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totothewolff · 1 year ago

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Season of Love (2/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal, romance, comedy, and some good drama.

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you tell Toto: "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That's the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong? Author's note: This is a multichapter Toto Wolff x team principal reader fic set along a season of F1. It's a very immersive story full of drivers, team dynamics, races, mystery, and smut. You just bought the Williams team, but nobody really knows who you truly are.

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Dances with Wolff Arc Chapter 2: Lights out, and away your feelings go!

Australia By mere luck, Toto had one of those sponsors' events in the afternoon, and he was wearing a Tom Ford tan suit with a white shirt, a classic ensemble, instead of his usual Mercedes kit.

And you, well, you looked so chic wearing a romantic Saint Laurent satin mini dress with an off-the-shoulder neckline paired with ribbon bowtie Jimmy Choo stilettos up to the occasion.

You wave Sam goodbye as she enters the car and returns to the hotel. And then Toto and you stay standing there, not knowing what to do next.

—So, at what time is the reservation? —Toto asks you.

—In two hours, it is downtown.

—Good. We are getting there on time, right?

—Oh yeah, we can go on my c... —You look at the empty space where your Lambo was parked - well, where Michael parked it, now empty and immediately take out your phone, shit! You left it on airplane mode. All messages and missed calls start to appear, red dots everywhere. Your assistant asked if you needed the car or if they had moved it to the hotel hours ago. Later, she sent the chauffeur to pick you up, but he couldn't reach you. He waited for you a long time and left.

—My team took my car, so...

—No worries. I can take us there.

"For sure you can!" you thought. Jesus, why were you so horny lately?

Toto then texts his chauffeur, and on your way, you two go; it was a quiet ride for a bit.

—So...

You both laugh at the back of the car.

—So our minds are connected, huh? —you joke, referring to your tendency to talk at the same time.

—It's becoming a bad habit, yes —Smiles. —I was going to ask you where have you been existing. Everyone close to me seems to know you, but they never mentioned it before; I feel left out; somehow, I have no idea who you are —Toto tells you.

—First of all, I take serious offense that neither Niki nor Sam mentioned me before; how dare they? And to answer your question in Belgium. I met Niki recently and Sam forever ago but she is pretty private so I guess that's why.

—Umh, I thought Sam and I had something special, but I'm calling it quits —Toto says. —She keeps secrets from me —putting on a fake sad face.

—Welcome to da' club. She's all Lewis's now.

Then, at the restaurant.

Toto and you were greeted by a blond supermodel-looking hostess who took you to your booked table. You entered the historical building - big old brown bricked walls, high ceilings with restored wooden beams, and dark marble tile floors - barely lit with just a couple of lights strategically placed reflected on the walls. The tables were small and intimate, and all the furniture was statement pieces - wooden carved and expensive textiles - the silverware and china were spectacular. The place was a printery back in the day, and it ended up in the middle of downtown and has now turned into a Michelin-starred restaurant.

The hostess acted extra caring with Toto, taking all the time to tenderly adjust his blindfold and explain every single step and detail of the dining experience. Since he couldn't see her, she went all handsy, relying on touch a bit much, and for obvious reasons, she tied your blindfold too tight. Really, girl?! Sorority like in where?

—So it's crucial for the experience when you give the food to each other, slowly savor the flavors and then start a conversation about each dish, what it made you feel, what reminded you of, what you thought it was, taking turns —she tells you two as she takes each your hand and makes you feel the space where a single plate full of finger food where to be placed - on top of a marble "lazy susan." —Please let me know if you need me —a lot of emphasis on "need me" and more addressed to Toto than you.

Wait, what?! Give each other the food?! What on earth?! You are so glad Toto isn't able to see you because, for sure, you are tomato red. Then you hear the hostess walk away.

—I frequent high-cuisine restaurants all over the world, yet I haven't dared with this one. It has so many mixed reviews —Toto tells you.

—I met the Chef at an auction gala for charity. He sat at our table and sold us the idea, which sounded exciting and intrigued me, so I told him I would stop by when in Melbourn —you add. He never mentioned that we had to feed each other during the experience.

A moment later, the dish arrived, and the experience began. Your hands were shaking a little bit. Your days went from ignoring Toto's bare existence to placing food into his mouth now.

—By all means, you go first —He offers you. Why did he have to be a gentleman?!

—Sure, thanks —You don't know where to start, so you pick a bite and stay there frozen when Toto notices it softly grabs your hand to guide you to his mouth to avoid you pocking him an eye with the food. Many "Oh god, oh god" fill your mind. You could sense him slowly biting the food from your fingers, his warm breaths on your skin, while hearing soft crunch noises.

He munches. And you wait, hand now resting on the table.

—Soft skin —he says.

—That is what it tasted you like?!

—No, of course not —Toto softly chuckles. —You have soft skin. The bite tasted like, amh, some sort of Gnocchi, but it wasn't. I'm not a big fan of this one and its flavor.

—So you like Italian cuisine?

—Everyone likes Italian cuisine, duh.

—Excuse you? That attitude, Sir! —you flirt, I mean, joke with him.

—Yes! I used to spend the summers in Italy with my family. It is a country that reminds me of my father. Cinque Terre has a special place in my heart.

—You miss your dad —You say before thinking, shit! Now he will assume that Sam and you gossip about him or think you Googled him. Shit! You are supposed to not know anything about him. Lol, if he knew. —It must be hard being away from family all the time with this busy schedule —Smart girl... Good save..?

He looks at you, a bit confused. —Ahm, yes. I miss my dad.

—Okay, it's my turn! —you shift topics quickly and naturally.

Toto picks up a small bite, and you wrap your hand around his wrist, guiding him to your mouth. Your thumb finger could feel his pulse, which weirdly relaxes you. You bite the food slowly, and your lips make a bit of contact, brushing the skin of his fingers.

—What does it taste you like? —he asks you. You try your best not to have dirty thoughts.

—Feet? God, this is awful —you answer while trying to chew the fucker.

Toto almost chokes on his water. Who calls feet a signature Michelin-star dish?

—I'm so hating this! I can't with pretentious places, to be honest. Uptight people are the worst!

—You tell me I live surrounded by those, but you will be fine. Why did you mention the uptight people?

—Send tips. Because there is no way an average person could have come up with this idea and this type of food! What are these flavors, honestly?!

—You are hilarious.

—Aw, thanks. What am I to you, a clown? Well, every circus needs one... I'm glad to help! Why do you keep laughing, stop!

—You are so right; F1 can be a circus! —Toto admits.

—So, what's your job at the F1 circus? No, seriously, don't laugh. TOTO STOP. Do you juggle or what? —You two keep reaching closer over and under the small table, knees now touching.

—Highly accurate! Or I could be that one guy on the tightrope! —He waves his arms.

—So meta. Listen, for us girls being the ones stereotypically called "catfight-ty," you guys...

—You have no idea! And it is just starting...

—Does the drama get too good? You are getting me excited! Don't play with my heart, Torger.

—I won't —Somehow, it sounds more profound and meaningful. Silence.

—Can we go back to the food, please? We are getting distracted from its delicious flavors —you say amidst giggles. —What? Don't you believe me? This dish is so good, "Latifi good".

Chuckles. Then you notice Toto left his right hand on top of yours this whole time.

With your free one, you pick up another portion. —Oh, you are going to love this one. Smells, uhm, so good. Wait for my soft hands to come closer —you tease Toto.

He loses it. People around you start judging you two; you are being "noisy."

—Why suddenly I don't want to open my mouth? I'm not helping you get there anymore. Find your way; if you miss it, then I'm so sorry.

—Oh, don't you worry, "Tots". I can always ask for more of these.

—Oh god, no.

The dining experience ended on the sixth small bite, thank Jesus. You two never walked out of a restaurant that fast, and none of you felt like staying to experience the drinks part, judging by the food.

But were in desperate need of refreshers. The night was now fully set, and the air was fresh. You two walk almost hand in hand on the sidewalk under the clear skies, choosing to explore the city, looking in the surroundings for a pub. You were lured by a very busy one - with live music - three drunk girls burst out of the door in a great mood, and it looked packed; then it must be good!

It was. —Do I ask to pour you a pint, too? Or are you on a diet or something? —Toto offers you on his way to get drinks. A great cover of "Your Love by The Outfield" played in the background. The singer had great vocals, and the guitarist was so talented.

—On a diet? God, no. I'm not that fit! Who gives that excuse? Who's that picky?

—There are people —Toto answers, a bit sad. You wonder if Sussie behaved like that. Of course, you don't dig.

While he goes on his mission, you find the last free table for yourselves. The place was what you pictured when someone said "pub". A classic, extensive wooden bar, tap beer, and tons of bottles on display. Small round tables, bar stools, and many empty frames hanging on the wooden panel walls mixed with art deco posters. It's nothing fancy but eclectic and cool.

As time passed, you two got drunk and the beers, too. You talked and talked and talked about everything. At least what you two wanted to share, obvious subjects were avoided. Toto didn't mention Sussie the whole time, and you chose not to reveal much about your "situation." The two of you formed a bond and had such chemistry none could explain. You were feeling so comfy with each other. He looked so happy and having a blast, and you were, too.

Then, the drinking contest started, and you sent your best knight to battle. You ended up sitting cross-legged on top of the bar with your short dress going up with your every move, surrounded by a group of people watching the spectacle - as well as the other couples of contestants - with Toto on his feet right next to you, resting one of his hands on your thighs. At the same time, you poured the beers directly into his mouth. The first one to finish a row of four pints with no pauses and successfully do "the loaded twirl" - four fast spins - then walk to ring the bell at the end of the counter - without falling - could leave not paying a penny, and win a cool metal medal too.

Toto sounded the bell first. And the place went fucking nuts.

By the end of your night out, you two couldn't even walk straight as you were being playful on the sidewalk on your way to meet your driver. At some point, you lost a heel while dancing, you knew how to move and rhythm was natural to you. Toto carried you around until a good soul gifted you his flip-flops; the poor unknown hero was so into you. Fantastic pubs and guys on flip-flops, thank you, Australia.

While rocking the stranger's flip-flops with your Saint Laurent mini dress, you were singing and throwing some moves on the street at the sound of "Notorious by Duran Duran" - it was the last song you heard the band played before leaving and got stuck in your head - it was around 4 a.m. by then.

Toto had his medal wrapped around his head, looking all stupid and hot. There is no sight of his suit jacket. He must have lost it when you took him to the bathroom - of course, you waited for him outside. He was too drunk to get there alone - or when you two started dancing, burning some of the alcohol in your systems.

There is something about him that makes you feel so many things, and you don't want the night to end. And you wanted to spend more time with him, listening to his voice, hearing his laugh, looking at his eyes, having his body near yours. You find him so attractive.

—I don't remember the last time I had this much fun; it must have been ages ago! —he says, way too loud and drunk.

—Me too! We should do this again! Are you sure it's here? —you reply, looking around. No cars in sight.

—Yes! I'm not that drunk. Here is where the pin marks —he says, looking too closely into his phone. His nose almost touched the screen, looking at the map.

—Let me see.

—Nein —He raises his phone, extending his arm, placing it out of your reach. You jump to grab it, failing miserably. You ended up bumping him instead. Balance isn't a thing for any of you at the moment. And you both get closer. At some point in the night, you two started to behave like magnets, unable to keep away from each other, all handsy. Toto places a hand on your lower back to steady you.

You aren't sure if the sensation you are feeling is the alcohol in your system or the butterflies in your stomach.

—You are so carefree. Zero pretentious. So fun. So captivating, so... —Toto says in such a dangerous voice, staring at your lips with his fingers, placing your hair behind your ear.

You two get closer.

—So..? —You beg him to continue, staring at his lips too. You take the lead and start closing the distance between you.

It's been a while since either of you had sex in your lives.

Or love.

He looks at you with desire and affection but without moving an inch. Then Toto decides to take a step back.

That distance feels like miles, and the car arrives. Ending an almost perfect night.

You feel ashamed since you overstepped and carried yourself away. None of you mentioned what just happened on the ride back to the hotel.

Spending time with you starts to feel like a necessity to him now.

Toto is standing there, left shoulder leaning against the bar wall near where the band is playing, sipping his beer, watching you dance with some strangers, glowing and smiling, and having fun among those girls while he admires your curves and body movements. You have the magic to make him forget about the rest of the world, its people, and its problems. Going out with you tonight felt like healing, like self-care.

After days of being heartbroken, Toto called things off with Sussie, which was not an easy choice. She was the love of his life, or so he thought, and after spending a significant portion of your life with someone, saying goodbye to that person is never easy.

Even if tonight was great and felt like a lucid dream, he couldn't escape reality forever. This Cinderella story had an end.

Of course, he notices the way you look at him. The attention you pay to his every word, your excitement every time you make him smile, or how you lean closer to his touch whenever the two of you make accidental - or not - contact.

But he wasn't ready for you. Of course, he would love to make a move and enjoy the whole of you, explore your every corner, trace your hips with his hands, and feel your body beneath his, making you release sounds he would love to hear. He wanted to fuck you badly, but you weren't just for a one-night stand.

You deserved someone who could fully admire you. That worshiped you. And Toto wasn't able to be that guy at the moment. He felt wounded and needed time for himself.

So, when you had the courage he lacked to make the move, knowing that if he accepted that kiss, you would wake up tangled in his sheets, he stepped back.

Seeing your surprised, embarrassed, and hurt reaction spiraled him into coming days of somber mood and turned into a quiet ride back to the hotel.

Once you reach your destination, the driver opens the car door for you, and you step out of it, praying your balance has returned. After that fiasco ending of the night, all the alcohol in your system seems to have evaporated thanks to that emotional gut punch Toto gave. You glimpse Toto catching your step, walking now as normal as you.

