yeah, actually, Kon's like. the first thing to make me laugh since. Well." Mumbled Karin, plodding over to Isshin's other leg and leaning heavily on him. "Please? he's weird, but he's a good guy."

Isshin sighed, then glared back down at the cat. "Alright. Who are you?" he demanded.

Ichigo and the formerly immobile cat glanced at each other and the feline unfolded as Ichigo set him down, shaking himself out and sitting on the walkway.

"So, uh- Hi. My name's Kon. Kon Bostov, if you wanna be formal, in honor of the beast whose body I currently inhabit." He nodded, waving a paw evocatively. "-And, uh. Well, how much do you know about the afterlife?"

"-Being from a long line of psychic mediums and prone to hauntings, my parents rented out our attic to a Shinigami when I was a child, and he told me pretty much everything." Said Isshin, and Kon winced. "So. Is 'Kon' short for 'Mod Konpaku'?"

"Ehh... well, Yeah." Kon winced. "-But hey! It wasn't my idea to be cooked up in a lab by some maniac and then put to death minutes later for something I didn't even do!" he snarled, fur bristling.

"What?" asked Karin.

"Kids I- Look, I didn't mean to lie, there just wasn't a good time to bring it up but. Technically, I'm wanted by the law. I'm an artificial soul created for battle to be put into dead bodies, but literally four and a half minutes after I woke up, the soul society- where all the Shinigami are from- condemned me to die, because they didn't like how strong some of the other Mod Souls were. I managed to roll myself off of the table and into a box of normal bodyminders to hide, Got put in a dispenser and then the shinigami that had been here accidentally left me behind." Kon explained.

"COOL!" Shouted Karin.

"NOT COOL. BAD!" Shouted Isshin. "Okay, okay I- I mean you're right, I never- I mean, the way Kaien told it, the whole Mod Soul program was pretty shady and it sounded really unfair. But why would a Shinigami just leave an important and dangerous tool lying around?"

"...I don't know how much spiritual sense you have my guy, but this town doesn't have a Hollow problem so much as the Hollowpocalylse goin' on." Kon grimaced. "-I really hope that guy's okay, he seemed pretty cool from what I could tell. I don't actually remember hearing him get called back to soul society." Kon muttered. "-Anyway, about three weeks ago, your brother found me in the dispenser in the back of his closet and put my candy body into this taxidermy cat, and I've been hanging out with the kids since then! You know, like a cat is supposed to do!"

Isshin stared blankly at Kon. The girls hugged his legs, lips wobbling, but he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, firming up his resolve- no matter how nice he seemed, a Mod Soul was a dangerous thing- and one crafty enough to live right under his nose for the better part of a month? No, absolutely n-

Isshin opened his eyes to see Ichigo had picked up Kon, cradling the cat to his tiny body, eyes wide and beginning to glisten with tears.

"...Ah. What the hell. You make the kids laugh." Isshin sighed, and all four cheered, thanking him profusely and promising to be extra-good and take good care of Kon- "But you put so much as a Whisker out of line and you're in deep trouble, got it?" Isshin leaned into the cat's face, scowling menacingly and shaking his finger at Kon.

"Understood sir!" Kon Saluted. "So when's dinner? Ichigo's been sneaking me scraps but I could really go for some chicken, or maybe ham-" he asked, tail thrashing excitedly.

"You can eat?" Isshin asked. "I thought you were all... Whatever they stuff taxidermy animals with?"

"-Might've been, but I'm all complete now? Fluff, guts, claws-the works!" Kon shrugged, hopping up on Isshin's shoulder. "-Between you an' me, I ain't even neutered! But that ain't a problem- Plenty of hot pussy around, if you know what I mean, especially that sweet little tuxedo bobtail just up the street- Me-YOW, huh?"

"Oh gods." Groaned Isshin, covering his face. "What am I letting into my house?"

"An intact male cat is called a 'Tom' Dad." Karin called over her shoulder.

"Alright Kon, a few rules- No more swearing in front of the kids, no bringing ladies around the house and for goodness sake DON'T TELL ANYONE YOU'RE HERE!" Isshin snarled at him.

"Alright, alright!" Kon sighed, rolling his eyes. "Out of curiosity though- What rank was your guy Kaien?"

"Hm?" Isshin asked.

"Only that I thought only the captains and a few lieutenants ever knew about project Spearhead." Kon glanced at Isshin, arching an orange-striped brow at him. "-funny thing, having a seated officer doing routine patrols, isn't it?"

"I dunno?" Shrugged Isshin, trying to keep his shoulders from tensing up, "-He didn't actually tell me all that much about how the soul society is governed."

"Huh." Kon nodded, smirking just a bit. "Interestin' guy, this Kaien. You should tell me about him sometime!"

"KOOOOONN!" Yuzu called. "My Dollie's shoe got under the fridge!"

"Coming Sweetie!" Kon called, jumping off Isshin's shoulder to reach his skinny little cat arm under the fridge and swat the missing accessory out from under the appliance. Yuzu applauded with delight and hugged him, laughing for the first time in ages.

Isshin watched them play for a bit and sighed. He not a bad guy, this Kon. All the same- Isshin took out his phone and dialed a number.

"~Urahara Shoten, home of Karkura Town's finest Candies, Cell Phones and Card Games! I'm on sabbatical 'til the end of the month or so, so if it's an emergency, hang up and call the Kurosaki Clinic! Or die! If it's not an emergency, leave me a message with what you need and I'll hook you up when I get back! Bye!~" Urahara's voicemail recording sing-sang over the line.

"Kisuke. It's me, Isshin. You will not fucking believe what my kids found in the new house. Call me as soon as you get back."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Can I ask why you don’t like Vil much? If you haven’t answered that already?

For me, I also didn’t like him at first but loving Rook has turned me into a Vil lover 😭.

[Referencing this tier list!]

A significant part of it is no fault of Vil's own, it's just... I have a very strong aversion to celebrity characters. This dislike scales up the more famous that celebrity character is + how much attention is brought to their status, and well... Y'all know perfectly well how famous Vil is 🤡 This is why I also dislike his father to some degree, though it's to a lesser extent because I at least appreciate Eric being involved in his son’s life + find Eric to be friendly.

Celebrity characters tend to make me feel deeply uncomfortable chiefly because their careers put them in a position where they're ripe for parasocialism (which is when one party, ie their fans, extends emotional energy, interest and time, and the other party, the persona, ie the object of their affection, is completely unaware of the other's existence). Parasocialism in of itself is not a negative thing by default; it can, in fact, be a powerful motivator to improve oneself or can significantly lift one's mood. Some sectors entirely rely on parasocialism to function (such as the "influencing" industry).

Where it starts to get iffy for me is when we veer into the most parasocial of fans who will take extreme actions to support and/or hate on an individual. These are your stalkers, your sasaeng fans, etc. While I'm aware that these are the vocal minority of a celebrity's fanbases, the kinds of things these extremely parasocial fans pull off deeply unnerves me. Like Vil, the celebrities involved are by no means at fault—but they’re always “tainted” in my mind by the association due to the sheer magnitude of what the most crazed fans do in their name 💀 So when I think of that celebrity… I also think of the insane stuff they have to deal with from their fans and that stresses me out.

I find the whole “celebrity worship” culture in of itself very odd. It’s difficult for me to form an attachment to a real person that doesn’t or cannot reciprocate. (It’s easy to do with fictional characters because they, by design, can’t exactly reciprocate and I can “turn them off” whenever I want to.) By extension, it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around activities like following the celebrity’s life closely, supporting any and all projects due to their involvement alone, and collecting merch/signatures. Thinking of Vil’s fans doing this… (or, as seen in the Tapis Rouge event, getting emotional/shrieking for him, begging for a glance, fainting, etc.) it invokes those feelings of discomfort again.

Finally (regarding the celebrity thing), Vil and other famous people tend to be in the spotlight. I don’t really like this sort of a presentation; it calls too much attention to them. This runs counter to the types of characters I tend to gun for: the schemers who operate from the shadows, typically appearing innocuous or humble at first glance. These characters stay out of the spotlight and prefer it that way, as it allows them more freedoms to enact their plots. Celebrities’ positions don’t really allow for that. Even if their off-camera persona is completely different than their on-camera one, the attention they’re showered with never seems to fade.

I also find Vil’s entire presence way too intense (even when he’s lined up next to arguably much more physically imposing students like the 180 cm+ squad or any muscular character). This is why I can tolerate Neige but dislike Vil; Neige comes off as innocent and approachable—so much so that I don’t even register him as an idol or a celebrity in my mind. He’s just a cute boy-next-door type inviting me to dance and sing with him and his friends!

