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hazelfoureyes · 9 months ago

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A boiling frog (Alastor x Reader smut)

saw someone talk about “boiling frog syndrome”, when a situation becomes dire so slowly you don’t realize how dangerous it is until it’s too late, like a frog slipping into death as the cold water comes to a boil, never trying to leap out. Made me think of Louisiana frog legs and, of course, our self obsessed deer demon. my longwinded ass used restraint and went for a PWP (I hope…. No, theres still plot. I’m a slut for plot. Sorry?)

Your companionship was peppered onto Alastor so gently and slowly he didn’t realize he was too far gone until he was hopelessly dependent on your attention. He decides the only remedy is to drown you in his.

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x fem reader, cunnilingus, biting, work attire, realistic descriptions of yet another job I once had, fingering, mentions of my favorite alcoholic beverage, southern shit, filing, that asshole in room 127

Minors DNI

When you first arrived at the hotel, Alastor was pleased to have some help. Charlie informed him of your experience on earth managing apartments and how you would be taking on the role of ‘Resident Relations Manager’. Any issues, complaints, or room adjustments would go to you first. Marvelous. As his underling, you often came to him with your own gripes and stories of the latest drama around the hotel. It became a sort of ritual to meet at the bar after work, talking about the day’s trivial matters over two fingers of rye and a cassis orange. One morning you joined him for coffee in the sunroom he added shortly after your arrival, silently enjoying the view. Then you returned the next day. At some point you started filling his mug and bringing it to the chair he always used. Neither of you spoke, which he found refreshing.

The group dinners were never his scene, the familiarity they bore was uncomfortable and dangerous to his plans. But he overheard your laughter as you and Angel teased each other about what could or couldn’t be defined as a kink. When he joined the table, he was pleasantly surprised at the in-depth conversations you sparked among the band of hopeless fools he’d come to enjoy.

So when he entered the sunroom one morning to see his cup, but not you, it ruffled his fur, so to speak. At dinner, he heard from Charlie you were eating in your office. The bar was full of residents and yet empty all the same when you never arrived.

Three days was all it took. Three days of not seeing you. When he walked past the bar at 9pm to see just Angel and Husk, he continued onward until in the safety of the darkened hall. Licking his teeth, he found himself getting angry. Annoyed that he was promised, by your actions, interesting conversation and like-minded company. His fists curled out of frustration, lights strobing as he stalked down the hall.

But that melted into something even more upsetting, he felt… worried. Not that his smile showed it, passing Vaggie with a nod of his head.

When did you manage to creep into his mind? Like an overlord taking territory, you had taken space in his thoughts with ruthless speed. Never one to be passive in competition, he realized he needed to take drastic measures to catch up to you. He knew of many ways to get *ahead, but he found an ambush always worked like a charm.

Alastor’s shadows gathered before he rose from the floor of your office.

You were standing near a filing cabinet, looking intently at something, “Hello there Alastor, to what-“ you turned the page, not looking at him, “do I owe the pleasure?” You hadn’t actually lifted your head from the file until you felt a hand in the small of your back. You flinched and took a step away, turning around to ask what he was doing when you noticed you weren’t in your office anymore.

The large hole in the wall that led into an endless swamp of a forest hinted at whose room this was.

Closing the file with one hand, you gestured around the room, “Is there a reason I’m here?”

He motioned for you to sit on the bed, and when you laughed he used the microphone to corral you to the edge. “You’ve been busy, as of late.”

“Swamped.” Usually your puns would get atleast a chuckle from your boss, but this time he passed right over it.

“I realized today we haven’t had one of our usual chats in quite a while. What’s been keeping you oh-so-occupied?” He pushed down on your shoulders until you came to rest on the bed.

Nervously, you scooted back a little from him, “Well, so many new residents has meant so many petty little issues. This guy on the 34th floor is angry that the man who killed him is on 37– Alastor?!” He had knelt down and lifted your ankle, slipping your shoe off.

“And?”

“What are you doing?”

“Isn't it obvious?" He picked up the other ankle, "Listening. Continue.”