You two may be walking seemly normal now but your looks scream drunks, loud and clear! - messy hair and clothes, not to mention your flip flops, a thing that made you smile as you remembered the now distant memory - as you passed by a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the way to the elevators.

The bellboy pushes the buttons to open the elevator doors for you.

—On which floor is your room? —he asks.

—Oh, no, we aren't...

—Eleven —you answer a little deadpan, interrupting Toto.

—Fourteen —he mumbles.

As you two go up, you start saying goodbye, also wanting to cut the tension a bit. —It was a fun night, "Tots"! My liver may disagree, but we'll see —you smile.

—Yeah, yeah, it was, except for that horrid food —he replies.

—Let's not, let's bury that part.

He nods with a small smile. The door opens on your floor. You smile at him one last time and head out.

Toto wants to say, "Wait!" or follow you down that corridor, inviting himself to your room and bed, but instead, he remains just standing there, and the elevator goes up.

You take your time to walk down the corridor, hoping there is still a chance, till you hear the sound of the elevator's doors closing and following it, total silence, no footsteps, no movement. So you let out a sigh and get inside your room.

You are left facing a feeling of emptiness and solitude as you walk across the empty and dark suite with your surviving heel in hand, and then you toss it across the room on the carpet. You enter the shower and start washing your make-up and body off, letting your mind wander to the idea that the two of you could be there right now.

So, a bit defeated by not having Toto's naked and wet body before you, you send yourself to bed, struggling to fall asleep and shut down your brain; after a while, you feel yourself drifting away in the arms of Morfeo - and sadly not Toto's.

—He thinks I'm captivating and have soft hands —you say while giggling like a teenager, adding sugar to your Chai at the end of the counter. Already in a better mood, trying to look at the bright side of things.

—Soft hands??? —Sam replies, making a silly face and grabbing a napkin.

You two meet on your way to get Starbucks, located two buildings away from the hotel. You are still hungover and need fuel before stepping into the paddock.

—You know, never mind. I don't want to know —Sam adds, biting her bagel.

—Oh, wait. No. Nothing like that happened —you wave your hands in concern.

—Calm down; you know he and Sussie are in the middle of a time-off. Nothing wrong if it had happened. He has been in such awful moods lately that I think he needs it to happen. This time, their breakup seems real.

—Really!?

—Can you at least don't sound that excited? Oh god, you are smiling. I hate love —Sam sips her black coffee, rolling her eyes at you.

—Leave me live my fantasy, alright? —praying sign, you joke.

—Now you will be all weird around him, won't you?

—Nooo, well, maybe a little. What? Like you don't ship us.

—Puff —Sam lets out.

—Oh, you fed me way too many details about him for years and set us up last night just because, huh?

—Okay. Fair. I sold you the idea. Am I clever, or what? Listen, I care about you two a lot, and frankly, I think you are great for each other.

—Ooh, so Sam Dobrev has a heart.

—Shut up! Please don't make me regret it —she replies, all done with life.

—Hi, big guy —Sam pops her head inside Toto's office, simultaneously knocking on the open door.

—You owe me one —Toto answers deadpan. Concentrated, looking straight at his iPad, not bothering to look at her.

—Why?

—That restaurant you made me go to was horrible.

—Well, I didn't pick the place, so no whines to me, but at least the company was fantastic, right?

—Umhju —Toto mutters, still looking at the screen. Then silence.

Sam interprets that answer as I'm not telling you anything else.

—Since you are here trying to gossip. Aren't you busy? If you have free time, you could help me with several things.

—Jeez, that mood. I'm not here to gossip. Here, sign this. Niki needs it.

Toto reads the paper Sam just gave him and picks up his phone. —I need to make a call. Would you mind closing the door on your way out? Thank you.

—Okay —Sam answers slowly and exaggerates the "O" while doing what was asked. Even she knows messing with a somber Toto wasn't a good idea.

Unfortunately for you, no gossip or insights of your night out were obtained from Toto.

It was a Grand Prix victory for Lewis. And a third place for Mick, but since it was his first podium, you guys celebrated as if he had just won the race. Sadly, Millie got pulled out of the track for a technical issue with the car.

You were hoping to chitchat with Toto at the podium ceremony, make him laugh a little, and watch his beautiful smile. Well, you hoped that the entire day, actually. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Until you spotted him in the distance, there was no casual way to start a conversation with him that way, and you didn't want to be perceived as pushy or desperate going straight to him. So you let the idea die. There was no rush.

If something was meant to be, it will happen without forcing things.

Right?

Azerbaijan

On the paddock in Baku, Toto chose to behave the opposite of that night in Melbourne. Serious, professional, and borderline unfriendly - but still polite.

That caught you off guard, and it was so confusing. After spending that great time together, you thought you two were on your path to becoming friends or more if luck was on your side. You didn't get the sudden change, and it was a bit hurtful when you went to say hi to him - all warm and smiling - and he gave the cold shoulder with a blunt "Good morning" and kept on walking.

You stood there looking a bit stupid, wondering if you did something to bother him or if he was acting Austrian. Maybe Toto was feeling really uncomfortable by how you approached him at the end of that night. Damn, drunk you!

But then, a couple of hours later:

"Unknown" is typing...

—Darci told me you left your office to have lunch. But I'm here outside your hospitality and don't see you - Toto.

Your assistant gave him your number. —Hi!!! Yes, I'm here having lunch.

—Where? I'm wearing my good glasses, and I'm sure you are not that bald guy eating a salad.

—Sandro is a very nice guy. Look up, grandpa!

—The rooftop? What are you, a pigeon?

No joke in reply, just an honest: —I like the view from here. It's peaceful! Bonus points for being private. No one bothers me here or intrudes. It's my secret special place. Do you want to join?

Toto finishes climbing the ladder and goes to greet you, kissing you on the cheek. As he does so, a crazy thought crosses your mind: What if you turn your head? Is stealing a kiss considered harassment? But you don't.

You two share your homemade Yakimeshi - you love cooking even if you have a private Chef, and you are damn good at it, well, according to everyone that has eaten your food, so you ask the hotel to get you the fresh ingredients you need - while talking about the day, sharing ideas, throwing shade, and enjoying each other's presence.

—What a diva! —you reply, grabbing a portion with your chopsticks.

—I know. I expected better, but engineers... you know —Toto shrugs.

—Ye! —you agree. Sometimes, they acted, well, a little bit challenging.

Toto was acting so relaxed and casual as you expected him to be, and not what was going on in the morning. You wonder so badly why there is a change in ways, but you don't dare to ask.

"What if he has bipolar disorder?" a question that came to your mind at some desperate point during your day. Not that there was something wrong with that.

The sun is setting, and you two enjoy the view, sitting next to each other - no space in between - He places his arm around you, palm resting next to your left hand, but without making physical contact.

This becomes a routine for you two, lunching together on the rooftop of the W hospitality, away from the rest of the world, in your private little bubble. It becomes your favorite moment of the day. And Toto's, too, even if he swore he would never like routine.

Miami

—Excuse me, excuse me, how did the tire taste you like? —you tease a very solemn Lewis walking past you on the paddock while you pretend to hold an invisible mic at his face, acting like a reporter. An instant smile forms on his lips.

—Roscoe attack! —Lewis commands.

Roscoe stares at him for a second and then wanders to sniff a palm tree, not caring.

—I think your trick didn't work —you get closer to greet him with a hug.

—He is too lazy for that —he tells you while embracing you.

—You are too cute; don't listen to that man! —you say with a silly voice, addressing Roscoe, letting Lewis go, and flexing to pet the dog, rubbing around his ears, which Roscoe seems to enjoy.

It was a Qualy of hell for Mercedes. Lewis's car's back tire flew out into the air before bouncing on a safety barrier at speed, almost hitting him back. Plus, George's car ended up in the gravel after losing power.

In contrast, Williams did great. Mick was one with the car, achieving the day's fastest lap.

—Feeling better, sweetie? —you ask Lewis with honest concern, after seeing the incident unfold and how he made it out of the car really distraught.

Although you must admit that even though that whole thing wasn't funny, the memes were pure gold, so you texted Toto your pick: the one where the tire hit the space station with a photoshopped explosion, the one with Lewis's face photoshopped on a baseball player hitting a home run, but instead of the ball it was the tire and your favorite, the one with photoshopped Toto, Lewis, and George riding the tire to the sky.

—Yeah. I'm good. A positive mindset always helps, thanks.

—I think I just saw you kicking, crying, and screaming in the bathroom, Mr. Positive Mind Set —Sam joins the conversation, teasing him.

—HA HA

—So, what's the plan for tonight-A? —she asks.

—Noone human says tonight like that. Not even Michael Jackson on drugs —you tell Sam.

—We are in Miami, chica! Aren't we clubbing?! —she replies.

—Are you high?

—I will if we go out...

—You realize we are here for work, right? —Lewis asks her.

—Like we haven't done it before. What's the worst that could happen? Toto finding out? You losing the race? Toto, finding out you lost the race because you went out clubbing with us?

—Yes! —you all answer at the same time. —To all of that —you add.

—Well, not if Toto comes with us...

Lewis starts laughing like a madman. —Sam, are you suggesting convincing Toto to go clubbing with us the night before the race so he doesn't get mad if he finds out we went clubbing?

—I got lost, mate —George arrives, earing that last part, trying to figure out what the hell.

—Well, I'll not be convincing him. Y/N is.

—ME?!

—If you really love me, you will —Sam pushes you toward the Mercedes' motorhome.

Gaslighting a bit much?

How am I supposed to do this? I'm going to sound so unprofessional. Although, technically, you two went out pub-ing?? and got drunk the night before the race in Australia. Okay, that made-up word sounds terrible; let's never use it again, so there may be a slight chance to relive that.

At least you needed to practice your words before going in there since "Hi, Toto, wanna go clubbing?" wasn't an option but destiny was a bitch; you two crossed paths before you had the opportunity to rehearse. Toto was on his way back to his office; he left his badge access on his desk. He seemed surprised to see you there; you were far away from the Williams' grounds. So you are forced to improvise.

—Are you looking for Sam?

—No, not really, not this time.

—Oh. Niki?

—Nope.

—Lewis?

—You.

Toto was now standing right before you with his hands in his pockets, all tall and handsome. You liked him even more when he wore his reading glasses.

You start a bit shy; Toto has a powerful presence. —I heard Miami has excellent places, and because last time I made you join me for that awful dining experience, I thought maybe we could go out and have a good time but in a better establishment.

—Tonight?

He sounds slightly judgy. You go on: —I was talking with the guys, and they mentioned "Floyd." It sounds great...

—The guys?

—Sam and Lewis, and George...

—Ooh, they sent you? Sam!

Oh boy.

—The cocktails sound goo...

—I'm not taking my drivers drinking or to a nightclub before the race or allowing it. It's ridiculous —Toto interrupts you again.

You look at him, now slightly nervous and bummed out.

—None of us is going; it's not happening —Toto adds firmly.

Yeah... He was a pro at the top of his game. Of course, he cared about discipline, mindsets, and winning races and titles; what were you thinking?!

You nod apologetically. Your eyes look a bit sad, well, because... You don't need to explain why. Just start turning around to head back and tell them the news.

—Wait! We could go to "Basement", which has a bowling alley and a DJ. But no drinking! Not even a drop for anyone; we must return to the hotel at a reasonable hour. Do you like that? That makes you happy?

—Sounds perfect to me —your smile is big and bright. Did Toto change his mind to please me?

To make things even, you end up bringing Millie and Mick. You wanted to make clear you weren't playing unfair tactics with your opponents. You earnestly desired to spend a good time with the people you began to care about.

The place was all for yourselves. It was a club slash bowling alley with colorful neon lights reflecting on the lanes, varying intensities and colors to the DJ's beats. It was a dope place.

Lewis invites Seb. They two took bowling seriously and had a years-long competition. They show you a list of their scores on Lewis's iPhone going back to the dark ages.

Bono also shows up, and Carlos and Lando, too, God knows how.

Lando starts stretching right in front of you, warming up, and making eye contact with you while doing his poses in a bit too sexual and exaggerated way. Samanta and you start laughing at him for acting all idiot. You two sit on the bowling benches while drinking Coke and eating popcorn.

—Every group needs a slut —you tell Lando.

—I don't think you are impressing her, man —Carlos joins, watching the spectacle, on his feet.

—It reminds me of when little children warm up before jumping into the pool —you kill Lando with your words.

—You have never seen legs like this —he tells you, overconfident. All of you laugh. —But, I will fight for your heart, malady. Is there another knight brave enough to face me in a bowling fight to the death?

—But what's the prize?! —Seb screams across all lanes.

—A NIGHT with the princess —Lando claims.

—Keep dreaming, sweetie —you reply.

—A KISS from the princess —he backtracks.

—Fine! Everyone, write your names here! —Sam takes a Post-it and a pen out of her purse - an assistant's habit - and passes them around.

—WHAT?! What are you doing?

Sam starts folding the papers and mixing them up. —The council calls Sir Hamilton to the pit!! Please choose your horse and weapon for the fight (lane and bowling ball) —Sam reads Lewis's name from the paper she picks up, and then she selects another one. —Warrior Dobrev to the fight! —cheers are heard, and Mick and Carlos pat Millie on the arm and back; Vettel massages her shoulders when she stands by her approach area. —Knight Wolff to the pit! And last but not least, Warrior Bonnington, too! —there were only five lanes. —You all brave souls are to fight buffoon Norris for a kiss of the Lady. Lord Vettel and I will oversee the combat.

—Hey! —Lando complains, pouting. Then, George starts motivating him, and they start making stupid grunts and jumps before the bowling round begins.

—The battle commences now! —Sam calls.

—You really need to stop watching House of the Dragon —you tell her.

—It's official: Bono is the worst player I have seen —Vettel interrupts, watching Bono be the first to get disqualified. —Is it okay if I leave you a second? If I don't go and bother Lewis every time to time, I get anxious —Sebastian sweetly tells you.