Vil’s hair, makeup, tall heels, the need for perfection, his sternness. It’s a LOT to take in. I can admire the confidence and the tenacity with which Vil pursues beauty, but at the same time… it can come off as super overwhelming. I don’t think I could comfortably breathe in the same space as him without feeling like I’ve offended his sensibilities 😅 Sometimes I get a little anxious just reading him scolding others; it feels like he’s reaching through the screen and scolding me too. I get the overwhelming vibes even through the things Vil creates or commissions; the composition and choreography of Absolutely Beautiful was so oppressive and centered on winning that I disassociated from my own school’s team 💀

Some other minor, miscellaneous gripes I have with Vil:

I don’t generally have a problem with Vil’s leadership or how he guides/teaches others. (His behavior is very similar to what I’ve experienced within my own culture’s upbringing.) However, I do not approve of all of his methods and I do think he does “too much” at times + oversteps, making me feel uneasy.

His tastes don’t really match mine! It’s a little too “glam”, especially the ensembles with heavy smoky eyes.

What’s with him dying the ends of his hair that color… It makes me think of him dunking his head in grape Kool-aid as a dye 😭/j

There we are ^^ I hope that explanation was sufficient!! I tried to explain my… admittedly complex feelings behind my dislike of Vil as neatly as I could. Nothing against the guy, how he is written, or his fans (both in-universe and irl), of course!! This is just my opinion.

[hannahmanderr]

WHOO HOO ECTO-IMPLOSION!! I was honored to get to step in to write for the incredible artwork done by @praetoring! They're such a talented artist, and their art was truly inspiring!! I'll be reblogging it myself, but definitely go check it out here and share the love with them!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This would be so much easier if you opened up, Daniel.”

Danny huffs and scrapes the heel of his scruffy shoe on the thin carpet. “It’s Danny. And I told you before. There’s nothing to open up about.”

Dr. Bell leans forward and laces his fingers underneath his chin. Danny’s seen the critical glint in his eye before, in the other psychiatrists who have come before him. He wonders if it’s something they teach in medical school. Maybe they make it a graduation requirement.

“I’m here to help you. We all are,” Dr. Bell says, his honey brown eyes trained on Danny. “You’re here because you have people who care about you. They want to see you get better.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint, but there’s nothing to get better from.”

Dr. Bell’s eyes crease into a sad sort of smile. “There’s a term for that, you know. When a patient believes their problems aren’t a problem. ‘Ego-syntonic’ is what we call it.”

“Why would I care what it’s called?”

“Thought you might like to know.” The doctor shrugs. “You seem like the inquisitive type.”

A silence befalls the two, broken only by the gentle ticking of the antique cuckoo clock on the wall. Danny scrapes his heel on the ground again.

He doesn’t like the quiet. It leaves room for too much to sneak through. Too many chances for something to slip through the cracks. 

But he doesn’t speak.

It’s a lose-lose situation, really. He can stay quiet and run that risk, or he can talk and have to deal with all this. Again.

He shuffles and crosses his arms.

Dr. Bell sighs. “You do know why you’re here right now, yes?”

Danny doesn’t answer at first. His gaze is focused out the window now, at a point on the horizon. The sun is glaring down, melting the slushy snow and causing the air to shimmer. It’s a mesmerizing sight, he decides.

“Daniel. Danny. Look at me.”

Danny grits his teeth, but obeys. Still, his eyes continue to drift back outside. 

There’s another look in Dr. Bell’s eyes. One that Danny also knows well. The same reproachful, pitying look given to him by the students in the halls at school, the cashiers at the grocery store, the dozens of professionals he’s been forced to talk to. The same look accompanied by low whispers and unrelenting rumors.

Danny knows he should be used to them by now, but he still can’t help but lash out at them. Every time. Even if it’s in his own head. 

Dr. Bell tilts his head thoughtfully. “Why did you throw those meds away, Danny?”

Danny bristles. He can still hear the flushing toilet and his sister’s shouts of disbelief. The angry lecture from his parents. It’s not pretty.

Somehow, he’d never thought about the consequences of getting caught.

“Maybe if you listened to me,” he snaps, “you’d understand that they’re useless.”

“If we need to adjust the dosage, or if we need to try anoth-”

“No, just - I don’t need them!” His heart is beginning to race. He’s getting himself worked up again, and he knows it can only lead to disaster, but he can’t really help it. “I don’t need them, because nothing’s wrong!”

Dr. Bell’s brow furrows. “How long have you been tossing them?”

“Does it matter? I don’t need them, end of story.”

“Danny.” His name is spoken with a sort of sternness really only matched by his English teacher. It’s enough to make him shut his mouth and slowly sit back in his seat. Had he even realized he’d started to lean forward?

His heart doesn’t quiet, though. It pounds away in his chest, faster and faster. Something tingles in the back of his head.

He scrapes his heel again.

The doctor finally looks away and pinches the bridge of his nose. It pushes his glasses askew. “This is serious. You can’t simply decide to stop taking these meds because you think you don’t need them. That’s dangerous… to you.”

Danny doesn’t need to be a genius to hear the unspoken message in Dr. Bell’s words. Dangerous to you and the people around you.

Jazz would scold him for jumping to that conclusion. He can imagine just what she’d say. People with psychotic disorders are more likely to be the victims of violence than the perpetrators of it, she’d say in that presumptuous, know-it-all voice she dons any time she gets to talking about psychology. 

Danny knows better though. Statistics might say one thing. They don’t change what people think, though.

Another shimmer outside the window catches his eye. He hones in on it immediately. 

This one is different. He knows it. He can feel it.

Shit.

Dr. Bell is still speaking. “Please, Danny. You don’t want to end up back in the hospital again. You’ve been managing your symptoms for a while now. You don’t want to throw that all away.”

But Danny isn’t hearing him. Not even the thinly veiled threat of the hospital breaks his concentration. 

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he wonders if psychiatrists are supposed to be this blunt. All of the others before this one always danced around the issue so delicately.)

(He sort of appreciates the bluntness, for once. It’s a refreshing change.)

No, his focus is devoted to that point on the horizon, where the shimmer is waving precariously in the air, taking on a new shape and growing stronger. 

Really, he wishes it had waited until this appointment was over.

Then again, he’s really the one to blame for it, isn’t he?

“We can only do so much. Myself, your parents, your teachers… I know it’s difficult, and I know you’ve been through a lot, but we can’t do all the work for you. You have to be willing to step up and take care of yourself.”

Danny’s heart is throbbing painfully now. He can feel the potent hum of something buzzing just under his skin, making his leg bounce and his fingers dig into his torn jeans. His eyes remain stubbornly trained out the window.

But this time he’s heard Dr. Bell’s words. Specifically that last bit. And he has some words of his own. 

It’s perfect timing, thankfully. 

He stands up abruptly, so forcefully it knocks over his chair. “Thanks, but no thanks, doc. You may think I’m just throwing away my life or whatever, but I know myself better than you do. And for the record, I am taking care of myself. I’m taking care of more than myself, actually. So - and I’ll only say this once - kindly go to hell.”

Before Dr. Bell has the chance to respond, Danny sweeps out of the office.

No one sees him exit the building.

____________________________________________________________

One year, seven months, twenty-one days, and forty-six minutes.

That’s how long it’s been since the first crack.

It shouldn’t have been possible. His parents said so themselves. With the portal destroyed, the veil between worlds was never torn. Reality remained intact, thus preventing any leakage. 

That’s what they thought anyway. 

But Danny knows the truth. He’s the only one that does. 

He was there when it happened, after all.

____________________________________________________________

The next morning has Jazz hovering over his shoulder, watching him like a hawk.

“Go on,” she says, nodding to the pills in his open hand. “Take them.”

Danny doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at the pills with disdain. Mom had been sure to make certain that he’d have them for this morning. Pharmacies work much faster with an impassioned Fenton breathing down their necks.

Either that, or maybe they’ve heard the rumors about him too.

Jazz huffs and throws her hands in the air. “Honestly, Danny, I don’t understand what the big deal is. They’re not gonna kill you.”

Danny tilts his head. He could probably make a decent argument as to why yes, taking these pills could end up with him dead, but he holds his tongue.

He can feel his heart begin to pulse a little faster. His focus immediately redirects to his breathing. 

Inhale Io Europa Ganymede.

Exhale Callisto Amalthea Himalia.

Inhale Elara Pasiphae Sinope.

Exhale Lysithea Carme Ananke.

Jupiter has 95 moons. Danny knows all their names by heart. It became especially easy to memorize them when he discovered they make for a wonderful mantra to time his breathing to.

And Jazz wanted to accuse him of not paying attention in therapy.

Except she’s still staring at him with murder in her eyes. “You’re not going anywhere until you take those. And no, I will not vouch for you with Lancer if you make us late.”

His eyes flick up to hers for the briefest of moments. He doesn’t maintain the eye contact - it’s too hard to look at the disappointment in her eyes - but it’s long enough for him to spot something else within them. He can’t quite believe it, though.

Is that… helplessness?

Conflicting feelings war within him. On one hand, he wants to snap at her, tell her to mind her own business and quit worrying about him. She’s been on his back for the better part of the past year and a half. How has she not learned that no amount of nagging is going to “fix” him?

But on the other hand, his heart pangs for his sister. After all, she’s been dealing with the effects of his… condition for that year and a half now, whether she’s wanted to or not. He knows his problems are not self-contained; they inevitably twist their way into the lives of everyone he comes into contact with. No one has been in closer contact with him than Jazz.