You laughed breathlessly, “wha-,” but the way he looked up at you seemed to catch your tongue, “uhm, so- yeah so he doesn’t think his killer deserves redemption-,” the other shoe was taken off, neatly set besides its twin. You took a deep breath to try and calm down, “and even if he does, he shouldn’t be—,”Alastor’s hand slipped up your right thigh, fingers taking your stocking and rolling it down. His gaze on your face never wavering.

“Keep going.” The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just suggesting it.

“-be on a higher floor.” He peeled the left stocking down, delicately pulling it over your toes.

You forgot to breath for a second. Instinctively you brought your knees together.

“That is quite annoying! What ever will you do?” That toothy grin widened as he looked up at you. His hand began to massage the sole of your right foot.

“Huh? Do what?”

“About the man on 34’s complaint”, his hand then moved up to your calf, he hummed, “what supple flesh, my dear.”

“Thank you?” Should you be scared or horny? Was he tenderizing his dinner? He looked up at you expectantly. “I told him if the angels return, higher floors would be the most dangerous.”

"Ha! Quite a clever response! Did it placate him?" He raised your right knee to his mouth, placing his lips above the joint. You felt his breath over your inner thigh as he let out a soft huff of a laugh, a reaction to your confused face. You were absolutely panicked; frozen. That wild look you were giving him, if he could he would drown himself in those eyes. Alastor felt his own excitement build, a twitch pressing his cock against the zipper of his dress pants. What a delicious reaction. His long hands crawled under your work skirt, nails grazing your skin as he grabbed the sides of your panties, "It's rude to leave someone waiting, dear."

You shook your head, crawling backward on the bed, "Okay, I get it. Ha ha, you managed to frazzle me."

A darkness fell over his face, "I don't think you do get it." He opened his mouth and dragged his teeth over the skin of your inner thigh, "You've neglected me quite rudely! Most people wouldn't dare such a thing and yet you don't even seem slightly concerned about it."

Rude? "Alastor, oh my god. What did I do? I've been at work every morning on time, if not early. I have been staying up late to make sure the resident files are up to date. I've been meeting with Charlie like you wanted about-,” He brought the panties down your thighs.

"It is what you haven't been doing, mon cher.” He pulled them clear of one leg, leaving them to hang off the ankle of the other leg. "I've been drinking my coffee alone in the sunroom, do you think I had the set of rocking chairs delivered for my own amusement? Dinner has been monotonous without your conversation. And what about our nightly gossip at the bar?" When he lifted your leg and hooked your knee over his shoulder, you fell back on your elbows to keep from lying flat.

"Listen-- Alastor!" His name was squeaked out as a bite stung you, dangerously close to your now naked pussy.

"Sir." He chided.

"Sir?!" He pushed your skirt up, exposing you, "Sir. I don't really like people going down on me."

"That's odd.” His hands gripped your thighs and dragged your ass to the edge of the bed, your pussy now inches from his face. His eyes rolled from left to right, “I don’t remember asking.” Your other leg was pulled over his shoulder, causing you to finally fall onto your back.

A long, wide tongue licked from mid thigh to the place where your legs met your crotch. You felt the heat of his mouth before he finally made contact with your core, one long lick from entrance to clit.

You buried your face inside the file, inhaling the smell of ink and paper with each pant. Your heart was pounding, the rush of blood from your head to your lap left you dizzy and seeing spots.

“Ah ah! I need your full attention.” He took the file and tossed it to the side. He needed to see your face, this was pointless if he couldn’t watch you go dumb in his mouth.

He had started this wanting to ensure you would be thinking about him as much as he had been you, but the way you couldn’t even speak when he touched you shifted his mission. Now, he wanted to win. Maybe he would be bothered by the absence of your presence in the sunroom, but you’d lie awake at night pained by the absence of his tongue in your cunt.

“I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.” Your face was beet red.

“Good. I’ve never been very fond of sharing my toys.” His nose grazed your already throbbing clit as he sunk his tongue into you. Reflexively your thighs pressed against his ears, his head keeping you from closing them entirely. His tongue seemed to lick at your walls as if reaching for something, the sensation wet and warm. You whined, embarrassed at how you were twitching against his lips.

You could feel his smile widen, thumb pressing down on your clit. Gripping the sheets you tried to ease away, the pressure too rough. His nails dug into your left leg, keeping you from making any real difference.