—Go, honey —You pat his hand and let him go. You two were watching the competition unfold together.

Lando, Lewis, and Toto were really good at it, but Millie was in a league of her own.

—How can someone so tiny have such a steady grip? —Lewis tells her she was in the lane next to his.

—Lew, I gladly would share with you all my secrets if I wasn't determined to win this —Millie replies.

—So you really want to kiss her? —he is curious, and a little smile forms on his lips.

—Look at Y/N, I wouldn't mind, but I don't want to. I think all five of us here hate losing... or love winning. Well, except for Lando, I believe he truly wants to kiss her.

"Not just him," Lewis thinks, looking in Toto's direction. After years of being teammates, he could read him like a book. It isn't just Sussie who has him shifting moods. Since you appeared, Toto began to act all weird. When Lewis noticed the looks you both exchanged, everything made sense to him.

And another fantastic strike from Lando.

Millie was almost right. Lewis loves winning and hates losing, but not when friends or feelings are in the middle. A lesson Sebastian taught him. So Lewis prepares and throws the worst shot he has ever made. His bowling ball bounces, hits the gutters, and invades the next lane, instantly disqualifying him.

Hisses and laughs fill the room. Lewis turns around, shrugs, smiles, and goes to take a seat. A minute later, he feels a thumb rubs his neck, caressing it. —Sir Hamilton, my good Sir, you sure are an honorable and respectable fellow —Sebastian tells him with his best Shakespearean voice.

—Stop talking like that, please.

—It doesn't please you how this low-grade peasant talks, good Sir?

The face Lewis gives him is priceless. Vettel laughs, and Lewis slides closer to him on the bench.

A loud "AAARGGH" comes from Lando as he dramatically throws himself to the floor. Wooff, what an awful shot.

—Luck next time, Lando! —Sam teases him as Carlos and George pass by, carrying him to the benches, one grabbing him by the legs and the other by the arms. Out of the competition, he was.

Now, it was a Dobrev vs. Wolff clash.

—Make our house name proud, niece! —Sam yells at her.

—You are having too much fun, aren't you? —you tell her.

—Sorry —Sam covers her face with her hands, monkey emoji-like. —Your knight made it to the final. Good for you, girl, but Millie is ruthless, so...

—I know! I can't watch any more. I'm too nervous! I feel like I will puke if Toto wins or if he loses.

—...she misses.

—WHAT?!

Okay, okay, this wasn't happening. Oh God. Sam turns to you and gives you a smile The Grinch will envy.

—Knight Wolff wins the battle! And takes the princess! —Sam announces. You shoot her a dead glare. —...'s kiss

Cheers are heard. Then everyone gets on their feet and starts chatting and bowling. Laughs and mocktails fill the room.

You pass Lando, still lying on the bench, on your way to get a drink. Now you need tequila in your system. —Oh, I'm so wounded! Only a kiss on the lips would heal me —he tries, offering his arms to you. The kid has the material to be an actor.

—Carlos!! Lando needs you!! —you joke back in answer, smiling at him. Lando gets on his feet in less than a second. —All good, I feel better! —he tells you, chuckling.

Toto is there when you reach the bar, sipping a whiskey on the rocks. —Not a drop of alcohol, you said? —you mock him.

—And you are here to ask for a Coke, right? —he teases you.

—A Paloma, please —you ask the bartender. —You could be a professional bowling player —Please let that become a meme, you think, and an image of a Toto in a complete bowling outfit surrounded by a group of senior citizens with white hair comes to mind.

—You picture it; that's why you are smiling.

—Nooo...

He arches an eyebrow.

—Fine. I admit it! ��you sit on the bar stool next to him and rest an elbow on the bar counter, smiling like an idiot and gazing at Toto until he notices it and gets on his feet.

—I haven't seen you play, let's go! —he tells you.

—Oh, if this really were the old ages and it was me who had to fight for your hand, consider yourself single for the rest of your life...

You all arrive together at the hotel and walk inside the lobby, making a lot of noise.

—Shuusshh!! Zack doesn't know I'm not in my room! —Lando whispers, looking around.

—Sure, he is hiding behind that plant, Lando. That old fart is so fucking asleep in his bed, mate! Calm down! —Vettel adds.

—Hey! You haven't kissed Toto yet —Lewis recalls and addresses you.

—Right! Give him his prize! —Mick adds.

You feel your cheeks turning red. —Are you all going to stare and make it all weird?

—YES! —everyone answers.

—You guys suck! —you complain, pretending to be annoyed at them.

—Not as much as I would like to. WHO SAID THAT?! —Millie dirty jokes, looking around.

—Millie Alexandria Dobrev! —Sam shouts, shocked. —I can't believe you...

Between giggles and two Croatians fighting in the background, you kiss Toto for the first time.

With your left hand, wrap Toto's bicep and rest your right on his chest as you reach his lips on your tiptoes. The kiss is brief, delicate, more like a brush of lips, but it is enough to make the butterflies in your stomach go wild and to still be on cloud nine when you reach your room.

Monaco

You were so excited to be officially living in Monaco. It was your first week there, and you had never lived on your own before. And since Sam also resided there, you spent lots of time together. You two were enjoying the break and touring the city around.

Miami went terrific, and that kiss still made rounds on your head.

Sam and you were walking in the area close to your new place when you turned the corner and were greeted by this scene: A furious Monegasque girl screaming at the top of her lungs in French words that did not sound nice at all and throwing objects out the window while a man on the street was trying to picking them up and reason with said girl. Some people were staring, and others were rushing to pass by.

—Is that Charles?! —Samanta asks you, stunned, pointing to the guy crouched and picking up what looked like a pair of Jordan's.

Yeah, that was Charles Leclerc. You two look at each other concerned and rush to help.

—Hi —Sam shouts among the screams in French.

—Oh, hey, Sam —Charles looks pretty embarrassed.

You quickly offer him the almost empty tote bag you were carrying and speed walk to grab an open, worn-out cardboard box from the greengrocery next door. The three of you start getting his things inside while avoiding getting hit by the last objects thrown out.

—Thank you —he says to you. —My girlfriend went mental.

All of you hear a loud bang and look up; she shuts the windows dramatically. "More like ex-girlfriend now" you think.

—Merde —you hear Charles say. —My keys and wallet are inside there, fuck!

You can't avoid feeling bad for the guy. He looks so done with life right now.

—Ahm, Charles, if you want to join us, we are grabbing lunch. We can grab some cocktails, too; I'll treat you guys. You seem in desperate need of alcohol and a chat.

—You're right, I need alcohol, thank you. I would love to.

The three of you walk your way to a restaurant Charles loves. It was pricey, but you agreed to let him pick the place since you were spoiling him and trying to lift his spirits.

—Huff, why are all the streets in Monaco inclined? —you complain after climbing the fourth hundred stairs of the day. —On the bright side, tho, I just need to live here to skip leg day at the gym.

Charles laughs. That's good!

The face the hostess makes when you three arrive and place the second-hand cardboard box with Charles's things on the fancy counter - clothes, some books, sneakers, a Funko Pop of Charles himself for some reason, and what looks like Xbox controllers, a man's most prized possession - makes it worth it almost losing your legs to get there.

—Good evening. Table for three? Right this way. Terrace, as usual, Mr. Leclerc? —she asks.

—Yes, please.

You are led to your table. It was a sea-inspired high-cuisine restaurant. The ceiling of the place had a breathtaking art installation: A whale made from bamboo wind chimes. —The waiter is on his way; here is the food and mixology carte —she offers you. It takes you a long time to read the entire selection.

—Ask for whatever you guys want; the check is on me. Don't hold back —you offer them.

—Great, then! It would be two spritzes instead of one, please! —Sam gestures with her fingers at the waiter, who is already taking your order. Sam seems so happy and excited; for someone who grew up that rich, she loves getting stuff for free.

—I would like a Tequila and Tonic with two tequila shots, please —you finally choose.

—A margarita and two shots of tequila for me. To start —Charles orders.

The drinks arrive quickly. At the same time, you hear everything about Charles' toxic relationship, giving him the space to spit it all out; as more alcohol makes it to the table, the more details you get.

After a good couple of hours of free therapy, high cuisine, drinks, relationship advice, and tragic love stories, it got dark.

—Well, it was a damn good chat! I'm glad we were able to help you, my friend. But we better go —Sam says to Charles. —I'm walking you back to your place —she addresses you. —I have to wake up early tomorrow. Toto wants me to join the Mercedes' Zoom call at 7 a.m., and I don't want to see his annoying, angry face at me.

The thought of an angry Toto makes you bite hard the tiny chocolate cake you are eating as dessert.

—Oh, no worries! It's just all the way down the street; I will get there without problems —you say while savoring the remains of your cake.

—Are you sure? —She inquires. You forgot how protective of you Samanta was, even if she was younger than you.

—Yeah, go, go. It's never a good idea to make an Austrian guy angry —You joke.

Charles choked on his drink, laughing. —Sweet Lord.

Sam giggles, hugs you two goodbye and waits for her Uber.

—It's late, I'll walk you. There are plenty of good hotels near your building and the marina; since I'm not going home, I need to book a room —Charles mentions.

—If you don't mind, you can crash at my place; there's not much furniture yet, but you are welcome to stay —you tell Charles. He seems relieved.

Charles sees what you meant with "not much" - just a small table with no chairs, one kitchen counter stool, a mattress in the bedroom, another on the living room floor, and some boxes, making the place look way bigger - as you two enter your apartment.

—I just got the keys —you excuse yourself.

—Oh wow, this view reminds me of my grandparents' apartment view from growing up —He reaches the balcony fast. —Oh, look, you can see the old side of Monaco from here! Good memories! —He ignores your comment, not caring much about the furniture or decor.

He seems in a better mood than before.

—Well, let me know if you need anything. Sleep well! —you say, on your way to your bedroom.

—Thank you, good night!

You hear noises outside your bedroom's open doors a few minutes later. Charles moves his mattress nearer the plug on the wall and connects the charger you lent him to his phone. With that change in the arrangement, you are both placed facing each other in different rooms and with distance in between.

Since none of you seemed able to fall asleep that night, you better keep chatting, each of you resting your back against the wall, relaxing, and him crossing his arms behind his head.

—So you are besties with Sam?

—Yes, she was one of the first people I met when I arrived in Belgium —you answer and look out of your bedroom's massive floor-to-ceiling window to the beautiful sea and the tiny-looking lights of Monaco. He stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

—So, how was growing up here? —You ask him and were sincerely curious but also want to switch the subject of conversation from you to him.

He tells many anecdotes of his childhood and buzz about some of the high society Monegasque families. He seems to enjoy gossip, and you are here for it.

Until you feel your eyes shutting down and fall asleep with the sound of his voice.

Two weeks later, Charles was still staying at your place; there was no furniture yet, however. By the third week, you arrive home, and all of Charles' things are filling the space. He moved "his bed" to one of the guest bedrooms and packed the living room with boxes. His piano starts serving you two at your dining "table." You always ate there, sitting, standing, taking turns: breakfast, Charles, lunch, you, etc.

He is just one box away from officially becoming your roommate. Of course, you don't mind. After many years of feeling alone, you desperately needed a friend and its company.

Charles' wireless speaker is the most significant addition to the apartment; it was never turned off, both of you being obsessive music maniacs, constantly introducing new music and artists to each other.

It is your turn to pick a song, and you want to lift the spirits while unpacking boxes and arranging things, so you turn the volume all up and hit play. Bad Bunny's "Yo perreo sola" started blasting.

You start singing and dancing to the beat, shaking it, and then Charles joins you in the chorus, singing the lyrics perfectly and throwing some great dance moves. You two start twerking.

—You know this song? Wait, you speak Spanish?! —you ask loudly, almost screaming. The music is so loud.

—My mom is Colombian. Didn't I mention that? My dad is the Monegasque one. I know my reggaeton and merengues by heart —he screams back. —I know all the good clubs in the city with this type of music, we should go and dance our asses off.

—Oh, for sure we are!

Another level of friendship is unlocked.

The three of you are inseparable. It is the weekend, and Charles took you and Sam on his boat sailing to an excellent spot to take a swim. Coronas, good music, sun, and fresh water fill your day.

You came up with a competition to see who jumped out of the boat the funniest way because you three were dumb. Charles wins by jumping and agitating his arms and legs like an old cartoon falling or very Gaga at the Super Bowl. Your stomach hurts from laughing, and your face from smiling.

After that, you all lay flat on your stomachs like iguanas under the sun, getting tan atop the boat; you don't remember a day nearby when you felt so happy. You felt at home with those two by your side.

It was around 4 a.m. and pitch black when Charles was suddenly awakened by sorrowful sounds coming from your bedroom.

He rushes and quickly opens the door, not caring to knock. He finds you crying, curled in your bed; you look like a total mess with red eyes, messy hair, and softly shaking, and Charles reacts like a headless chicken, pacing frantically around the room before getting to his senses and starting supporting a very troubled you.

—I got an idea that could help you feel better! —he tells you.

—Yeah?

—You trust me?

You nod.

—Let's go! —he offers you his hand and leads you out.

You take the lift to the basement parking lot, where Charles' Ferrari is all poorly and crocked parked outside lines of your apartment's parking spaces - that man was a great driver but terrible at parking - next to it is his powerful Ducati Panigale black motorbike is waiting for you.

Soon, you two are on his bike, crossing the streets of Monaco at full speed. Getting further away from the city and into the road. You tightly wrap your arms around him as he tells you you are entering the highway, and he begins to speed, pushing the bike's engine.

You could feel the fresh nightly ocean breeze hitting your body and entering your pores, every time more violently as you moved and Charles kept speeding up. You could see the full moon reflecting on the ocean waters. It was a clear night, with no stars in sight.