In a way, he sort of hates himself for it. Or maybe he hates the universe for putting him into this position. Either way, he hates it.

Yet he still can’t take the pills. He doesn’t know what sort of effect they’ll have on him, but he’s not eager to find out, either. 

Danny sighs and his shoulders slump. “Fine,” he says, his voice clipped. “Whatever.”

He makes a show of tossing them in his mouth and taking a big gulp of water. Even after he swallows, Jazz still eyes him critically.

“Open up,” she demands, though her voice is gentler. Obediently, he opens and lifts his tongue to show her his empty mouth. 

She nods curtly, but Danny can see the tension drain from her face and body. The sight is somewhat strangely satisfying. “Thank you. Now was that so bad?”

Danny shakes his head.

“That’s what I thought. Now come on, I really don’t want to be late.”

“You go ahead,” he says. “Sam and Tucker wanted to walk with me today.”

Jazz raises an eyebrow. The gears are turning in her head, Danny knows, as she tries to pick the reason apart. Looks for a flaw. 

A year and a half of lying through his teeth has earned him such a lack of trust.

But he shrugs half-heartedly. He’s already taken the pills, hasn’t he?

Jazz seems to reach this conclusion. “Alright,” she says slowly. She bends down to pick up her bag, but her eyes stay glued to him. “But if you try anything funny…”

“What would I even try?”

“Just -” she cuts herself off and draws in a breath. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy, Danny. I just… I worry. You’re my little brother, you know?”

His heart pangs again. “I know.”

The hint of a smile graces the corners of her lips. She plants a kiss into his hair. There’s a weight to it though, one that holds the strain of all the heated arguments, all the angry and despaired tears, all the failed pleading and promising, everything that’s happened in the past year and a half.

Even if her melancholy hadn’t draped itself around his shoulders, he would’ve known.

Still, when she pulls away, he offers her his own small smile. She leaves the house without another word.

It’s only after he hears the door close behind her that he bolts to the bathroom.

____________________________________________________________

He had tried to explain what was happening to him, after the portal exploded on him. He tried to explain the strange feelings in his body, the impossible things he was seeing. 

The doctors (and his sister) immediately wrote off his complaints as residual trauma from the accident. You’re lucky to even be alive, they would tell him. It’s expected that you’d be having problems adjusting.

(Lucky to be alive. That’s what they said. That’s what everyone said.)

(If only he believed that statement was true.)

(And not about the “lucky” part.)

His parents, of course, had been intrigued at first. Perhaps it was because of some delirious hope after the destruction of their magnum opus, but they at least listened to him. There had been some skepticism, especially as it became clearer and clearer that there was no proof to Danny’s claims, but they stayed patient.

Until Jazz found out about the questions they were asking him. She had given them a lecture of her own for “encouraging his delusions” before “accidentally” dropping it to the therapist during a family counseling session.

His parents, disappointed as they had been, agreed to back off.

Leaving him alone to fix a problem no one believed was real.

____________________________________________________________

Danny’s head feels like dead weight as he lifts it from the toilet. He flushes it before he can look down and make himself sick all over again.

God, what has he come to?

The bitter taste of the half-digested pills burns at his tongue. Still, he chooses to fall back against the wall, breathing heavily and letting his eyes flutter closed.

His heart pounds in his chest. It had started even as he had been running to the bathroom. He silently berates himself for allowing it to happen. And although part of him has already resigned himself to the inevitable consequence, part of him still desperately latches onto the list of moons he knows so well.

Leda Thebe Adrastea.

Something potent and volatile pulses in the air. He can feel it seep through his skin and into his muscles and bones. It only makes his heart race faster, especially as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and goosebumps coat his arms.

He’s had a year and a half to get used to the sensation, but it catches him off guard every time. Like something is tearing itself apart inside him. 

Or maybe like he’s being torn apart.

Metis, Themisto…

Danny curls in on himself. Pressure builds in his chest. Something he has no human words for storms inside him in a relentless whirlwind. He can feel the need for release, though whether that’s him begging for a reprieve or the force inside him demanding to be freed, he can never tell. Perhaps it’s both.

… Callirrhoe…

The sizzling snaps of something electric are audible in the air, concentrated somewhere behind the shower curtain. He holds his head in a death grip and his heart beats fast - impossibly fast.

So fast it might as well be stopped.

Something cold writhes its way into his throat, stirring his stomach into nausea all over again. He can’t swallow it down. He’s forced to open his mouth in a gasp and stare in dismay as pale, blue mist pours from his lips.

But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. The demand from the force within has become intolerable. Like always, he’s left wondering if it’ll be too much for his tiny mortal body to handle.

Unfortunately for him, he knows he’ll be able to handle it.

With a guttural cry, the energy erupts in him.

He’s never sure what exactly happens next. He’s always been too overwhelmed by whatever it is to see or understand. All he knows is the thunderbolt of something electric, something powerful being unleashed into him. Or maybe it’s clawing its way out of him. 

Memories of blinding green light and an explosion that leaves his ears ringing rip through him.

That’s probably always the worst part.

And then, right as he’s sure he’ll disintegrate into nothing more than dust, it stops. In a single deafening clap, it stops.

Slowly, Danny peels his eyes open. The death grip loosens and his legs and arms begin to unfold. The tension, however, does not leave his body. Every human instinct of his whispers at him furiously to stay alert. Be prepared. Flee from the danger.

But a different set of instincts has clamored its way forward too. Instincts that are far from human. Instincts that draw him up from the floor and towards the bathtub.

A toxic green glow pulses behind the shower curtain.

____________________________________________________________ It hadn’t taken long for the rumors to start spreading. Amity Park is, after all, a sleepy little suburb. Its residents will take their drama where they can get it.

Did you hear about the ghost hunters’ son? they’d whisper. Did you hear about the crazy Fenton kid?

Speculations ranged far and wide. Even after the portal’s explosion became common knowledge, people would throw out wild theory after wild theory.

I heard he ate a bunch of ectoplasm and it’s poisoned him.

Well, I heard the radiation from all those experiments finally got to him.

Are you kidding? Those loony Fentons obviously started experimenting on him.

Comments like that last one always stung the worst.

If he’d been a social pariah before, he was even more of one after the accident.

And it definitely didn’t help that the accident left him with a slew of… “side effects.” Ones that really got everyone talking. 

____________________________________________________________

Danny nearly tears the curtain off the rod as he rips it to the side.

Sure enough, right in the middle of the bathtub, a rancid green crack shimmers in the air. 

“Go away,” he growls. There’s something ethereal about his voice now, something that makes it reverberate against the walls and fill the air with static. Something fueled by the anger and frustration in his bones.

Something - or someone - is trying to press their way through the crack. Even if it hadn’t been visibly apparent, Danny can feel it in his chest. It’s causing a distinct pressure that throbs out of sync with his heart. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least.

A different kind of static drifts through the portal. That would be the response, Danny gathers. Somehow, despite the lack of any English words - or any words, period - he knows exactly what’s being said. Or a rough idea, at least.

“No,” he snaps. A crack of electricity snaps in time with his voice. “You’re not coming through. Go away.”

He wishes the intruder would just leave him alone. The sooner he’s able to calm down, the sooner the crack will fade. That’s how it works. That’s how it’s always worked. 

This time, when static drifts through the portal, there are the low undertones of something that can maybe be interpreted as language. Danny listens closely.

“This is my world.” He’s attempting to make himself sound as threatening as possible, allowing the anger and the fierce instinct to possess to bubble over into his demeanor. His blood is running cold, and he knows if he were to look in the mirror right now, he’d be met with not his eyes, but an otherworldly glow that mimics the color of the crack down to a tee. “This is my haunt. You’re not welcome.”

He’s still not exactly sure what a haunt is, and he’s not sure why the thought of this being his haunt makes his stomach flutter with both anxiety and excitement, but he’s dealt with this problem long enough to know how to speak their language. 

“Let me through,” a voice hisses from inside the crack, muddied by the accompanying static. “I only wish to help you.”

Danny scoffs. “Yeah, right. Like any of you have ever actually wanted to help me before.” His eyes narrow, and now he can feel a cold crackle gathering behind them. “So you’d better leave now, because you won’t like it if I have to make you.”

“And just how do you intend to ‘make’ me leave, halfling?”

There’s that word again. The one that sends a buzz straight down Danny’s spine and causes something in his chest to leap. The one they’ve all been calling him for the past year and a half.

Halfling.

What exactly that means, he still doesn’t know.

“I’ve gotten rid of plenty of you before,” he says, low and dangerous. “I can just as easily get rid of you.”

The pressure in his chest increases sharply as a shadowy figure presses right up against the crack. Foggy bits of the figure begin to slip through the crack. “Perhaps you are as powerful as they say.” The voice becomes clearer. “Perhaps your words have merit. Somehow, I doubt that.”

Danny growls again, and his hands ball into fists. He swings madly at the little tendrils of fog. They dissipate under his touch, and the intruder hisses.

“You are making a grave mistake, child. It is not wise to reject my aid.”

“Sure. I’m sure your ‘aid’ involves all sorts of terrorizing and wreaking havoc and stuff. Exactly the kind of help I need.” He grunts as the intruder attempts to shove their way through again, and it feels like someone has thrown a cinderblock into his chest. Still, he stands his ground. “This place is mine, and if you think I’m just gonna let you come in and run rampant, then you have another thing coming.”

Despite his best efforts, more and more foggy bits leak through the crack. The static in the air pulses, and he gets the vague notion that he’s being laughed at. “Such strong words from such an insolent boy. This is the great halfling child I was told so much about?”

“You know, you’re not exactly doing much to help your case.”

“Hmm. Then maybe I’ll simply make you my offer.”

“Not. Interested.” His hands are tingling. Is it from coming into contact with the intruder? Or from something else? He can’t tell. “You can take your offer and -”

“I can teach you how to seal the rifts.”

Now that makes Danny falter.

____________________________________________________________

It only took about a month for Danny to realize it was him that was responsible for the cracks.

They didn’t start out as anything big. Barely shimmers or disturbances in the air, when he’d get worked up or nervous or upset. Nothing big enough for anything to fit through, of course.

But enough to get him to notice. 

In retrospect, it did make some sense. His parents’ portal had opened up on top of him. Or maybe even opened up in him. Of course, it was bound to leave some lasting metaphysical effects.

He just hadn’t expected to learn that he was the portal’s replacement.

It was sometime right then, a month or so after the accident, that Sam had campaigned and succeeded to revise the school lunch menu. The resulting argument between her and Tucker had gotten him so anxious that it resulted in his largest crack yet. One that was big enough to allow something through.

One that was big enough to allow one of the ghosts on the other side to slip through.

____________________________________________________________

The thought is tantalizing. It’s been so long, relying on his ability to rein in his anger and anxiety to force the cracks to fade. It’s a task much easier said than done.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have an easier, more reliable way of closing them? Of keeping the ghosts out of his territory? Of stopping things before they could cause too many problems?

The intruder must sense his hesitation, because they give another forceful push. Danny, wrapped up in his own thoughts, is caught off guard by the move, and he gasps in shock as he squeezes his eyes shut and reels backwards.

It’s enough of an opening for the ghost to slide the rest of the way through.

Danny can feel its presence. There’s something… musty about it. Like the way it feels when he goes into the attic and sees all of his and Jazz’s old baby stuff packed away. Or when he’s forced to use one of the particularly “well-loved” copies of textbooks at school. He’s not sure whether to be put off by it or intrigued.

But it does feel foreign. More foreign than the presence of most other ghosts he’s encountered.

He opens his eyes.

Endless red eyes bore into his.

He reels again.

“Who the hell are you?” he hisses. Static crackles under his voice again.

The figure simply floats there, mostly hidden underneath a cloak. Those awful red eyes shine like beacons from the shadows created by the hood. Oddly enough, they make it harder to see the figure’s face. If they actually have one. Danny’s seen more than one faceless ghost before.

“Believe it or not, I do truly wish to help you,” the ghost says. Its voice is smooth and masculine, and when it speaks, Danny is flooded with a wave of that same musty energy. Something about it feels old. Timeless.

It’s not reassuring in the slightest.

The words themselves are not reassuring either. Faces supplant the shadow under the hood - his parents’, Dr. Bell’s, Jazz’s. The phrase is one that Danny is intimately familiar with, and he immediately bristles.

“I don’t need your help,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “And I still don’t believe you actually want to help.”

Danny can’t see the figure’s face, of course, but somehow, he can tell that the ghost is smiling at him. The kind of smile adults give children who don’t know any better. “And why don’t you believe that?” the ghost asks, unperturbed by his petulance.

Danny throws his arms in the air before crossing them even tighter across his chest. “Because that’s all you ghosts do! You invade my home and start trying to stir up trouble, and then I have to chase you down and shove you back through before you hurt something. Or someone.”

“Such hasty conclusions to draw.” The ghost clucks its tongue disapprovingly. “That won’t do at all.”

Danny’s blood boils cold and the glow from his eyes is bright enough to reflect on the ghost in front of him. He raises his fists. “Go. Now.”

The ghost sighs, as if it’s bored of the conversation already. A hand thrusts out from underneath the cloak, aimed toward the crack. Danny’s eyes widen as a blue glow surrounds the ghost’s hand, then the crack. The crack shudders.

And it begins to mend itself.

Something inside Danny shifts as the crack seals itself. He feels like he can breathe a little easier, like his heart isn’t being pushed against as much. 

But the ghost is still there, in his bathroom. And now that the crack is gone, the full force of the ghost’s presence is surrounding Danny.

Danny sees the glint of sharp teeth as the ghost grins. “I don’t think I will go,” it says.

Danny’s not sure whether to be amazed, terrified, or infuriated. Or maybe some combination of the three. On one hand, this ghost just proved its ability to seal the cracks. Maybe even the ability to teach him how to do it himself. If Danny possesses that ability.

On the other hand, though, Danny doesn’t take too kindly to ghosts intruding in his world and asserting themselves.

He’s the boss here.

That instinct, the instinct to own and possess and keep his territory, wins out easily. It’s too overwhelming, and Danny doesn’t really have the energy to try and fight it. 

Besides, he figures, if he can get himself worked up enough, he can create another crack to shove this ghost back through.

So with a roar of anger, Danny lunges at the ghosts and swings his fists with all his might.

The moment he comes into contact with the ghost, something changes.

And green fire explodes to life around his hands.

____________________________________________________________

The cracks weren’t the only side effect of the portal’s explosion.

Danny never understood what was happening to him. In all honesty, he’s still not sure if he completely understands. What he knew and what he knows, though, is that something within him began to shift.

He began to shift.

Why did the cold winter air seem to embrace him? Why did the night sky whisper to him with offers of belonging? Why did he find himself seeing new colors and new lights out of the corners of his eyes?

He tried to explain it to his friends, his family, his doctors. The former took some interest, but lost it quickly with nothing to back it up. The latter only used it as evidence for his diagnosis.

It didn’t help when things got more serious, after Sam changed the lunch menu and he’d had to beat back the ghost he’d accidentally summoned. He found himself drawn to some of the most random places in town - behind the dumpsters at the Nasty Burger, the top of Lookout Hill, the architecture section in the public library. Why those places, he didn’t know. All he knew was that the air in those places felt… different. Thinner, maybe. Like he could poke through it if he found the right place.

He learned to start staying away from those places.

It was worse when he started to be drawn to places that had a much more sinister aura. Like the time when he found himself standing on the side of the road at the site of a bad car wreck, watching as EMTs soberly placed a sheet over a broken body. Or when he ended up standing in the doorway of the hospice center in town as a family with red eyes and tears aplenty quietly shuffled their way out.

It gave even more reason for people to stay away from him. He smells like death, they’d say. He figured they were probably close enough to being right.

And that wasn’t counting the other side effects.

____________________________________________________________

Danny screams.

In an instant, he’s pushed the ghost back from him and scampered away, staring in horror at his burning hands. Many things have happened to him in the past year and a half, but his hands spontaneously catching on fire has not been one of them.

“Interesting,” he can hear the ghost saying, but he doesn’t truly register it. His focus is entirely on the green fire. 

It’s only after a few seconds that he starts to wonder why it doesn’t hurt. 

He’s heard stories, of course. About how with serious burns, they can destroy nerves before you can register the pain. He himself still has a few destroyed nerves from the explosion. He wonders if that’s what’s happening to him now. It would explain why he’s in such shock, unable to do anything to actually put out the fire.

And then he finally processes three very important things.

One: the fire is green. Not normal fire by any means.

Two: he can’t see any damage to his hands, even as the fire burns. And it doesn’t move any farther than his wrists. 

Three: he can feel something. It’s not heat. His hands tingle, but not painfully. Rather, it feels like he’s dunked his hands into a bowl of ice water. Or like snow has wrapped around them.

His eyes snap up to the ghost. “What the hell did you do to me?” he shouts. His voice shakes with panic.

The ghost is as placid as ever. It holds a gloved hand up towards its chin. Danny hates feeling like the subject of some twisted experiment.

“That power has always been within you, young halfling,” it says. It could be Danny’s imagination, but he thinks he hears something akin to wonder in the ghost’s voice. “It would seem that my presence has simply accelerated your discovery of this power.”

Danny opens his mouth, but words escape him. His eyes drift back down to his hands, still lit up. 

He shouldn’t be quite so stunned. This isn’t the first time something distinctly supernatural has happened to his body. Memories of arms and legs glitching out of sight and feet slipping through the ground swarm him in a rush. 

He still doesn’t know why those things happen, or what they mean. 

They scare him.

But he’ll never admit it. Not that he can. These occurrences would be written off as delusions.

The ghost leans down and approaches Danny. Although he’s already pressed flush against the wall, he tries to sink further into it. “Stay away from me!” As he shouts, the fire around his hands flares brighter.