You love the rush and adrenaline of this speed ride. Charles speeds even more, and you hear the violent roar of the motor, the bike reaching its maximum. Then, in that brief moment, you get why all drivers are passionate about F1. Now you get it. Your sad tears become happy ones. You have never experienced something like this before, and it makes you feel so alive. The air feels so cold and harsh at the speed you are going that you almost feel it cutting your skin. It is a sensational feeling.

Charles then starts to slow down till he parks the bike and turns the engine off, helping you get on your feet, and you two lay on the grass after arriving at the destination.

—What a view! —you let out. The two of you are far away from the city, and you can see Monaco at the distance from the cliff you are on top of.

—This is my secret spot. I have been coming here since I was young when I felt I needed to clear my mind or wanted to escape everything. This view humbles you and calms you down at the same time —Charles confesses.

—Thanks for sharing it with me —you say to him, extremely grateful.

—It's the least I can do.

You can hear the waves hitting the cliff rock below you, and you admire the infinite ocean in front of you. The two of you sat there for a long time.

—Whenever you feel ready to talk about it. To open up about your past, who you are, or why you cried tonight, I will be here to listen —Charles offers you, breaking the comfortable silence. He is a kind and sweet person, a good person. And you aren't used to that.

He places his hand on top of yours just briefly, and you feel so happy to have a friend, to have him, no love feelings, no desire in between, just genuine friendship and honest support.

He deserves the truth, and you want to let him know, but you are afraid of the repercussions. You don't want to get judged or, worse, to lose him.

Charles has been paying attention to you these past weeks and has noticed how you avoid or change subjects whenever your past or private life gets mentioned.

Every day that passes, he gets to know you more. It is just a matter of time before the truth comes out.

To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

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tubzthelilbeeboy · 6 months ago

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I have created what C!Tommy and C!Beeduo's houses look like in my head and I wanna draw it but I have zero art skill to do it. Sad day for Tubz nation. anyway, RANT TIME! Tommy's house def looks like a grandma house. Floral patterns, big plushie sofas that sink too far down when sat on, you know it. that built in ugly ass brown carpet that feels lovely on ur feet. tiles of flowers on the kitchen counter tops and nice dark oak wooden cabinets. small ass tv to remind him of simpler times. round door with a little window and curtain for it and the space around it inside the house is tiled and has a welcome mat and a little shoe holder for Clementine, Shroud, and Chat's shoes. A big plush chair in the living room that he knits on. No coffee table between it and the tv so the kids can roll around on the carpeted floor while watching fucking Bluey or sm. Tea sets on display. A "this house voted for pog 2020" and "love is love" signs on the grass outside with a bird bath. Tommy's room is just posters and old flags on every wall. its small and cozy with a huge bed just for him. A sewing station in the corner to sew the kids and his friends sweaters. a drawer with all his clothes stuffed in and various trinkets on the top with a mirror dangerously close to falling off. shit hanging from the ceiling like fake plants and an old lmanburg flag and a trans flag. Overall comfy vibe, imagine like Juno's room from the movie Juno. Thats what I imagine for it idk m just guy. Shroud, Clem, and Chat all share a room cuz its a small house. All their beds are separated into different corners of the room, toys EVERYWHERE and tons a chargers on Chat's corner of the room to charge themself. Lots of cracks on the ceiling from Shroud and Clem somehow getting up their and banging their heads cuz spider and moth you know? I went too insane, ill do the beeduo mansion at some point I love ranting abt this shit rgrgrggrrgrgr

#tubz yapping #dsmp #dream smp #ctommy #c!tommy #shroud dsmp #clementine dsmp #chatbot dsmp #rant

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shingekinohyrulewrites · 1 year ago

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Lips of An Angel

You and Eren had dated, but the two of you were horrible for each other, and the relationship ended horribly. The both of you moved on, but a single phone call has the two of you falling into each other's lives again.

Read first chapter on AO3 here

A content warning for this : HEAVY SMUT, ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR, MDNI, 18+ ONLY !!!

Just a reminder friends, toxic relationships are not healthy and should NOT be romanticised.

One thing that you had thoroughly enjoyed with Eren was the sex.

Man, oh man, was the sex great.

Sadly, the best sex that you two ever had came after the two of you had an argument, which was often. Eren was a very jealous man, and the two of you came to blows after a night out because he would always accuse you of flirting with other guys. You always vehemently denied it, but he refused to believe you. The two of you would bicker on the drive home, spitting venomous snide remarks to each other before he would slam you against the door, grabbing you by the throat as a slow grin would creep onto his lips.

“You think you can just be a fucking slut in front of me? I’m going to remind you who you belong to.”

The two of you would fuck all night, and you would spend the next day limping around. Your friends, especially Marco and Mikasa, were aware of your sexual situation and frowned at it. Mikasa was always reminding you that it wasn’t healthy, but you shrugged it off and told her the sex was mind blowing.

The last time you two went out together would forever stick in your mind, and even now you found yourself thinking about it. Jean and Reiner had invited you two out to go club hopping, and you both had agreed. You had dressed up in a black long sleeved crop top, a leather skirt, and black thigh high boots. When you had stepped out of the bathroom all done up, Eren had stopped in his tracks, halfway through buttoning up his shirt.

“Whoa. You look hot. You never dress up like that for me.”

He pouted then, crossing his arms over his chest tightly. Rolling your eyes, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Don’t worry, baby, this is all for you. At the end of the night, you still get to take me home.”

One of his large hands snaked down to squeeze your ass, giving it a spank before pulling away. He chuckled, shaking his head as he finished buttoning up his shirt and walking away. Armin came to pick you two up, Annie in the front seat as you two climbed into the back.

The first club, Paradis Lost, was the newest, trendiest club that had just opened. The club was lit by purple lights, simple chandeliers hanging from various spots. It was dim inside, EDM music blasting from loudspeakers. Eren held onto your hand tightly as he navigated you through the crowd towards the bar.

Everything had been smooth there, with everyone taking shots and dancing together. You had grinded on Eren, relishing the feeling of his hands gripping onto your hips tightly as his erection prodded your lower back. From there, you walked to Mischievous Marley’s, a sort of hole in the wall club with great drink specials. Similar to Paradis Lost, the inside was dim, this time lit with red lights and the walls tiled like an old public bathroom.

Your head was feeling a little fuzzy at that point, and you felt more loose. Jean had shown up then, the top buttons of his shirt open revealing his toned chest. He had greeted you with his usual flirtatious grin, and you had responded by hugging him tightly and running a finger along his chest.

That was the first mistake you made that night.

The third club, Eldia’s End, was your stereotypical night club, with disco balls hanging everywhere and strobe lights bouncing off the walls. The DJ at the front of the club was playing “This is How We Do It,” with everyone jumping and dancing around. That round of shots ended you, your mind beginning to brown out as you stumbled towards the dance floor. You thought that you had been grinding on Eren, but your drunk mind mistook Jean for him.

That was your second mistake of the night.

Your third mistake of the night had been when you had asked Marco to take you home, seeing as he was the most sober one in the group. His eyes had shifted nervously over to Eren, who was seething quietly in your direction.

“Um, sure, if that’s okay with Eren,” he had mumbled.

You had turned to Eren then, stumbling over to him.

“Pleaseee, Marco is my bestest friend!” you slurred.

He hadn’t replied, instead shrugging as he turned to Marco.

“S-sure, I guess I’ll take you both home,” the freckled boy stuttered out.

The drive home had been deathly silent, with Marco peeking at you both through his rearview mirror. He had opted to play music quietly in the background, Olivia Rodrigo wailing about her lost love lulling you to sleep. Eren had nudged you awake, barking out that you were home before grumbling a thanks to your driver.

You had managed to stumble into your bedroom, flopping onto the bed as you struggled to remove your boots. Your fingers fumbled with the zipper, and you were so fixated on the task that you had failed to notice Eren glaring at you from the doorway.

“So? You got it for Jean boy now?”

Blinking, you turned to peer at him, confused.

“Huh? Jean? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You were all over him tonight, like some bitch in heat.”

Anger began to course through your veins, slowly sobering you up. Your boots long forgotten, you slowly began to stand up, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“How dare you say that shit to me. I was just having fun. Something you should learn to do someday.”

His hand reached out to grab your throat, grabbing and pushing you against the wall. Gasping out, you began to claw at him, desperate for him to let go.

“E-Eren, what the fuck,” you rasped out.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he spat.

“Let go of me!”

His hands squeezed tighter, the edges of your vision going black. Just as you were about to give up, he let go, causing you to fall to the floor wheezing. Glaring at him through tears, you reached over to punch him in the leg.

“What is wrong with you?! You could have killed me!”

Instead of responding, he grabbed your cheeks, squeezing them tightly until your lips were puckered.

“Open,” he commanded.

You hesitated before obliging. He spat into your open mouth, pressing your lips shut and ordering you to swallow. You did as told, opening your mouth to show him it was empty. Satisfied, he yanked you up before throwing you onto the bed. He was quick to kneel on the bed, eyes watching you hungrily as he slowly crawled towards you. His hands grabbed the top of your skirt, reaching behind you to unzip it and peel it down your legs. His eyes fixated on your panties, a wet spot growing from your core.

“Such a fucking slut, already wet for me,” he rasped out.

Eren moved to your top then, tugging it over your head and tossing it onto the floor. He dove into your cleavage, pressing kisses before his tongue slipped out, leaving a wet trail between your breasts. With one swift movement, he reached behind you and swiftly unclipped your bra. You were only left in your panties, peering up at him curiously.

“Why am I the only one getting naked?” you frowned.

Chuckling, he slowly peeled his shirt off, revealing his toned chest and abs. Your eyes slowly trailed down towards his happy trail and his erection straining against his pants. His gaze followed yours, hands unbuttoning his pants and yanking them off.

“There. We equal now, Princess?”

Rolling your eyes, you spread your legs open for him. He laid down on the bed, hands reaching out to slide your panties down. His hot breath ghosted over your inner thighs, anticipation building in you as you desperately waited to feel his mouth on you. He let out another chuckle before he obliged, tongue reaching out to lick a stripe up your core. Moaning, you let your hips buck up, thighs clenching together to entrap him.

“Slow down, Princess, we’ve got all night,” Eren warned.

He returned to his previous action, tongue moving faster as he inserted a finger. The stimulation had your toes curling and an orgasm quickly building. Eren was so skilled with his mouth it took you a few minutes to finish. He inserted a second finger, tongue moving even faster before he pulled back to begin licking up and down.

“E-eren,” you moaned out. “I’m so c-close.”

Your orgasm began to build up, and you closed your eyes, moans tumbling out. Just as it was about to hit, he pulled away. Your eyes shot open, shooting him a nasty glare. He simply stared back at you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?”

“Are you being fucking serious right now?” you asked, narrowing your eyes even more.

“Relax bitch, I’m going to fuck you right now, just wait.”

You tried to sit up in an effort to get away but he pushed you back down. He forcefully spread your legs apart, quickly removing his boxers before giving himself a few pumps. Kneeling lower, he began to align himself, the tip of his thick cock pressing against your entrance. You lifted your hips in an effort to create friction but he pulled back, clicking his tongue at you before shaking his head.

“Patience, Princess. You’ll get this fat cock.”

With that, he began pressing his cock into you again. The familiar stretch had you moaning, a string of his name and curses tumbling messily from your lips. An arrogant smile pulled at his lips, head leaning over you as he gestured to open your mouth again. You complied, and he spit into it again.

“Such a good girl, listening to Daddy so well.”

One hand reached down to wrap around your throat. Unlike earlier, he kept the pressure light, tightening his grip strategically with every thrust. You were already seeing stars, eyes shutting and tongue lolling out as he continued to fuck you.

“Look at you, is my cock so good I’m fucking you stupid?”

You nodded, opening your eyes to peer up at him. His eyes were lidded, gaze fixated on your expression shifting with every snap of his hips. He began to pick up the pace, hands tightening around your neck as he fucked into you so hard your hips recoiled on instinct.

“I’m going to cum in your tight little pussy,” he hissed. “Claim it because it’s mine and only mine.”

Nodding frantically, you tried to wrap your legs around him to keep him close to you. The familiar coil was building in you quickly, and you blabbered out to Eren that you were close. Chuckling, he looked down at you again.

“Then cum.”

Gasping, you moaned out his name, tightening around him as he continued to fuck you. He let out a groan, hips stuttering until he came to a stop, filling you up completely. Exhausted, he collapsed onto you, hot breaths on your neck. Pulling back, he slipped out of bed to grab his shirt to clean you up.

When he slid into bed beside you, a part of you wondered if you wanted to keep doing this. The thought of his hand on your throat purposely had you on edge, and you wondered what would happen the next time you got him angry enough.

#shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin imagine #attack on titan #attack on titan imagines #eren jaeger #eren jaeger imagines #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager #eren yaeger imagine #eren yaeger x reader #modern au #toxic relationship

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act-nat-ural · 10 months ago

Text

Occupied

Chapter One: No Rest For The Wicked

(If you want to be added to the tag list lmk!)

prologue \\\ chapter 2

The REDACTED Clause; If a government employee has housing available and is willing and open, military personnel could temporarily seek refuge there if needed.

——

Well, it appears Eliza wasn’t lying. The cabin was empty. You decide to spend your first day of vacation unpacking and exploring the cabin. Unpacking only took you an hour or so, with you only needing to find a space to store your clothes and pick which bedroom you were going to stay in. You ended up deciding to stay in the master bedroom on the second floor, with a bathroom attached.

The bedroom was, for lack of better words, bare-bones. There was a bed (king-sized, yippee!), a nightstand, a dresser, and a television mounted onto the wall. You couldn’t decipher if this was Adam’s room or not, you wouldn’t be shocked if it was. The bathroom attached didn’t have any products in it, or toilet paper, but it did have a larger-than-average tub.

With nothing important left to do, it was time for exploring. A quick scan of the first floor told you that you weren’t staying in Adam’s bedroom (thank God), and he had preferred a much smaller room downstairs. You could infer this because of the posters mounted into the walls and the large, computer desk on one side of the room. You also located the kitchen, with the dining room attached. The kitchen had a pale blue tiling that matched the cabinets and carpet in the living room. The fridge was nothing fancy but it would make due. The dining room was surprisingly large considering he probably never has company over. The dining table was approximately 8 feet long with 3 chairs on each side, the wood seeming to be Walnut.

There was another bathroom on the first floor, down the hallway from Adam’s bedroom. You could tell this was the one he used because of the 5-in-1 shampoo in the shower. He didn’t have any feminine products in his cabinet (duh), so you mentally added them to your shopping list. He did, however, have a first aid kit under the sink. You shrugged it off, paying it no mind. You were confident you wouldn’t end up needing to use it.

You make your way to the living room and flop backward onto the couch. It was an ugly, plaid pattern, yet shockingly comfortable. You go over your shopping list in your head as you switch the television on. You would need to stock up on pads or tampons, as well as get groceries for dinner. You noticed earlier while going through the rooms that the outlets were a different type than in the States, so you would also need an adapter. As you close your eyes and try to make sense of your mind, the excitement of the day and jet lag catches up to you. Quietly, with the TV on in the background, you drift off to sleep.

——

The last thing you expected was to get awoken by not one, but two pairs of fists slamming on the front door. You jump up, sleep still in your eyes, and stumble to the door. You peer through the peephole and see four men in uniform, one getting held up by another and bleeding everywhere. What. The. Fuck.

“For the love of god, open the bloody door mate!” A gruff, British accent spits out.

Without thinking, you swing open the door. The men urgently push past you into the cabin, except for one.

“Where’s the dining room, love?” He tries to ask gently, but you can tell he has a sense of panic to him. He holds eye contact with you, dark brown eyes looking into yours. His hat dons the British flag, but it’s stained with blood.

Wow. What a hunk.

“It’s uh- there.” You say dumbly, pointing down the hall. All four of them disappear into the dining room, leaving you alone. You freeze for a minute, assessing the situation. Oh shit. That man is probably bleeding all over the table. You rush past the kitchen to confirm your suspicions. Yes, the man with the large wound on his side was in fact on the table, bleeding all over the place. The largest man in the room, and for sure the creepiest considering the strange mask on his face, was holding pressure to the wound end telling the man below him to ‘stop fucking moving.’

“Medkit, Garrick, where’s the goddamn medkit?” The man with the gruff voice throws his hands in the air in exasperation.

“Respectfully, captain, I'm fucking looking!” Brown-eyed hunk spits back, digging through his pack

“I, er, have one.” Both men’s heads whip around to face you. You blink back at them. “Oh right. hold on-“ You rush into the first-floor bathroom, accidentally shoulder-checking the wall on your way there. You swing open the cabinet under think. Aha! The first aid kit. Wow, you didn’t think you would need it, let alone so soon. You hand the first aid kit over to ‘Garrick’ as soon as you reenter the dining room. He gets to work on the man on the table, cutting his shirt away and disinfecting the wound.

You stand awkwardly in the corner of the room. You take this moment to thoroughly inspect their appearances. They all seem to be military men, likely special forces or the like. The man with the mask on has a deep voice and doesn’t seem to be talking much. You think you see blood on his leg but it’s hard to make out with the black on his uniform. His accent seems different from that of the others, but you think he’s still English. The man on the table has a short, buzzed mohawk. You can’t decipher what the hell he’s saying, with the accent and the cursing coming out of his mouth. You are more focused on the blood dripping from the table to the pale blue tiles on the floor. Your eyes water and you can feel the bile rise in your throat.

You turn and run into the kitchen, vomiting into the trash can. You never thought you had a phobia of blood, but you have never seen a wound of that caliber. Jesus Christ, you hope he doesn’t die here. You wipe your mouth and try to steady yourselves.

“Towels.”

Your eyes widen and you spin around, seeing ‘Ghost’, whose name you heard from Mr. Mohawk, standing in the doorway.

“…Pardon?” You blink, shivering under his intense stare.

“Where are your towels.” You point at the cabinet on the right side of the room, eyes never leaving his. He strides over there in two steps and grabs almost all the towels out of the drawer. He leaves without so much as a thank you. Wow… rude.

You compose yourself and follow him. Garrick is still stitching up the mohawked man’s wounds, working as quickly and efficiently as humanly possible.

“Excuse me, love, but where is your husband?” The man with the facial hair asks you. You look around, before pointing to yourself. He raises a brow in response. “Yes, you.”

“You have the wrong person, I’m not married.”

“No? Are you sure?” You furrow your brows.

“Yeah, I think I would know if I was married.”

“Then how do you know Adam Baker?”

#john mactavish x reader #john price x reader #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #john price #price x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john price x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #simon riley #cod mw2 #141 x reader

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 1 year ago

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Just a Kid - Epilogue

@evilwriter37@firerose

Summary: A Httyd Zombie AU set in the modern world. There are dragons.

At 15, Hiccup believes his biggest struggles are teachers who won't stop hounding him for his grades, a father who doesn't quite listen to him, or how unpopular he is at school. Every regular teenager's worst nightmare, right?

But then a new and mysterious illness that's been rapidly spreading amongst the populace takes a surprising turn and the day comes Hiccup wishes his former daily struggles had been the only struggles he would have to deal with.

He is, after all, just a kid.

Warnings: /

Rating: Mature

Words: 1 698

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid, Stormfly, Snotlout, Hookfang, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Barf and Belch, Fishlegs, Meatlug

Pairing: /

Author's Notes: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

THREE YEARS OF WORK

IT ENDS TODAY

I posted the prologue in January of 2021! I'm posting the epilogue in January of 2024!

And now on to the sequel! :)

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Enjoy!

--XOXOX--

Standing in the middle of a classroom, Snotlout can still see where the blood of his fellow students once stained the ground. On the tiled floor amidst all the dust, the dirt and leaves, there are dried brown stains of all sizes. Smears and footprints spread the stains all over the floor. Handprints are on desks, the wall, the blackboard and the door. Time has not washed them away.

School classrooms and hallways here are just big enough for a Monstrous Nightmare to stand in with a hunch, especially with all the tables and chairs pushed to the side. This wasn’t just any room, it’s where a bunch of teenage kids were holed up together and fighting for their lives. They’d been bitten.

Hookfang sniffs around. The air is stale. The reason why Snotlout would want to come here escapes him, but he’s been standing here. Quietly, unmoving. The Nightmare has tried to prod a response out of him, but he didn’t even complain. He hasn’t said anything in minutes and the dragon wonders if his human is broken.

He doesn’t understand the significance of the space they’re in.

“This is…” A girl’s voice. Dragon and rider look towards the door to find Astrid standing there, her hair length still kept above the shoulders.

She doesn’t need to say it out loud, it’s basically the room where it all began for them. It’s where Bjorn and most of everyone else lied sick for two weeks before they turned enmasse, when they realized what they were truly dealing with and the day they were forced to leave the last connection to their old life.

Bjørk school is completely abandoned now. Mrs. Bellum, Mr. Hoover and the infected students aren’t here anymore. They moved on a long time ago to begin their endless journey in search of a warm body to feed on, until their second death inevitably comes. The silence they left behind is chilling.

Astrid walks further into the room, it’s strange to be back home, strange to be in school again. It seems like a lifetime ago. She can’t even recognize it anymore.

Her boots crush pieces of glass on the floor. There was a big summer storm in August and it’s done a number on the building. The courtyard is full of shingles and a part of the roof is gone. A number of windows have been blown out and dirt, leaves, and sometimes entire branches fill classrooms and hallways. Not to mention the months of a lack of upkeep. There’s a significant layer of dust and webs everywhere they look.

“This place has seen better days,” she remarks softly. Their school looks the way they feel after everything they’ve been through since Outbreak Day back in March.

“No kidding,” Snotlout huffs humorlessly, it’s the first thing he’s said in a good couple of minutes. He wipes at his eyes, Hookfang comes closer and sniffs him, nudging him with his snout.

“I’m fine,” he tells his dragon, who shrugs it off like his human tells him to.

Astrid’s hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes. Unlike the dragon, she knows exactly what happened here and who he lost here.

“Come on, Snotlout, let’s go find Hiccup,” she tells him and they leave the room together.

But out in the hallway, Astrid comes across a pretty sight that makes her smile and lifts her heart; a gorgeous blue Deadly Nadder. They ran into her shortly after they were forced out of Forrædersk. Like this, every one of the teenagers have somehow gotten their own best friend in dragon form.

Stormfly is her name. She squawks when Astrid meets her. Her human girl approaches and hugs her horned nose, she’s in need of one. The dragon chirps contentedly.

“Where is everyone else?” Snotlout asks as they walk down the corridor, the occasional dry leaf crunching beneath their feet.

“Last I heard, the twins are goofing off in the gym,” Astrid replies. That’s certainly where she heard a lot of shouting and laughter. Who knows what the four of them are doing there, so long as they stay safe and don’t start a fire like a couple of weeks ago, it doesn’t really matter.

“Psh, of course they are,” Snotlout shakes his head as the two move on.

-XOXOX-

Hiccup and Toothless are in a different part of the school building; they find him in their English class, where they used to be taught by the once cheery and colorful Mrs. Bellum. A familiar bookcase with famous English literature is the first thing they saw when they entered. It’s the very same one, he’s seen entering this very room for every year he had this woman for a teacher. It was strange to see it again.

At first, the Night Fury had no idea what meaning this location had to their humans, but standing inside this room, he can make an educated guess what.

In the back of the classroom, there’s a wall of pictures and they all depict different humans of about his human’s age. Astrid’s picture is among them. But the spot Hiccup stares at is blank.

Toothless nudges his shoulder, clearly having a question.

“What are you looking at?” And he’s not the only one asking. Turning around, they watch Astrid enter. She’s followed closely by Snotlout, but Hookfang and Stormfly stay outside this time. These rooms have their limit and so does Hookfang, who would like to stretch his wings soon.

Hiccup looks back in front of him, back at the blank space.

“Students of the month,” Snotlout reads, then scoffs. “My picture was never on Mrs. Bellum’s wall.”

“Maybe because you made life hard for everybody else in class?” Astrid suggests the first reason that comes to mind, hands on her hips. Her raincoat makes some noise as it moves.

“Nah, that can’t be it,” Snotlout denies it.

Their English teacher had this wall to praise certain students; those that delivered hard work, those whose grades went up, those who needed the encouragement… She could never put just one student per month.

“So what are you staring at?” Astrid repeats the question. She can’t help but notice the way Hiccup shifts his weight off his stump.

Almost half a year since his amputation, he’s still trying to get used to the prosthetic they found him. They couldn’t believe their luck when they came across one that fit him perfectly on the orthopedics floor of the hospital in Forrædersk. It was probably meant for someone.

After a couple of moments of silence, this is what he says; “I think my dad is alive.”

“How do you know?” The girl asks.

“Mrs. Bellum used to have a picture of me right here,” he points the blank space out. “But none of the others have been taken. The only one who would’ve wanted to have my picture is my dad.”

“Then that’s good! Right? You were hoping to find proof that your dad was alive, he is!” Astrid encourages him. Alvin told him a lot of things in the time he was held captive and Heather couldn’t provide any clear answers either.

“And if Hiccup’s dad is alive, maybe my parents are too! Maybe all of our parents are!” The news hypes Snotlout up.

“Yeah… Which means we missed them. By a couple of months,” Hiccup deflates and Toothless purrs, giving him a comforting headbutt. The boy scratches his chin, grateful for his attempt.

It’s not like it was his idea to crush his ankle and then lose a great deal of his leg beneath his knee. He needed a long time to recover, they haven’t been on the road all that long. And as it turns out, traveling by dragon back is a lot faster than by car. Dragons don’t have to stick to a set path. Although it takes a little bit of a change in navigation.

“Hiccup, we now know that they’re alive. This trip home wasn’t a loss,” Astrid tells him and Hiccup forces a small smile.

She’s not wrong, but he still wishes they could’ve gotten here sooner. It’s almost winter, who knows how long their parents stayed in Bjørk hoping to find their kids? Who knows how long his dad and Gobber waited for him? Waited until they had no other choice but to admit that they weren’t here? Was Stoick as disappointed in missing his son as he was? Do they believe he’s dead?

Astrid wants to take Hiccup’s shoulder, but he inhales deeply and turns around to face the three of them.

“Let’s go find the others, the sun is setting and we need to set up camp and make a fire before we lose too much light,” he decides and off they go, in search of Fishlegs, Meatlug, Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Barf and Belch.

-XOXOX-

The sun is setting and the beach is getting chillier. By now, his friends have retreated for the night, dinner must be almost ready. The only one still with him is Toothless, who lies curled up around him. He doesn’t appear to mind the sand as much as his human does and still comfortably snoozes away.

Hiccup realizes he’s done telling their story. And just in time, too, he’s run out of pages to tell it.

Ah well, a new chapter in life, a new book right?

Closing his very worn notebook, he turns to his dragon, who must’ve sensed a change as he places his head on his lap.

“What do you say, Bud? Ready to leave? Find the others?” He asks, a relaxed smile on his face. It really was a good idea to write about everything that’s happened. If anything, it helped him put his thoughts in order, give everything a place.

Toothless warbles an agreement and stands, stretching his back and each of his limbs. Hiccup pulls out a plastic bag to put his notebook in, he’s been using it to keep it safe.

The dragon helps him to his feet and they turn only to realize that they’re not as alone as they once thought. Toothless begins to growl.

Up on top of the dunes, stands a pair of brothers.