The ghost’s eyes briefly flick to the fire before settling back on Danny. “Relax,” it says. “You are overreacting.” It tilts its head, and Danny sees the glint of teeth again. “Are all humans this… emotionally fragile?”

“I’m about to show you fragile,” Danny growls.

“Hmm. There’s that attitude again.” The ghost sighs. “In all truthfulness, though, you do need to relax. You will never gain control if you are continually losing it, child.”

“That makes zero sense. And how am I supposed to relax when you’re invading my home?”

“Because you are foolish,” the ghost says plainly. Danny wants to throw another punch, but the idea of another freaky thing happening if he touches the ghost keeps his behavior under control. “You are too focused on the external. You must focus on the internal.”

“Well, maybe I could ‘focus on the internal’ if you’d just leave me alone!”

A rush of that musty energy presses Danny into the wall. “You would be wise to listen to me, halfling. I am one of the very few beings that truly does wish to help you. Without my aid, you will leave yourself vulnerable to every single one of the threats behind the veil.” The ghost pauses. “Yourself… and your haunt.”

Danny’s anger falters.

The ghost continues. “What you have seen thus far is but a taste of the threats that wait for you. Everything you have faced up until this point will seem like child’s play compared to what you will face. Your only hope to defend yourself is to listen to me.”

Danny wants to stay angry. He wants to stay feisty and impudent. This is just another intruder after all. One of the many he’s had to beat back to wherever they came from.

But as he stares helplessly into the ghost’s gaze, he can’t help but feel as though he is being pierced down to his very soul. Embedded within those deep red eyes is the afterimage of every star that’s burned itself to death, from the beginning of time to the end. The infinite void of eternity. The promise of planets yet to be created, cosmic dust yet to settle, things that will happen long after the Earth’s Sun has gone supernova and extinguished any trace of life.

Danny cries out. His head snaps backward, breaking the connection to the ghost’s eyes. He pants for breath he didn’t know he’d been lacking.

He gets the impression that perhaps this isn’t just another intruder.

“Who… are you?” he asks again, this time with caution.

The ghost blinks once. “I can be your greatest ally, or I can be your greatest enemy. I am prepared to be both. Whichever one I am rests in your hands.” He nods down to the green flames still licking Danny’s hands. 

Danny’s breath hitches. The way this ghost talks, the way it carries itself, he can tell the ghost knows far more than he does. Far more. He’s not sure if the threats of dangers yet to come are valid or not.

But while he asserts his ability to take care of anything thrown at him, he knows the fear in his gut says otherwise.

His fists clench. He grits his teeth. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes. Why do there have to be more threats? Why can’t these ghosts just leave him alone? Why him? Why did all this happen to him? Why must he face this alone?

The questions swarm him like angry hornets. They make it hard for him to think clearly. 

His heart begins to race.

“N-no, please,” he gasps. “Not again.”

“You must relax,” the ghost reiterates. “Your abilities are tied to your emotions, as are the abilities of all ghosts. In this case, if you wish to calm the ability, you must first calm yourself, halfling.”

Danny’s stomach turns at the ghost’s words. There’s a hidden implication within them, one that Danny can’t quite put his finger on. He’s sure he does not like it, though. 

“I can’t just… calm down,” he says. It’s the truth. Even a year and a half of intense therapy and psychiatric treatment hasn’t taught him how to simply shut off his emotions.

The ghost hums and puts a hand to its chin again. “How is it you humans deal with such strange matters?” He shakes his head before Danny can respond. “No matter. I can assist you by using my power to influence yours, but you must trust me to touch you again.”

Danny’s head whips back and forth wildly. “Because it went so well the last time I touched you?” he says. He hates the note of panic he can hear in his voice.

“That was, as you call it, a fluke. As I said, the power was always within you. My influence has simply brought forth that power early.”

“And how do you know it won’t happen again?”

Teeth flash underneath the hood of the cloak. “I have far more control over my abilities than you, boy. Rest assured I will be able to control something as simple as this.”

Danny’s heart thumps loudly. The ghost extends a hand towards him, and Danny instinctively flinches away from it. He can already feel the ghost’s presence beginning to press up against him again, and it only makes him more anxious.

But…

But.

There’s something different about it now.

Something that reminds him of his mother gently kissing his brow while putting a bandage on his scraped knee. Something that reminds him of his father’s bear hugs that wrap him up in a safe cocoon. Something that reminds him of the weighted blanket Jazz got him last year for Christmas, in an attempt to provide him with something to help with his leftover trauma from the accident.

“Stop it,” he says, but there’s no weight behind his words. “I didn’t… say you could… influence me.” Because as much as he hates to admit it, the ghost’s presence is affecting him. He can feel it in his heartbeat, in his breathing, as they both begin to slow.

He’s lucky he looks up in time to see the ghost’s eyes widen for the briefest of seconds. “You can already feel me?” it asks. Fascination dances behind its words, and Danny feels like he’s a being watched like a zoo animal again. 

“Yes, now can you please… stop it?” Danny chances looking into the ghost’s eyes again. “I-I’ll calm down or whatever, just… please…”

To his surprise, the pressure against his chest lessens, and the vague notions of safety dissipate. The ghost floats backward a foot or two. 

He feels like he can breathe again.

It’s strange, he thinks to himself. How he seems to calm much easier without the ghost’s… influence. Maybe it’s the feeling of regaining some control over the situation. Maybe it’s because he feels less like he has to defend his territory.

He looks up at the ghost. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

He’s surprised to realize he means it.

The flames die out.

____________________________________________________________

Once Danny figured out exactly what was happening within him to trigger the cracks, he tried desperately to keep it from happening at all costs.

Some tactics worked better than others. Timing his breath to the list of Jupiter’s moons was one. His therapist had been thrilled to hear that he’d taken her advice. 

He tried journaling, at the encouragement of another of his therapists and his sister. It worked a bit at first. It gave him a place to vent about the ghosts and everything happening with them without running the risk of being scolded for “giving into his delusions.” It quickly lost whatever effectiveness it had, though.

Eventually, he simply tried to shut his emotions off. He tried to become uncaring, unmoved. Tried not to let everyone’s harsh words get to him as much.

That failed miserably.

Then again, so did every other tactic he tried.

At some point, they all failed. The cracks were inevitable.

They always would be.

____________________________________________________________

The ghost, for what it’s worth, keeps true to its promise to teach him how to close the cracks. 

Ironically, though, it involves traveling through yet another crack.

It’s not Danny who opens it. The ghost waves its hand, and another hole in reality sparks to life inside his bathtub. The ghost’s crack is far neater than Danny’s - smoother, larger, not jagged like the forked branches of lightning. 

Danny watches, and he can’t help but be in awe. The simplicity with which the ghost opened it blows him away.

“Can it really be that easy?” he asks. The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself. Immediately, he regrets it. His goal isn’t to learn how to create the things. He just needs to know how to stop them. 

At the same time, the idea of being able to open the cracks without devolving into near panic, without feeling like his body is being ripped in two…

It’s enticing.

“With patience and precision, yes.” The ghost tilts its head at Danny. “Two things you severely lack, halfling.”

Anger flares in Danny. Somehow, he manages to wrangle it down to a simmer.

“Let’s go,” the ghost says. If it felt Danny’s silent outburst, it does not indicate so. 

“Go where?” Danny asks. Realization hits him a moment later. “Through it?”

“Going above it or around it would hardly do us any good.”

Danny balks. “I - can’t you just show me here? Why do we have to go through?”

The ghost is silent for a long moment. It stares unblinking at Danny. “If you wish to stay here,” it says, low and dark, “the consequences of doing so will rest on your head.”

Danny doesn’t need his sister’s intelligence to understand what the ghost is getting at now. 

“Alright, fine, I get it, it might get messy,” he concedes. “But… do we really have to go through it still?”

“You’re fearful.” It’s not a question.

Danny reflexively puffs his chest up. “I’m not afraid,” he fires back. 

It’s a lie.

He wonders if the ghost knows it.

The ghost hums. “If it helps, this portal simply leads to another location here in your human world. You do not need to enter my world. Not yet.”

Danny’s head snaps towards the crack at hearing the last of the ghost’s words. “Not yet?”

He doesn’t like those implications.

“I grow weary of your refusal to cooperate, child,” the ghost says with a sigh. “You will enter this portal if you wish to learn how to close the cracks and defend yourself. If you do not, I can assure you of the hardships you will try and fail to face.”

“Okay! Okay. Just… stop being so… doomer. I get the idea already.”

“Then by all means…” The ghost sweeps an arm out towards the crack with a cheeky bow. 

Reluctantly, Danny steps into the bathtub to stand before the crack. It’s the same vibrant green as the one earlier, as all the ones that had come before it. He can’t see what lies on the other side through the swirling green void.

Slowly, he reaches out and puts his hand through.

The sensation is… surprisingly pleasant. His hand meets empty air on the other side, but at the thin point where his forearm is split between two locations, where the crack touches his skin, he’s met with energy.

It’s pure and it’s raw. It’s electric. It’s invigorating and nothing like Danny has ever felt before. Standing here, in the glow of the crack through reality, he feels like he’s finally on solid ground. Like he’s found the thing that sings to him and his heart, rather than brutalizes it. Fear flushes from his body.

It’s all in such stark contrast to everything the cracks have brought him thus far. For a year and a half, it’s been oppressive. Looming over his head. Threatening to seize his heart and his breath. 

But now?

He feels like he can do anything.

And that’s just with his arm partway through.

Without another thought, Danny leaps through the crack.

It’s every bit as exhilarating as he’d hoped.

____________________________________________________________

In the months after the explosion, Danny often found himself spiraling into existential trains of thought. One does not simply go through a near-death experience without having a bit of existentialism on the side.

His therapists took this to mean he had lost his sense of identity as part of his trauma. It’s okay to feel like you’ve lost yourself, they’d tell him. Like you don’t know who you are anymore.

They would sit him down and force him through exercise after exercise, trying to identify his sense of self, the traits he felt like he embodied, everything that made Danny, Danny.

Who am I?

It was the question the therapists challenged him to ponder, time after time. Only you can answer that question for yourself, Danny.

He wanted to scream every time he was made to fill out another chart. Or outline who he thought he was. Or draw up things to symbolize himself. The question of who he was wasn’t the cause of his existential spirals. He already knew who he was.

Mostly, anyway.

No, it was a different question that plagued him time after time. After every crack, every encounter with a ghost, every unexplainable sight or sound he came across.

What am I?

A year and a half later, he still doesn’t know.

____________________________________________________________

Danny trips over his feet as he exits the crack. 

He’s still breathless from the sheer euphoria from the experience. His body shakes from the overwhelming feeling of power coursing through his veins. He wants to laugh, or maybe cry. Maybe both. 

Where has this been for the past year and half? How could he have gone so long without experiencing something like this?

He turns around to face the crack. In an instant, he’s up against it once more, trying to savor any last dredges of the energy that he can. 

He realizes that this is the closest he’s ever been to one of the cracks. He’s stayed away from them like a plague, only getting close enough to shove ghosts back through. Their presence has always weighed heavily on him, but now Danny wonders if that’s really the case.

No, something heavy has always accompanied the cracks. But… are the cracks themselves responsible for the pressure in his chest?

For the first time, he’s starting to think he’s had it wrong.

There’s a tingle in his chest, then a push, then pressure. This is the feeling he’s far more familiar with. Knowing what it heralds, he steps to the side. A moment later, the cloaked ghost makes its way through the crack.

“There,” it says once fully on this side of it. “Was that so bad?”

Danny opens his mouth. His instinct is to gush about it, to tell the ghost that it was the farthest thing from “bad.”

Those haunting red eyes turn on him, and the words die on Danny’s tongue. 

He huffs and kicks at the ground. “It wasn’t terrible,” he mutters quietly.

They’re on a dirt road, somewhere rural. Fields dormant for the winter sprawl out on either side of the road. A lone set of electrical lines runs along the side of the road. He can’t see any buildings around.

“Wait, where are we?” he asks, trepidation in his voice. Belatedly, he wonders if blindly trusting a very powerful ghost was smart.

“Not far,” the ghost responds. It does not elaborate. Instead, it seals the crack they’ve just come through with a lazy wave of its hand.

The second time witnessing it is just as mesmerizing as the first.

“Why do we have to come all the way to the middle of nowhere to do this? Seriously, why couldn’t you just show me back home?”

The ghost hums. It stares at the horizon, unfocused. “There are things you have yet to understand, halfling. You will learn in time.”

Danny grits his teeth. “Listen, you said you wanted to help me. So quit being all creepy-cryptic and help me.”

“I do not take well to people making demands of me,” the ghost says sharply. A cold breeze rustles the dead leaves on the road and in the fields. “We will operate on my schedule. A halfling child will not dictate it to me.”

Though he doesn’t know why or how, Danny’s instincts scream at him to rise to meet the challenge. To tell the ghost that it may want to operate on its own schedule, but this is Danny’s territory. That it can’t simply wander in and out of his world as it pleases and act as though it is in charge.

It takes every ounce of self-control he can muster to tamper those instincts.

He’s none too eager for the ghost to get mad at him again.

“What do I do then?” he grumbles.

The ghost floats to Danny’s side. “To learn how to control the cracks, you must first learn to take notice of the world around you.” It sweeps its arm out. “Tell me what you see here.”

“What? I don’t… there’s nothing to notice. What does this have to do with anything?”

“If you do not notice anything by looking, then notice by seeing.”

“That literally makes zero sense!” 

The ghost ignores Danny’s outburst this time. “You can already see more than other humans,” it says tiredly. As though it’s explained this to him hundreds of times already. “But you ignore it. You ignore the world around you to maintain little more than an illusion.”

Danny’s stomach does a little ballet. The ghost… isn’t wrong. The glimpses of colors he has no human words for, the way his eyes are drawn to seemingly invisible movements, the dancing lights always in the corners of his eyes, they are all things he knows he can see that others can’t.

He hates it.

“Maybe ignoring it is better,” he retorts. There’s some fire in his words, but not much. 

“Better for who? For those around you? For you? The answer is neither. How can you wish to protect your haunt when you turn a blind eye to that which supposedly threatens it?”

“As long as it stays on their side of the crack, it’s fine.” Even as he speaks, Danny realizes he’s losing confidence in his words. It’s terrifying. 

“Naive child,” the ghost mutters. Disgust taints its words. Or is that…

… disappointment?

Danny doesn’t have time to figure it out. The ghost continues speaking.

“Nothing is ever black and white. There is never such a thing as two absolute sides.” It picks up a single dry leaf and twirls it in its hand. “Everything begins, and everything ends. What happens in between is in shades of gray.”

Danny’s head is beginning to spin. “In English please?”

The ghost sighs. “You expect life and death to remain two very distinct sides, never touching one another. This is shortsightedness.” It lets the leaf go. It drifts away on a breeze. “Life and death intermingle closer than you can ever imagine.”

Danny’s breath catches in his throat. “Life and… death?”

“Of course.” The ghost’s eyes turn on him. “What did you expect this to be about?”

“I… I don’t…” Danny’s tongue feels thick in his mouth suddenly. Words choke up in his throat, and he can’t get them out.

Before the portal accident, ghosts were a thing of fantasy. Simply his parents’ crackpot ravings. The accident proved those crackpot ravings to be real. As real as anything else. Despite the dozens of people telling him he’s hallucinating, or that he’s psychotic, he knows this is all real.

He can feel it, deep within him.

But for as real as he knows ghosts and their world are, he’s never had to consider why they exist. Where they truly come from.

Something flutters in his chest, and he can’t decide if it’s his heart or something else.

Human. Ghost.

Life. Death.

And him, somehow wrapped up in it all.

He thinks he might throw up for the second time that day.

The ghost is apparently unbothered by Danny’s newest existential crisis. “What you consider to be my world is in constant contact with what you consider to be yours. And yours is in constant contact with mine. They influence each other. They exist within one another. They are inseparable, woven into each other.”

It floats over to one of the electrical poles. There’s nothing remarkable about it. “You must be able to see this coalescence if you ever wish to understand the intricacies of things as complex as portals. So, halfling…” It pauses to run a hand down the pole. 

“Tell me what you see.”

Danny is at a loss. Maybe his brain is finally starting to catch up with everything that has happened in the last couple of hours. Maybe he’s finally becoming overwhelmed by all this. Ghosts wanting to help him, a strange awakening of powers slumbering inside him, everything traveling through the crack had fed him…

… talks of life and death…

He wants this to be a nightmare. He wants to wake up. He wants to go back to a few hours ago - no, yesterday - no, last month - no, a year and a half ago, and pretend this doesn’t exist.

His heart beats faster.

Io Europa Ganymede

“I don’t see anything,” Danny insists, even as inhuman colors and glowing lights creep into his vision.

“What do you see, halfling?”

“I think I’m done,” he tries. “I - I can’t…”

Can’t what? Can’t try? Can’t see?

Callisto, Almathea, Himalia

Can’t… breathe?

His heart races.

“You must see.”

“I don’t want to,” he gasps. Static is filling the air, and he doesn’t know if he can catch his breath. Why can’t he catch his breath? He should be able to catch his breath.

What am I?

The dirt road groans, and dust stirs. 

Elara… Pasiphae…

“Please…” His knees shake and the air around him sizzles and the glowing lights are looking at him. 

“You must see, halfling.”

He can feel the crack building inside him. It wants out. It pounds against his chest and strangles his heart.

Where is his pulse?

What am I?

The dirt road groans louder.

Sinope…

Even without a mirror, Danny can feel the cold burn in his eyes. Knows they are blazing toxic green. The same green as the lights staring at him. 

The… ghosts staring at him.

One of them prods at the pole the ghost floats beside. Like it’s pointing.

Carvings begin to appear on the pole, in the same inhuman colors he can’t name. They’re shoddy, messily carved, and clearly not English. Symbols of lines and swoops and dots.