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8xian · 1 month ago

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I had a dream.. it was so strange. It's graphic sexually but not in a fun way... but I remember it so detailed. warning though it's ugly and scary and I wrote too much and I'm not proofreading it

I think I was vaguely aware I was in a TV show of some kind the whole time... Thinking back at it now that I'm awake. A portion of the dream was fighting these "monsters" in a hospital with its walls all painted a REALLY ugly blue. I felt like all the colors were really blown out and either gorgeous or irritating. It all felt real to me though... One of the monsters was disguised this very tall woman, also dressed in that bright, ugly blue. I pushed her over and she turned into this snake like creature. Another woman on my team had it enter her (vaginally) and no one else besides me reacted strangely. I was really scared but also unmistakably intrigued. I was holding my voice and covering me eyes at times and internally was like why is there inflation kink or vore in this tv show/movie!!?? And anyway.. it was graphic and weird and I don't remember what happened to her...

But after that I was working in the kitchen of the hospital. It was dingy and large, brown floor tiles and aging white walls. There was like a round metallic pen sort of thing keeping the kitchen in an enclosure so to speak.. There were metal bars though reaching up toward window spaces and what not. Very strange but it wasn't quite prison like.. Just a pen. I was taking my break outside the pen on this ledge up high by a window. It was night. My boss and my (irl) friend were doing dishes by my break spot. Other workers were giving me weird looks while I took my break.

I ended up leaving for a bit to get some change of scenery. On my way around the hospital, I found out a man had tried to get inside with a gun. I saw what he looked like too, and I found out he wanted to hurt my friend. This friend was set to come over after work with me, so I went and told her immediately. She was frantic and unsure what to do so I told her she should still come to my house. The killer likely knows where she lives.

So we did end up parting ways, she was too afraid and didn't want to involve me and I understood. I walked home alone for part of the way. But someone was following me... I turn back and it's the man with the gun. He shoots at me. I'm doing my best to run and evade his shots. At some point, he fumbles in front of a woman's home. It's nice... There's an arching gated fence meant for growing ivy. The man is flat on his back and the gun he was using to shoot at me is tossed from his fall. I catch it and point it at him. The woman is suddenly outside her home, under her ivy-less arch and points her finger at me.

I'm the killer in her eyes. I explain, "He shot at me first so I'm going to shoot him the fuck back." I'm angry that I'm forced to defend myself alone. I cock the gun. I shoot him. I cock the gun again: the gun is loaded. I shoot him. Nothing. I'm starting to realize I'm not "allowed" to kill him. I take off running and try to go home. I'm wanted now, though. And everywhere I go people are trying to grab me and hurt me. I feel afraid and vulnerable and at some point I'm suddenly undressed. I try not to let it get to me but I become keenly aware that no one will protect me or feel sympathy for me because of how I look. I'm not someone the audience wants to feel sorry for. (I look more like my highschool self at this point, black hair and slightly more tanned skin.)

I'm in this alley of sorts.. Its brown, yellow, orange and red here from the fire light. The houses are all yellow and they're sitting among rock formations, but they have concrete steps leading down the street. The wall to the right has no houses, its mostly rock with some brick and concrete to reinforce or even out some areas. Police and people from team at the hospital I was on (killing monsters) are throwing large rocks at me, bigger than my head. I'm trying to avoid them but I'm naked and afraid. I catch rocks and toss the aside. Some of my teammates from before are close and throwing rocks. I toss away their rocks but they're on my side of the street now, vulnerable. All things considered I don't want them hurt. I grab onto one of the rocks the others have thrown at me and use it to protect all three of us. I remember thinking, I'm in a TV show, the only one fighting for myself and they couldn't even give me powers or something?

It isn't long before the killer appears again to ruin everything for me. I don't remember what happens for a bit but I'm clothed again. Me and the gunman are standing in the foyer of this building. It looks like a restaurant and like we are guests waiting to be seated. I'm furious there is so much rage within me and I'm facing him up close and talking to him face to face. I'm screaming at him telling him he will have to fear death because of the rage I have within me and it will poison the earth and his bloodline for years to come, or something of that nature. I was going crazy, trying to claw at his stupid face and pull out his stupid blond hair. His cold blue eyes start taking on this melting form as he's taunting me going from cold blue into these bright taffy pink, blue and yellow colors. His eyes are switching and turning like slot machines but melting all the while. He's clawing at his own face now and it turns rubbery under his fingers. People are holding me back so i can't get to him but I want to kill him I want to hurt him.

There's a final showdown in this colosseum-like theater. There's that pen-shape again. But this time everything is wood and most walls are painted white. The floor is a brown tile, much like the kitchen. It's nothing impressive but it is a large space and I'm trying to find a place to hide. I know he's coming. There's a lot of people around, telling me things. Some people are taunting me that he is coming. No one is telling me that I'm going to get what I deserve I realize this. No one's even really looking at me, but they're all taking seats suddenly. There are round tables with muted red table cloths and everyone is gathering around them. Candles and all.

The killer does arrive. I'm sitting on this type of roofing sitting over what must have been a serving or ticketing area. He's coming toward me and he's huge and towering. Long and unnatural. Stalking toward me. I'm clinging to the roofing trying to crawl further into the wall as if I could just slip into it and be forgotten, but I can't. My breathing shallows and I'm whimpering a bit trying to get away. Now I finally see that I DO have powers, but it's only enough to hover in the air to get away from him and stay on high points of this large room. It isn't enough of course and I'm trying to run away from him in the dining area the audience has set up. Only now, it's beautiful. There's chandelier lights and exotic plants, gorgeous and green. the table clothes are bright white and nothing is without beauty or a display of opulence. It's extravagant and it's expensive.

Through all of this people are finally looking at me. They're watching me, eyes glued. For a moment it's like every vibrant and beautiful color from before has muted itself so I can see the stark contrast of the bright white of their eyes against dark, large pupils that bore into me. I realize only now that this theater is where another person died, an artist or whatever. I don't remember who and I don't think it really matters. I realize that my death is about to be an act of art and everyone is here to witness it. I start to not care if I'm going to die cuz everyone is watching me and it's a piece of art about ME and I'm in control. "If there's art in it, I can die." I think. I start to hear music and I'm gliding around, dancing. I don't look like myself anymore by this point. I'm someone much more suited for film. But I can't have my moment of glory or realization because the killer insists on stepping through the dining room over to me. Speaking over music, clutching at me through my dance. He's started to undress me and I look around to see if anyone finds this strange or seemed to care. I realize again I'm alone in this, but it's something I have to do. No one cares really, they just want to see me die.

The end frightened me the most. He lays me down and puts something into me (vaginally, like before). It's like a snake, it entered me and destroyed me. My skin looked like a sausage casing around a spiraling shape.

Suddenly I'm outside of this experience. The dying me is on a screen. I lower the volume because I'm afraid to hear the screaming. I try to look away but I tell myself that I must bare witness, and I do.

Then I wake up.

#嘟嘟囔囔 #sa tw #was going laura palmer mode in a way #I think Mr. Lynch gave me this dream.. Hey. Thanks man.

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jennyeverywhereday · 2 months ago

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“метро”

The first of several contributions by Xavier Llewellyn is the spooky little tale of a Jenny who finds something rather ghastly in some dimly-lit tunnels — something more familiar than she'd like to admit.

This story is part of the anthology series dubbed Everywhere's Extraordinary Escapades. Xavier also participated in the Jenny Everywhere Collaborative Novella, to which this may or may not act as a companion piece. It's all a matter of point of view…

Jenny Everywhere shifted into another universe, not with a pop! or a bang!, but with a shift!

Opening her eyes after a moment’s lightheadedness, she looked at her surroundings, taking time to ingest every detail; the process of shifting with only a hazy idea of her destination in mind could yield unpredictable new worlds. Which was just what she’d been looking for, in this instance — and not just to keep things interesting, as other, more dilettante-type Jennies sometimes did. She had a job to do.

She found that she was in a tunnel, one with a textured, grooved tiled floor for grip, and tiled walls too; the individual white tiles were smaller in size, with colourful advertisements adorning spaces every few strides. Above, the ceiling was made from concrete, complete with hanging, yellow, fluorescent strip lights. There was also a sole LED sign with directional instructions, which flickered and stuttered. The tunnel itself was lengthy, but she could see steps ahead, with sunlight reflecting on the surfaces, and she could hear a distant chatter of people.

Behind her, the tunnel curved, hiding its end. There was an oppressive totality to the brutalist style which enclosed her — grasping instinctively for any hint of human warmth, she looked closer at the advertisements, taking stock of the distinctive Cyrillic characters and the subjects of the adverts themselves: there were posters for new films, makeup, fast food chains, and a few others from public services to governmental information. Nothing notable, other than the language itself, which told Jenny she was probably somewhere Russian.

Now, closer towards the wall, she could tell the tunnel was grotty, evidently not having been cleaned in a long time — and thus, green mold was spreading along the grooves between tiles like an infectious disease and grime had accumulated in streaks from leaking water. She inhaled through her nose — well, through the nose of whatever Jenny she had shifted into — and detected a combination of stagnating water and urine.

She was in a subway tunnel.

Unimpressed, she patted her pockets to find a small compact mirror and a lock-pick. She’d hoped the Jenny she’d shifted into would be a more interesting one, so she opened the mirror and returned the pick. She panned it from head to toe, revealing that she was wearing a fur ushanka over short, straw-blonde hair, her face sharp with defined cheekbones and thin lips, and a pair of wire glasses pushed high up the bridge of her nose. No make-up. She was wearing a thick, dark brown parka and nondescript trousers, complete with heavy-duty work boots.

Well, she could work with this. She guessed this Jenny was somewhere in her late twenties. She jumped, and stretched, gauging how athletic her body was — she wanted to be sure of her own ability, if it came to a fight or flight situation. She didn’t feel that flexible, but she noted that her movement was also being restricted by her heavy clothes.

Not a particularly unique Jenny, as far as appearance went.

She began walking towards the steps, wanting a grasp on her location other than just being a grimy tunnel. Her footsteps sent echoes through the tunnel, the thick, hardened rubber thump-thump-thumping on the tiles. A few metres before the steps she stopped at a basic, windowless service door, extracting the lock-pick from her pocket, discreetly sliding the two wires into the lock with a single swift movement, opening it with a soft click. She pushed it ajar, wincing at the squeak of the unoiled hinges. She leant backwards, taking a glance either side of her to ensure she was still alone. She slipped into the room and found a cord with a plastic blob on the end. She gave it a tug and smaller lights sputtered into life, revealing the hidden secrets of the room… forgotten mops and bleach and buckets and a few plastic floor signs, with a pictogram of a man slipping, covered in a thick layer of concrete dust. Nothing interesting here, either.

However, as she went to exit the room as inconspicuously as she had entered, she heard a noise.

Shift.

She wasn’t alone.

Shit.

She calmly backed out through the door. Someone had shifted into this world alongside her, shifted with a shift sound, and that meant two things.

One: whoever shifted in had to be a Jenny Everywhere; only a Jenny Everywhere could shift quite like that. Nobody else could have heard the difference, but she knew it on instinct.

Two: the Jenny outside had to be one of those Jennies, who preferred shifting physically from universe to universe. Reckless behaviour. Stupid behaviour. Her current employers would never stand for that sort of thing; it was a needlessly disruptive form of universe-hopping at the best of times, entirely inimical to a serious, scientifically-minded Survey. She could just see her, whatever goggle-wearing eccentric had just landed in the middle of her survey area like a fly taking a freestyle dive into a bowl of expensive consumé. With any luck she’d have brought friends, companions.

Well, Jenny wasn’t going to stand for that. Somebody would have to answer to the C.S.C., and it wouldn’t be her.

She stomped confidently around the corner, ready to give her other self a piece of her mind.

But whatever Jenny had expected to see… she didn’t. She could never have guessed.

What she saw was a horrific mass of flesh, filling the tunnel towards the far end before the curve. Her blood ran cold. It was a barely humanoid figure, much larger than herself, likely over ten foot tall if it stood fully erect. It had limbs — too many limbs: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, she couldn’t keep count — which were appalling masses of many smaller limbs. Some were human arms and legs, others were animal. But they all formed larger limbs, with dry, pallid, blotchy skin stretched over, making it impossible to quite tell where one ended and another began. These rose up to the thing’s body, which was a mass of nude bodies stretched and amalgamated together in a sick parody of a human torso. The smaller bodies formed ribs and other bones. Again, she couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. Worse still, many of the bodies’ faces were visible. They were Jennies.

However, as she looked up at its head, Jenny’s already icy cold blood entirely froze over. There was a central skull, an ordinary human skull that was disproportionate to the rest of the figure’s size, with many other jawbones split down the centre and fused together at the lower jawbone, forming toothed, snapping mandibles. Its hair, if you could call it that, was strands of flayed skin, welted and red and bloody. The face of a young Jenny, just that of a child, was stretched over the main skull, but her eyes… her eyes were missing. So was the skin of her eyelids. In place of her eyes were deep black orbs. So, so deep.

Those eyes calmed Jenny. Nothing was wrong. She was calm. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong as the creature shambled towards the motionless Shifter, its chest splitting open — nothing was wrong as arms unfurled from inside and began grasping towards her, to pull her into the gaping cavity. Nothing was wrong. Nothing wrong as a woman behind Jenny screamed —

The scream broke Jenny out of trance and she recoiled backwards, scrambling backwards the steps, careless of the griminess of the floor. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong; appallingly, inconceivably wrong.

Once, Jenny had encountered the Fog. When she had been forced to physically shift and with no destination in mind, she had found herself opening her eyes to a dark space, an endless, liminal expanse barely illuminated by what appeared to be distant stars. It had appeared without warning, its arrival all the warning she got of what she was about to experience. The Fog not only consumed her, blocking out all light to the point where she could only tell by sensation she had her eyes open, but it overwhelmed her auditory senses. A slow resonant noise would, over a short span of time, become deafening to her. Worse, she felt it in her chest, like the beat of a drum stretched impossibly long. She had only fully experienced the phenomenon once, having been quickly overwhelmed; after her first encounter she never stayed there long.