Danny can read them.

“We see you,” they say.

“No…” he groans. Hands fly up to grip his head, and the glow from his eyes give the illusion of the fire that had consumed those hands not twenty minutes earlier.

He can’t feel his heart anymore.

What am I?

“You see now,” the ghost says. It is unblinking and stoic in the face of Danny’s crisis. 

In a last fit of desperation, as he claws for anything to pull him out of this, Danny latches on to the fleeting thrill of crossing through the crack. He tries to remember how it felt. How wonderful it was to feel empowered for once. How the energy seemed to embrace him, not work against him.

How he felt like he could do anything.

He latches on, expecting it to offer relief to his crying body. He wants it to bring him back down to Earth, ground him where cracks and seemingly invisible ghosts and strange words and life and death cannot get to him.

Much to his dismay, it seems to have the opposite effect. His body remembers how it felt to hold that energy. 

And now…

What am I?

… it wants more.

The ghost is in front of him once more. When did it get there?

Danny can’t scream as the ghost lifts a hand towards his chest. He’s long since lost the ability to breathe.

“And now, the final touch,” the ghost murmurs. It presses a single finger in the center of Danny’s chest.

And everything explodes in a blinding white light.

____________________________________________________________

At one of his follow-up appointments, shortly after the explosion, Danny finally worked up the courage to ask something that had been plaguing him since he’d woken up in the hospital.

How bad was it? he had asked the doctor. How close was I to…

The doctor had refused to look him in the eye. You’re a very lucky boy, Danny, was all she would say.

He never did find out how close he came to death’s door that day.

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

When the light clears, Danny opens his eyes.

Something has changed. Something is wrong.

Something is very, very wrong.

He clutches his chest, trying to feel his heart, but it feels as though a snowball has taken residence where it should be. It pulses, but not at a frequency he is familiar with. It’s almost as though he can hear it pulse rather than feel it.

It’s unnaturally bright. He looks down and chokes back a sob of surprise to see his body wrapped in a gentle glow. 

What am I?

Trembling, he raises his left arm. How he remembers that it’s that one, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know.

He pulls back the sleeve of the black hoodie (why is it black, he’s never owned a black hoodie) and stares in silent horror at the grotesque display of lightning that runs up his arm and disappears back into the hoodie.

It’s when bangs of snow white fall in front of his eyes that he collapses to the ground.

“No,” he whimpers. His voice echoes with static stronger than it ever has. “Please, God, no.”

What am I?

“Astounding.”

Danny’s head snaps up to look at the ghost. He falters when he realizes he can see the ghost’s features now, clear as day even though its face remains partially shrouded in shadow. Those damning red eyes - one marred by a scar - twinkle at him with fascination.

“What did you do to me?” he croaks. “I can’t… I’m not…”

“As I told you, halfling,” the ghost says. Its gentle, knowing smile sends chills down Danny’s spine and sets alarm bells ringing in his head. “Life and death must meet somewhere.”

It bends down to Danny’s level. “As it would seem, you are that somewhere.”

A strangled sob escapes Danny’s throat.

“Congratulations, Danny.” It sweeps its arm out, a staff in hand. Another crack spirals into existence, accompanied by the haunting echoes of ticking clocks. “You have learned all you need to from me.”

Without another word, it disappears into the crack. The crack closes with the toll of a bell.

Tears prickle at Danny’s eyes. He can only turn and look down the dirt road, at the product of his creation.

A green crack splits the road in two, as far as Danny can see.

Danny falls against the ground and cries.

[catbread0]

How does grell like to give and receive affection?

Grell Sutcliff x Fem!Reader

Since you didn't specifically say what gender you wanted the reader to be, I made it a fem reader. If that's not what you wanted, please forgive me. Sorry for the grammar mistakes. I hope you like it

( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

Words: 992

Pure Fluff ♡♡♡

Blck Butler Masterlist

Headcanons: How she likes to receive and give affection

Giving affection:

- Grell would spend time going shopping with you. Both you and Grell would go shopping for clothes and makeup, which could last for hours, and she would give her compliments on everything you try on.

“Darling, that dress would go together with these heels better. If grim rippers could die, I think I would do so again by just looking at you.”

- Grell would love to talk about gossip while painting nails with you. 

“Apparently, Bassy's type is women who have large baps! I mean, that's so typical of men to look for in a woman, but REALLY? I mean, do men not look into anything else other than that- Oh hun your nail is chipped. What did I tell you about being careful with your nails?”

- When she would come home from working for hours, she would run up to you and cling to you as if she hadn't seen you in years. She would also spend hours cuddling with you.

“It feels dreadfully boring when I'm not with you. Especially when I have to look at people's boring records, it's always the same boring things with them, waking up, going to work, then going home, sleeping, and repeating. It doesn't help that Williams is extremely strict, always being rude to me as well.”

- Grell would give you kisses almost every time she sees you. In private or public, it doesn't matter to her. Bonus points to her if she makes you flustered in public.

“Would you mind doing that in private?” - Williams

- Grell would give you pet names

“My Rose” “Hun” “Darling” “Dear”

Receiving affection:

-You saw Grell eyeing a pair of heels through the glass of a famous shoe company. So the next day, while she was at work, you decided to buy the shoes and wrap the box into a gift.

“My Rose, I'm home! Oh? What's this, Darling?”

You chuckle, “It's for you, Love. Why don't you open it?”

“Oh you shouldn’t have dear, why just coming home- Oh my! These are the heels I wanted! How romantic of you, dear! You know how to capture a lady’s heart!” (She would probably then launch herself towards you and give you kisses all over your face.)

- While Grell loves giving physical affection to you, she also loves to receive it back. One day, she would be on a walk with you and talking about gossip or maybe about someone's record when all of a sudden she felt your lips on her cheek.

“And I said-” She stops walking dead on her track and looks at you,

“Oh, Darling, would you do that again, please, I love how your lips felt on my cheek! Why not a kiss on the lips this time!”

- While Grell loves being bought gifts, she also loves it when you give her a handmade gift. 

She was going to grab her death scythe. She saw a small key chain hanging on the handle. She looked closely, and it was a small rose. 

“Oh, my heart can’t take it, my Love. Receiving gifts from your heart can kill a woman in an instant. When I look at this key chain, I will always think of my Rose.”

-Grell cherishes and enjoys your compliments towards her. Whether it's her perfume, clothing, makeup, hairstyle, etc. She puts in a lot of effort when it comes to her looks, so when she hears you compliment her, she feels as if someone finally appreciates her efforts (she would crave more from you). 

“My goodness darling, if you keep complimenting me, I think my knees would melt from your sweet words. But continue, tell me what else you like about me today.”

In the end, she loves you to death♡

~Lilly's

[irenic-seraphiine]

Forget-Me-Nots

✮⋆˙ Pairing: Sebastian x reader

✮⋆˙ CW: angst(?)

A/n: Hey, sorry i haven’t been posting, this in my life got hectic for a while but I finally found time to write, this is honestly not my best work and I honestly kinda hate it but if you guys like it that’s all that matters lol. As always this isn’t proof read. There’s another A/n at the end of fic too!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Springtime. It was never your favorite season—it was simply too crowded with people raving about “new year, new me.” It bored you. If you had your way, it would quickly turn into any other season besides spring. The air was too cold, and the sun was too hot at the same time? During your daily commute to work, you’d see flowers blooming right next to patches of snow. It irritated you, and rightfully so, because every spring you were reminded of how long it had been since you last saw him.

The last time you saw him was after your fourth date. You had already fallen head over heels for him, but wanting to play coy, you made him take you on extra dates to “prove” he was worthy of being in a relationship with you—despite having decided he was the only one you wanted from your very first date. It had become a tradition; every time you had a date, he would show up at your door. He’d knock, smile awkwardly with his face flushed in a way that emphasized his freckles, guide you to his car, open the door for you, and then run around to his side.

When you arrived at your destination, he would let you out, open doors for you, and do practically everything you asked. When he thought you weren’t looking, he would either fix his appearance or stare at you as if you had hung the stars in the sky. But your favorite part was the very end—no matter what town it was, he always left you with a bouquet of forget-me-nots. “So you don’t forget me...” he would mumble, his face completely red. The first time he did that, you were immediately smitten. From that moment on, you looked up everything you could about those tiny flowers: their meaning, the time they bloomed, and how to grow them. You couldn’t get enough of them. And then it stopped.

The frequent messages between you two, the dates, the shared endearing giggles, the bouquets of tiny purple flowers that you had grown to love so much—all of it vanished. You never understood why. When you arrived at his apartment after the first day of silence, his roommate greeted you and mentioned that the last time they had seen him was before he left for work. That was all you knew.

You put up missing person posters, but no one reached out—nothing. You hated spring and the way it reminded you of him. You often wondered if he was out there somewhere thinking of you.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A/n 2: Although it’s never explicitly said in this fic, I do have a headcannon that Sebastian was a freshman in college around the time he was taken and became Randal’s pet. You also might’ve noticed that u never mentioned Sebastian’s name in this and that’s also because Randal is the one who name him Sebastian so in my mind that means that he has another name, what that name is I wouldn’t know but yeah! It’s also never said but Sebastian is supposed to work as a pizza delivery guy, idk if this is cannon or not but in my mind that was his job.