Now the creature let out a noise, not just from its head but from all of the Jenny heads across its body. And it was the noise of the Fog.

Jenny righted herself and stumbled up the steps towards the outside, snapping her head from side to side to get an idea of her surroundings before she could even adjust to the sunlight. She saw she was on a train platform. She heard a voice on the tannoy, presumably about the electrical passenger train that was passing through the station.

Making sure, with a directed, goading shout, that the creature was following her and not any of the civilians around her, she jumped down onto the rails and ran to the other side as the train driver activated the horn. A futile warning. She hurriedly dragged herself onto the other platform. The creature leapt onto the rails —

— and the suburban train rammed into the creature, pushing it down to the ground, crushing it between the undercarriage and the rails. With a shift! it disappeared from the world, and the train… derailed. The side of the train scraped and collided with the side of the platform, concrete debris and sparks raining down above Jenny, who had propped herself up on her back, out of breath. She watched in horror as she saw the train was full of commuters, who were being flung forwards as the train ground to a halt. She saw how the people on the platform were running in the opposite direction, and the guards who were running towards her. She panicked. She shifted away, leaving the native Jenny behind. She hated herself as she did it, but she was already gone.

When she’d made her report to the Cosmological Survey Corps, both about the universe and about the creature, the eggheads had surmised that the latter must have been an aberration — a case of multiple Jennies, by sheer coincidence, all shifting into the exact same location at the same time, merging together, corrupting each other through ruination of their space-time signatures. Just the sort of nonsense to which physical shifting exposed yourself; a shifting collision when doing mental shifting couldn’t cause anything worse than a temporary split personality. It made sense, it was a perfectly cromulent answer to the mystery.

But what good did that do, even if it was correct? And it didn’t feel correct, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was simpler, and it didn’t fit on a C.S.C. form.

It was still out there, subsuming more Jennies as it nearly had done to her.

She had returned to the universe she had originally shifted into, and found that the native Jenny had escaped the authorities. Better yet, there had been no fatalities.Somehow, that didn’t make Jenny feel any safer — for herself, or for the kind of Multiverse that could birth such horrors.

*********

THIS IS NOT THE END

*********

The character of Jenny Everywhere is available for use by anyone, with only one condition. This paragraph must be included in any publication involving Jenny Everywhere, in order that others may use this property as they wish. All rights reversed.

#jennyeverywhereday #Jenny Everywhere #Xavier Llewellyn #2024

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braveclementine · 8 months ago

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Chapter 16

Warnings: None (anyone can read this story)

𝓑𝓡𝓤𝓒𝓔 was still working on the pain medicine, so I did my best staying out of everyone's way. I didn't want Pepper to yell at me again, and I didn't want to hear Bucky and Steve fight again either. Especially not over me.

I debated about finding Billy and Tommy, before I remembered that they didn't live in the tower most of the time. Wanda and Vision had a house somewhere in New York that they stayed at instead.

I decided to explore a few more floors that I had never been to, to keep me occupied from doing anymore harm.

There was a floor that was made of what seemed like precious, fragile things. There were items made of glass on pedestals of marble. Paintings hung on walls in what seemed like gilded gold frames. None of the art that was actually on the canvas made any sense to me, but I liked the pretty swirls of colour.

Another floor seemed rather the same as the first floor, except that it seemed. . . less formal? There were several canvas' set up on easels, but none of them seemed filled with much colour. Some of them had gray and black outlines on them, as though they were in the middle of being drawn.

There were lots of beige, baggy cloths that covered the walls and floor, dotted with paint drips. There were a couple of completed paintings that hung on the very back wall. One was of a woman with deep brown hair and full red lips.

Another was of Bucky, looking shiny on the canvas. He was wearing a strange uniform outfit that was almost a beige, or perhaps an olive green.

Another was of me in Bucky's arms.

Actually, a lot of the drawings were of Bucky or of Bucky and me.

I was starting to think that maybe one of the Avengers knew how to paint and draw. Probably, considering the popular topic of the art, was Steve. I wondered who the brown haired lady was. Their soulmate?

A third floor had lots of pointy things on the walls. Most of them were straight or mostly straight. They were almost all in a silvery colour, though it varied on whether these blades were dull or shining. There were a couple of weapons that really just looked like big sticks with points. They were even made of wood.

There were several dozen bows and arrows, all of different sizes and makes. It was very strange, seeing all of these weapons on a wall. Why were they on a wall? What were they defending from? Why had they let them collect a layer of dust? Didn't they need these for their missions?

But it was the fourth floor that I liked the most.

When it opened up, I mewed happily as there were many, many bright colours.

The floor changed from tile or wood, to something very squishy and pleasant. The floor was multi-coloured, seemingly like big large puzzles pieces put together. I think it was made of foam and it covered the floor from corner to corner.

There were thousands of toys spread out everywhere. A dollhouse with twenty dolls laying around it, heaps of doll clothes laying around the dolls. There were orange trucks with different mechanisms so that they did different things.

There were trains with faces on them, sitting stationary on a large track that also seemed to cover the room.

I wondered why the trains had faces.

There were plastic animals that littered the floor and I knew all of them by name because of the tests that I had to run with Fury's assistants. A plastic white sheep. That dotted thing was a cow.

In nature, if I were to have seen these animals in real life, I would have known what they were. But seeing them in plastic casing were different. I didn't know what they were until I was told. It was weird.

There were several doors in this room, all of them open either fully or halfway. Pleased with the first room, I made my way to the door on the left.

I opened up onto another balcony, the suns shining rays beaming down onto the large, very high, circular thing that sat there. I could smell some sort of chemical, though it wasn't heavy, and I hopped up onto the ladder stairs that was there, taking them carefully so I didn't fall one way or the other.

It seemed to be water, but it didn't smell like water. It smelled like a chemical and I wasn't as pleased with this as the other. So I hopped back down the ladder- in truth I didn't really like water period no matter how it smelled- and went back into the colorful room.

I trotted over to the next door and found that it too was outside. The walkway was far to large and wide to be called a balcony though. There was even green grass and it seemed to me that the only way it could be hanging off the side of Avengers Tower was magic.

Spread out all across this 'balcony' was what seemed like a very, very large playground. It too spread from one side of the 'balcony' to the next. It was definitely made of metal, with what seemed like ten thousand slides. Some were straight, some curved. Some had the tunnel thing over the slides and some were wide open.

There were a thousand tunnels for kids to climb through and several of those seats that you sit on and they spin so that you get dizzy. There was a strange wheel that looked like it would turn as well. . . like a smaller version of a carousel, without the horses. There were several straight beams with seats that I recognized from Mr. Peters house as a seesaw.

There was a huge swing set as well, along with this great big rope tower that connected to the playground. It went up into a point, made of a strong rope and metal bolts. I decided that eventually- not today- I would like to climb up to the top.

There was what looked like a low rock wall and though it didn't go as high as the rope tower, it was very wide, with several tunnels inside. The tunnels extended forever and perhaps even led to small rooms inside the rock.

All of this was propped up on a sort of squishy surface that was also hard. And also chunks of black pieces that sort of smelled like a black road.

I purred. I loved this room.

The next room was very different. It was painted in a light blue and pink colour, so pastel it could've passed for white. There was a large white rocking chair in the corner. There were a couple of toys in here as well, mostly small cars, and a few stuffed animals that came in brown bear, pink rabbit, and green caterpillar.

But there were also shelves upon shelves of books. The furniture that held the books were also white and all of the books were super thin, with colourful bindings and large words on the covers.

The last room was a surprise. The walls were a soft pink and the lights were very dim. There was a small, white bookcase in the corner that was half-filled with books. There was a blue, comfy squashy chair in the corner that had a book sitting in its seat. There was a light pink crib at the far corner of the wall, which had a mobile of tiny red and gold flying men on them, little flames coming out of their hands and feet.

I leapt up onto the crib, looking down, and was interested to see something moving in there. I leapt down onto the soft bedding of the crib, and sniffed at it.

It seemed like a human, but a very tiny one. I padded up to where its head was, its large brown eyes staring up at me.

I couldn't tell how old it was, nor could I really tell if it was a boy or a girl. I supposed by the colour scheme it must be a girl though.

One little hand reached out, grabbing my leg. It's grip was very firm, but not to tight.

I wondered if this is where the Avengers came from. If they trained these little people right here in their house to become a superhero. If so, this one must be a dud. It wasn't very strong. Or maybe it just needed more training.

I sniffed at her again, and found that I could smell milk. I let my nose lead me to where little sounds were babbling out of her lips at me. Small coos and what I thought might even be a laugh. There was white liquid on her lips and that was the milk.

I licked tentatively at the milk, feeling thirsty after my escapades. If she wasn't going to drink it, then I could and I would.

Or, at least, until that horribly familiar screeching started to screech again.

"NO!" Pepper shouted. I could hear the familiar clickety clack of her heels as she rushed towards the crib.

I looked up from where I was standing over the little human and Pepper picked me up by the scruff of my neck, tossing me to the floor. I tumbled over the carpet, shaking myself off from the roll.

Pepper was sobbing and I was scared and the little human was crying.

Pepper glared down at me with large, round blue eyes. I realized, strangely, that she was scared too. But why?

"Blizzard." Her voice was shaky, trembling as she clutched the little human to her chest. "You. You cannot. You cannot do that! You'll kill her. You need to go back. Go back to Buck and Steve and stay in your room. It is so irresponsible for them to let you wander wherever you want to!"

She bent down, picking me up by the scruff of my neck again. She held the little human in one arm. She stormed over to the already opening elevator and it started to descend before the doors were even closed.

I supposed robot lady was on Pepper's side.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y. ban Blizzard from going anywhere but Roger-Barnes room and the kitchen." Pepper declared.

"Yes Mrs. Stark." F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.

My ears sunk down against my head in disappointment.

The elevator doors slid open and I found myself back in my home hallways, leading to my room. Which I guess was now my new cell.

Bucky rushed down the hallway, trying to grab me from Pepper's hands, but she swung me out of the way, causing me to mewl out in fear.

"Give her to me Pepper." Bucky growled.

"Where's Steve?" Pepper asked, ignoring Bucky.

"Right here." Steve said, leaning against the doorway of his bedroom. "What now?"

I tried to shrink up inside myself. It was like he had expected me to cause a problem. Maybe it was best that I was confined to this room.

Pepper's fingers tightened around the scuff of my neck. It was just loose fur and it wasn't like it hurt, but I still wiggled in her hand, uncomfortable.

"DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHERE YOUR CAT WAS?" She yelled at them. "NO! YOU DON'T! WELL I'LL TELL YOU! SHE WAS UPSTAIRS IN MORGANS NURSERY, LICKING MILK FROM HER LIPS AND SUFFOCATING HER! YOUR CAT ALMOST KILLED MY BABY!"

She shoved me into Bucky's arms and Bucky was quick in his reflexes to catch me, holding me to his firm chest.

"SHE'S A KITTEN!" Bucky roared right back at her. "SHE DOESN'T KNOW ANY BETTER PEPPER!"

"Bucky stop." Steve said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry Pepper, we really were trying to find her. She ran out after earlier this morning in the lab-"

"Also because of you." Bucky snapped.

Steve shot him a warning glance, "-and we'll keep a better eye on her-"

"I took care of that." Pepper said, holding Morgan with both arms now. "She's confined to this floor and our kitchen. F.R.I.D.A.Y. won't be taking her anywhere and none of you can override the commands."

Bucky's mouth dropped and Steve clamped a hand over it quickly. "Okay. And I'm really sorry about Morgan. I know Blizzard didn't mean any harm, but she doesn't know any better. It won't happen again, despite the restrictions on her moves, I promise."

Pepper just nodded, her face red and blotchy, eyes strained with tears. She turned on her heel and stomped away.

"Bucky-"

"They're treating her the way they treated me." Bucky spat. "And you know it Steve. She's not dangerous. You should know better."

Bucky stormed into the room that the two of them shared, slamming the door behind him. He let out a sob, putting me down in my cat bed, before curling up on the floor next to me.

I wanted to comfort him, wanted to lick his cheek and tell him it was alright. . . but what if I suffocated him like Morgan? What if I killed him? Pepper said I might've.

Bucky sniffled, opening his eyes to look at me. His eyes became even more sad when he saw me hunched down in a small ball.

He picked me up, placing me on his chest. I made sure there was no important arc reactor there so I didn't kill him there either.

There was not.

"You ignore Pepper, you hear me?" Bucky sniffled. "You're a good kitten and you've done nothing wrong. Ever. You're innocent and pure and you only ever try to help people. Don't change because of her Blizzard. You don't have to be scared of me, I promise."

"I don't want to hurt you." I mewed softly.

"Don't be sad." Bucky whispered again, petting me over the head. He lifted me up even higher. "Will you give me a kiss?"

"I don't want to kill you." I pleaded with round eyes.

"Please?" He begged.

I couldn't stand to see him beg. I tentatively licked his cheek. It was salty from the tears, and there was also that other taste from whatever soap he had used in the shower today. Something natural, like honey and lime.

A huge grin spread out across his face, so I licked him again and again. He started to laugh and I felt my spirits grow lighter.

Bucky had told me not to listen to Pepper and Bucky loved me. Bucky knew what was best for me, not Pepper. So I would not listen to Pepper.

I continued to plant kisses on Bucky until he rolled over, hugging me tightly. "God, I love you Blizzard. You make my life complete."

"I love you too Bucky. I wish you knew that I did." I meowed softly, crawling up his body so that I could curl up on the middle of his chest. He covered me with one hand, and we both slowly drifted off to sleep.

⬅️➡️

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moremysteriesthantragedies · 2 years ago

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Soaked Dreams

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Trigger Warnings for unreality/dream logic, cuts, symbolism connected to periods, flooding, claustrophobic/closed-off spaces, discussion of sexuality, symbolism connecting to sensuality, masturbation, and internalized guilt around sensuality.

It had been a blissful cycle, Florence thought as his fingernails batted against the glass. The light flung all around, its shine shimmering against the tile walls and floor.

He didn’t have any dreams. They’d disappeared with the urges, which disappeared with the pain. He could continue on as per usual without any strange feelings or doubts circling through his head.

He stopped, the light continuing its swaying before coming to a halt right next to his cheek. His nails were aching, his hair one big knot with all the dried up crust and dirt in it, and his dress had suffered the same fate. Its white hue was long since gone, replaced by a rigid brown.

He let out a scream, echoing through the shower room he’d found himself in the middle of. Beige tile covered the entire square, the wall lined with shower heads but each station lacked the other necessities these spaces usually contained. There weren't even dividers, the showers easily blending in with one another.

The room contained no windows, not even blurred ones, shrouding it in shadow except for that singular, dim light. It hung there from the ceiling like it always did, just taunting him with the knowledge it could disappear with the mere blink of an eye. It was all the same place, just with a different coat of paint over it each and every time.

Florence balled his hand into a fist, sucking in his breath to prepare himself. With a shout, he hit the bulb directly, shattering it into a million pieces that rained down upon him.

It was pitch black, and yet, Florence, "didn’t feel so much as a twinge of pain". Instead he stood deadly still in the darkness, the occasional shifting of his feet causing a crunching sound.

For a long time, other than the sounds of Florence’s own breathing and the clinking of the glass, it was silent.

However, at the presence of footsteps, the showers flickered on. It had caused Florence to yelp, a sudden hissing and cold sensation lashing out from the darkness. He slipped on the glass in his panic, managing to remain upright by the skin of his teeth, and the strength of his upper body.

They sprayed everywhere, washing something away from the tile that Florence could feel pooling at his feet, though he couldn’t place what exactly. They even sprayed Florence, removing the mud and the blood caked along his dress and body. His hair fell on his shoulders, becoming silky once more without even a hint of its previous grime.

The water turned everything back to the way it once was, except for that large stain on the front of Florence’s dress, which remained no matter how much water pelted on it. He could feel it brushing against his legs, chafing his skin and making him squirm. It was so large it almost made the entire front of his skirt stiff.

The rushing of water echoed in Florence’s ears, followed by that absolute guttural sound. A sob filled the air, dancing off the walls with no clear source or direction to it. If Florence were to follow it, he’d have simply gone in circles and, though he plugged his ears, the sound remained.

“Hello?” he asked, taking a shaking step forward.

Florence reached out into the darkness, but all his hands found was more water. It bounced off the walls, tickled at his feet, and cascaded over him no matter where he turned. His fingers groped from left to right, up and down, searching for any familiar landmarks to use as a reference.

What he found instead was…fabric. Fabric which his pinky’s had snagged, becoming attached to two little loops on both sides. The clothing radiated cold, unmoving even as a subtle breath made its way into the air.

“Don’t fret. I’m here now, and everything is going to be just fine,” a voice said from directly in front of him.

There was the sound of something being screwed in, before, with a few flickers, a light came on. It wasn’t white like the previous one, instead, basking everything in a silver, blue light.

Florence squinted and, for a moment he couldn’t see what was directly in front of him, only the rest of his surroundings.

By the time the showers had shut off, Florence was soaked, his hair, his eyelashes, and his dress all dripping. All the remaining liquid flowed beneath him, going down the very drain he realized he stood on. It’d brought the glass with it, slipping down that indented ground and stuffing itself in the drain.

Looking up, the lightbulb was quite clear, able to see a line of water filling its bottom and yet, the electricity never reacted. It remained on, shining through the water that dulled its color.

As his eyes adjusted, Florence realized that gray figure was standing right in front of him. This was soon followed by Florence looking down at his hands, only to see what his fingers had caught onto. The loops were belt buckles on the man’s jeans, and the rest of his hands had become perfectly splayed over the man’s crotch, as if they were preparing to touch it.

Florence pulled back, letting out a gasp and slipping to his knees from the slick floor. The man smiled at that, remaining in place and effectively towering over the fallen figure.

“This has been going on for far too long, don’t you think so, dear?” He asked, tilting his head.

Florence attempted to cross his arms, fought against his slumbering nerves to show some gumption. Yet, his arms remained loosely by his sides, the room going silent except for that voice.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t even try to pretend. You know exactly what I am talking about. Now, let’s end this, right here right now, shall we? I assure you it would be painless. All it’d take is a single word from me, and you’d be in pure bliss.”

The showers turned on, though the drizzle was a weak one this time, not managing to reach the two. The man took a step forward, and Florence took one back, shoes squeaking on the floor.

“Oh? That’s right, you’d want something slower, wouldn’t you? Something that’d let you feel each and every pleasure. You’d like to hear about them, wouldn’t you? All the little sensations you’d feel if you just gave in?”

The drain groaned, so stuffed up with glass it wasn’t so much as making a dent against the water funneling onto the floor.

Florence remained silent, eyeing the shower heads as he passed them. The water looked deep blue beneath the light, and it felt just as heavy as it looked.

“His arms, so soft around your body, would pull you against his and shield you from all harm. It’d be so warm, melting into his grooves as if they were meant for you, as if they’d been waiting for you all this time,” he whispered against the sound of the gushing faucets.

Florence fidgeted, a sudden heat embracing his body, as if he'd fallen face first into a mattress. His arms wrapped around himself without his say so, squeezing tight as the sensation only strengthened.

“What are you doing?” he asked and the man stuck out his hand, as if in an offering.

“Come now, my sweet, you can enjoy it. There’s no shame in enjoying being held as he kisses you. His kisses, so slow, so tender, lips so perfectly taken care of. You can taste that, can’t you? It’s wonderful, it makes you so hungry.”

The glow of the light bulb became more shaded as it continued to be filled with water, blue turning to a light indigo. All at once, Florence’s breath was taken from him, eyes wandering down to the man’s lips.

“Sto…” Florence began, but the words wouldn’t make it out of his mouth, opening to brush against the droplets.

The water that touched his body was heated, Florence mouthing the vapor all around him. It tasted like honey, gaining that smooth, lip balm like texture. He wanted to fall back into the mist, vanishing within its touch to meet the unseen figure that now embraced him. His eyes fluttered shut.

“That’s right, kiss him, let things escalate ever so gradually. And, as your lips press more and more together, so do your bodies. The silk of his skin with that layer of soft, soft fuzz, all out in the open and vulnerable, just for you. You rub against it as he lets out happy little breaths, becoming louder, and louder.”

Florence bit down on his finger, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he had to fight back a noise. His legs were spread open, shoes slipping on the tile as he’d become absent at the sensations present in his lower region. They buzzed with pulsations as, for a good moment or two, they were stimulated by a familiar shape. At least, if that shape had become as pliable as Florence’s surroundings.

Full bursts of water came out from the hung up shower heads, pelting down onto the scene and making yet another attempt to rid Florence’s dress of that God awful stain. But, it couldn’t be washed out. At that stage, it was too late. The water came up to Florence’s knees without succeeding.

The man stood within the liquid, Florence’s fidgeting creating waves against his legs, though his attention remained solely on Florence.

“Don’t you want all of that, my love? To become one with someone you hold so dear?”

Florence flinched, stumbling back though his legs felt like lead. It’d taken him a moment to notice that the water had since traveled up to his thighs, skirt floating all around him.

“Yes,” he whispered, head still foggy from the daydream.

The man’s smile widened and his head tilted.

“Then why fight that urge?”

“Because,” Florence said, swallowing back the tears, “I’m not stupid. I know exactly why he wants it, I know exactly what he wants from me.”

“And, what is it that he wants?”

More and more water began to pour out, filling the room at an alarming rate and they both had to shout over it.

“A taste of it. Just a taste is all it takes, then he’ll keep wanting more and more, until it all becomes too much,” Florence said, sinking back in his soaked mess.

The man came closer, a hand finding Florence’s beneath the surface and pulling it out from below. Water trickled down from Florence’s palm.

“But what if it didn’t become too much? What if it was what you wanted? Something special, gentle, something that mattered? Why need more when you can have just that?”

"I'd adore that. But it's just…it can't happen, especially not to me," Florence said, shaking his head.

Florence’s hair showed its full length, becoming a plume in the water, just like his dress.

"And especially not with him?"

When Florence fell silent, the man continued. The water had reached their stomachs.

“I understand that these desires can be such vulnerable things. Once you let someone satisfy them, you can never go back. That person will become your provider, and you’ll find yourself fantasizing about even more ways to experience such pleasures with them. It’s like an addiction,” his smile widened, “But, is it really enough to keep you away from him, to force yourself to constantly want, trapped with that base desire? I highly doubt it.”

He came closer to Florence, who had gone completely still, placing his hand on his heart. The water was now all the way up to his elbow.

“So, why not use me? I am completely safe, am I not? A figment of your imagination, one that comes with no consequences, or social expectations. You can use me as your experimental toy, one that won’t judge you or force you into anything. I’ll just let you touch, feel, play.”

His voice lowered as he bent over, putting his face within Florence’s reach.

“You want to play with me right now, don’t you?”

There was something about the man’s eyeless face that had Florence shifting closer, so close that he could feel the man’s unnatural chill. His hands placed themselves on the man’s chest, which had puffed out to meet Florence’s touch. Once again, he got the sense that if he pressed too hard, it’d just cave in.

Florence craned his neck, he pressed up on his tippy toes, leaned in for the kiss, and then…

…the showers stopped, Florence faltering back into the now chest level water. It covered his breasts beneath its deep blue surface.

“I-I can’t. I’m too scared, I can’t,” Florence said, repeating it over and over again.

The man brought his hand up, lifting Florence’s chin to touch their noses together. Florence could feel the fuzz the man had previously discussed, the tip of the man’s nose pressing against his own.

“Why not, my love? It’s safe,” he said, nuzzling Florence as he spoke, “You have nothing to fear, it’s safe.”

Their faces drifted closer and closer together until their lips touched, the man’s arms drifting down to fully embrace Florence. It helped Florence steady as, all at once, he was overcome by so many sensations.

The man smelled of the wind, a fresh smell with several accents one couldn’t quite place, but Florence couldn’t help but breathe it in. He tasted of lavender, Florence pressing against him to get more of that wonderful, soothing flavor. As it strengthened, causing his muscles to relax, Florence’s body fell back into the man’s arms. He was beginning to float atop the water, kept in place thanks to the man’s efforts.

“Safe, safe, safe, you feel so safe,” the man said as his hands submerged themselves beneath the water.

They found the zipper of Florence’s dress, grasping onto it, though not daring to move it from its spot. Instead, the man pulled away to peer into Florence’s face.

"May I?" He asked and Florence was overcome with visions.

Visions of that man’s body pressed against his own, hands running lightly down Florence’s body as if they were the trails of water from before. Florence gave a small nod, cheeks flushing.

The man unzipped it, slowly brushing it off Florence's shoulders and letting it float away into the water. It took Florence’s tainted undergarments with it, letting out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding as his body did the same.

The man’s eyes felt soft on Florence's body, just as gentle as the water that carried him now. His eyes were transfixed on the man as he stood there.

Florence’s view was temporarily blocked by the man’s arms and, when they moved, the man had become naked as well.

He bent down, looking at the dry blood that coated both the insides of Florence’s legs and the exposed, shaven area below. It was as restrictive as it looked, only slightly cracking with Florence’s movements.

“Let me clean you off,” the man said, placing his hand lightly on Florence’s thigh.

“Please.”

He reached up, using one hand to clean, the other to submerge Florence’s lower half in the water for an easier time scrubbing. He started at Florence’s legs at first, slowly going up, up, up.

“Soft, soft,” the man kept whispering over and over, making his already gentle touch become as smooth as a breeze.

Those fingers gradually met Florence’s exposed part, beginning to work on its many layers to ease it from its prison. The crust became liquid, falling down and being carried away in chunks. Florence tried not to pay too much attention to them, a task that was made considerably easier thanks to the sensation of the man’s fingers now reaching skin.

The man’s touch was non intrusive, fingers precise as if they were working with clay, digging deeper and deeper, until their motions developed into a consistent rubbing. Not one bit of crust was left uncleansed.

Florence stifled a noise, causing the man to pause. Looking into his face, Florence swore he could see Max in his features, mouth slightly agape, and the hint of curious eyes just underneath that shade. But, it was only for a moment, continuing on with the motion, slow with a feather’s amount of pressure.

“Awww, how sweet,” the man said, leaning his head back as his lips parted.

The man made the sound back, holding no weight or true passion behind it, which made it soft within Florence’s ears. The man finished the small section he had to clean before pulling away. His hands had become soaked, and Florence’s freed skin was able to take in the full warmth of the water all around him.

The man placed his hands on Florence's shoulders, chilling the water there before leaning in. Ultimately, Florence was the one to close the gasp, taking a good minute to bask in his scent before doing so. Lips met lips, the man's feeling as delicate as they were sweet.

When The man pulled away with a grin. He held that floating body in order to pull Florence up against his chest and whisper into Florence's ear.

"You liked that, didn't you?"

Florence gave a whine, shutting his eyes tight.

"Yes. But, I don't want anything to ruin it," he said, balling his hands into fists.

He refused to open his eyes until the sensations had stopped. Within an instant, the dream was gone, but Florence could have sworn the scent of his flesh was still present.

Taglist: @caxycreations

#tw blood #original writing #horror whump #whump #nightmare whump #whump writing #ourwriting #essie🐈#meyer🔨#desmond💘#yay I finally get to move on to the part I'm really excited for!#hope y'all enjoyed this one tho

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