[blnova180]

The Bad Sandwiches 2

This story contains: multiple sick characters, male and female, with descriptive belly rumbles, vomit, scat and diarrhea!!!

Sci-fi setting: In a world where humans and robots are at war with each other, during a rare moment of armistice, the base comes under attack by a bad case of food poisoning.

(Different characters from last time, and yet, my naming skills still suck -- read part 1 for more context.)

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

Private Vez left the canteen in a hurry, throwing her empty tray to the ground. She couldn't stand Gren and her stupid group of friends, especially Nares. He was always tripping over himself trying to impress her.

Vez wiped her eyes, heading for the bathroom. Back at the academy, she wanted nothing more than to be Gren's friend, to just breath the same air as her; now she hated being stuck in the same unit. If it wasn't for Commander Spree, she would've sent in a request to be transfer a long time ago.

Sniffing, she pulled a couple paper towels out of the dispenser, getting them damp before running them through her hair. It was twenty minutes before she got the worst of the tuna chunks out. Her eyes burned with shame. Vez didn't know why she let them walk all over her, why everyone always seemed to be on Gren's side.

Prefect, stupid, beautiful Gren. Vez sighed, knowing all too well, no matter how hard she wished, Gren would never see her as more than a stepping stood, a target. A stray tear dripped down her cheek, the sound of hushed laughs echoing in her ears. Vex wiped it away, a long with the memory of Nares tripping her, making her fall into her stupid tuna sandwich.

Taking a few breaths, Vez left the bathroom in a rush, surprised when she realized she'd bumped into Spree.

"Commander! I'm so sorry, I didn't see you."

Spree looked down at her, eyes narrowed.

"Private. You smell like tuna," she commented.

Vez bit her lip. "Yes. Sorry, I- There was an accident in the canteen."

Spree raised her eyebrows. "The canteen... You just came out of the bathroom, are you sick?"

"No? I don't think so..." Vez looked at her curiously. "Why, is something going on?"

"We've got a bit of a situation," Spree sighed. "The tuna sandwiches they served today were expired. I'm checking on our unit, a few people have already turned up sick at the med-bay. Did you..?"

"I didn't eat it," Vez said quickly, suddenly very glad she dodged that bullet.

"Good," Spree said. "I need you help me check up on the others. I already took Warin, Standin and Jet, down. Have you seen lieutenants Fleck and Hade?"

"Um... They might've gone to the training room," Vez said. "Who should I look for?"

"Find Gren and Nares," Spree called out over her shoulder, already walking down the hall. "If you find anyone else who's sick, make sure they get to the med-bay!"

Vez gave a salute and turned on her heels.

She really didn't want to look for Gren and Nares, but her commander had given her an order. She could only hope they hadn't eaten any tuna sandwiches.

An hour later, after directing a couple people she found throwing up in the hall to the med-bay, assuring them as best she could that it happening to others; Vez finally located Gren and Nares in one of the private study halls. They were watching an old tape from one of the early Robot Wars, sitting on bean-bag.

The foul smell that hit her when she opened the door, alerted Vez what she worried about was true. It didn't seem the other two had noticed their own gas, though Gren was subtlety rubbing her stomach.

"Oh great, just what I needed," Gren said when she noticed Vez. "What do you want?"

"Commander Spree, uh, um, well, she said..." Vez shuffled her feet.

Nares roles his eyes. "What? Spree said what? Get on with it already, can't you see we're busy?"

Vez took a deep breath. "The tuna sandwiches were expired, if you ate it, you have to report to the med-bay."

Gren and Nares stared at her incredulously.

"You're kidding," Gren said, her hand freezing on her belly.

"No, I ran into some sick people on my way here," Vez said. "Spree told me to look for you guys."

Nares placed his hand on his own stomach, giving Gren a worried look.

Gren groaned. "Oh, fine, let's go. It's probably nothing anyway. Come on."

Vez trailed awkwardly behind them has they made their way down to the med-bay. She knew they probably didn't want her there, but Spree told her to escort them, so she had to.

Gren and Nares' stomachs were starting to make more audible noises the further they went, gurgling and burbling unpleasantly. Vez tried to ignore it, because they were acting like nothing was happing anyway. That was, until Gren suddenly stopped, putting a covering her mouth as she burped wetly.

"Uuuurrrrppp~ Bathroom," was all she said, making a b-line for the nearest one.

Vez, followed her in, Nares just behind her, clutching his own gut.

"Gren... can't you hold it in?" he begged, "If you puke, I think I'm gonna-"

It was too late, Gren slumped over the nearest sink and heaved.

"Bleeaaargh! cough- cough Bleargghhh~"

As soon as she started to vomit, Nares shot into a stall, and Vez saw him shiver, before projectile vomiting onto the toilet.

"Urp-hic- bleaaaarrrhghhhhh!"

Ignoring his predicament, Vez got a scrunchy out her pocket and tied Gren's hair back.

"Bleeagghhh~"

Gren groaned, running her hands up and down her tummy.

"Hic- oh, God, that hurts," she complained. She pulled up her shirt. "Ugh, my stomach is killing me... do I look bloated to you?"

Vez looked down, noticing her stomach did look rather distended.

"Yeah, kind of. Uh, do you want to rest for a bit before we keep going?"

Gren wiped some sweat from her face. "Yes. Just give me a second to catch my breath..."

She went to the stall next to Nares', sitting down on the toilet.

"Bleegh- ugh-uuurrrp-blaaarrrrrrrrrhhhgh!"

From the other stall, Vex could hear Nares still throwing up, and she could see he was kneeling on the floor now.

Grrrrll. Gwwwwup.

Gren moaned as her stomach gurgled boisterously. She rubbed her belly harder with big circles.

Braaappp. Brrrt. Pfff~

"No- no, I can't- I can't hold it!"

Vez and Gren shared a look as Nares farted wetly. He hadn't moved from his spot on the floor, and Vez could hear it when his farts started pushing out something more than just gas.

Ksshhhh. Prrrrtttt. Brap. BRAAAAPPPP. BlllRRRRppp!

Based on his grunts and sobs, not to mention the smell, it became obvious his poor belly hadn't been able to hold back any more, and Nares was sick from his other end too. Which, unfortunately, was ending up in his pants.

Clearly not wanting something similar to happen to her, Gren rushed to loosen her belt and drop her pants. Her tummy growled warningly.

And Vez was left to stare in shock, as perfect Gren's bloated stomach shuddered, before a monster fart escaped her.

BRAAAAPPPPPPP!

It barely had time to echo in the toilet, before chunks of soft and watery poop were forcing their way out of her too.

"Uuugghh..." She skewered her eyes shut, farting again.

Pooot~

"Go, check on Nares," Gren panted.

Feeling like she'd probably already witnessed the worst of it, Vez walked into the next stall. Nares had managed to get his pants down to his knees, but it wasn't any help, because there was still a trickle of brown liquid dripping from the back of his stained underwear.

"I don't feel so good," he whispered weakly.

Phhwwrrraaghh~

His tummy roared and he shot up to puke again.

"Bleeaagh- uuurp- BLEAARRRGHHHH~"

Gingerly, Vez made her way over to him, patting his back.

"It's alright, just get it out. You're fine, it'll be okay," Vez said sympathetically, noticing he was crying.

She handed him some toilet pater to wipe his face.

"I really don't feel good," he panted when it was over.

"I know," Vez said. "We're going to the med-bay, come on."

Swallowing, Nares pulled up his pants, trying not to look down.

"I need another minute," Gren grunted from her stall. "I've got the runs."

Sprrtttt, brrrrllt, BRAPP.

After another minute, she emerged and they started making their way to the med-bay again. They walked in relative silence until they reached the med-bay doors.

"Hey, uh," Gren glanced at Nares, then Vez. "We're, well, sorry about earlier. Thanks, for helping us."

"Sorry," Nares echoed, holding his aching belly.

"Yeah, well I'm pretty glad I didn't each lunch now," Vez said.

The doors opened and Spree came out, glancing over at them.

"Oh, Private Vez, I see you brought them here. Well done." Spree patted Gren and Nares' shoulders as she passed. "You two head on in, Fleck and Hade got sick too. Take care. I expect to see you all Friday morning."

"Aye..."

"Thanks, Commander..."

Gren and Nares both saluted her weakly before heading inside.

Spree waited for the doors to close before laying an arm around Vez's shoulders and leading her away.

"I swear, if something like this ever happens again, I'll be quitting so fast, Command will have to triple my pay before I ever agree to come back. Robots could blow up half the base, and I'd still say no until they agree to pay me more." She winked at Vez. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

"I won't," Vez assured her. "If I could, I would too."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Spree said. "You're tough. You'll make it soon enough. Keep up the good work."

"Aye!"

Vez saluted her. With one last glance over her shoulder, she followed her commander.