As he dragged his tongue along your walls you felt something you normally didn’t when getting eaten out; the beginning tension of an orgasm slinking into your stomach.

When his mouth left your cunt you gasped, the air stinging at your wet hole and thighs.

“Starting from the morning, tell me exactly what you did today that was so important you didn’t feel the need to entertain me with your company. If your mouth stops moving, so will mine.” He brought his lips to your other thigh, nipping at the skin.

“I made your coffee but got a call about a resident.” His finger pressed against your entrance before breaching.

“Oh, it has been awhile. I thought you were just being modest”, he laughed, your embarrassed expression spurring him forward. He hadn’t expected you to be so tight on just a single digit.

“She feels unsafe, there’s a jackal demon on her floor who keeps”, his finger curled, hitting that bundle of nerves that made your eyes cross, “who is giving her really scary looks.” He bit down again, breaking the skin. You yelled, yanking your leg back but he didn’t release you. “Alastor- please. This is cruel enough.”

“You haven’t even begun to see me be cruel.” He lapped at the wound, finger in you slowly dragging out before entering again. Still bent, it would hit your spongey g-spot with every move. “After that?”

“I had a meeting with Charlie. About the different growth activities.” Eyes closed, you could feel your pleasure slowly inching up that peak. “I needed to organize the files first, so I ate at my desk again.”

His lips cupped your clit as he began to suck. Your hips rose off the bed and his mouth went with you.

“It’s a lot of paperwork, you won’t let me use a computer for it.” His hand pulled back as a second finger joined. The way your cunt was gripping his fingers, he couldn’t imagine how much you’d hiss around his cock. His hips rutted against the air beside the bed, out of your view.

You put your arm over your eyes to hide yourself in some way, breath hitching when his fingers began pumping in and out of you. The moans tumbling from your mouth made Alastor’s grip on you tighten further. His cock leaking into the front of his pants.

When his tongue stopped flitting over your clit you groaned a complaint.

“Ffuuuck, Alastor. D- Uh, Room 127 hates the view o-,” your jaw clenched around the words, “something something blah blah blah —nngh” your head went back, your hips now fully grinding into his mouth. You needed more friction, your orgasm rolling just to the precipice.

His tongue slowed.

“He- he uh, I said he could move,” his fingers curled, pressing over and over into your g-spot, “when he stops being such an asshole. fuck me, please don’t stop—,” you reached down for his head and took a fist full of hair, earning you a surprised moan from him.

Alastor removed his hand from your leg to palm his clothed erection. His nose buried into your bush as his own breathing picked up.

So close.

“-and now I’m here and you’re here,” your words breathy, “and I’m gonna cum—I’m so close, so close,” your lips tingled from the way you were panting.

You choked out a moan as your orgasm reached its climax and pleasure wracked your body. Your grip on his hair stinging, your pussy sucked his fingers in with so much need he closed his eyes and let himself cum against his palm at the thought of his cock in their place. He felt the warmth soak into his pants.

Both of your hands came to your face, too embarrassed to speak.

Alastor placed your shoes and tights beside you, and rested both of his elbows on either side of your head. His weight pressed into you, and you finally looked at him. He was resting his chin on his cradled hands, staring down at you.

With a smug grin and raised his eyebrows he said, “Apology accepted.” He pushed off of you, bringing both fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean with a wet ‘pop’. “See you in the sun room at 8am! Bring that cheery smile I’ve come to enjoy!” He sunk back into the shadows and was gone.

You looked around, you were back in your office. He’d transported you seamlessly from lying on his bed to lying on your desk.

“Yes, sir.”

*get it? He wanted to “get ahead”… head. The slang for cunnilingus ? I’ll see myself out

༻Masterlist༺

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irndad · 2 months ago

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don't date coworkers- s.r.

a/n: i literally wrote this very fast and also i hope you like it pls go easy on me!!! reader has a policy they don't date coworkers. spencer is so angsty abt that !! also sorry for dropping a new fic at 2am LOL wc: 1.7k

She’s really, really good at talking to people.

It’s one of the many traits Spencer adores about her. She moves through crowds with ease, and she can charm her way into any piece of information from whatever city cop they need a favor from. She integrated into the team faster than anyone could’ve expected. This is a strength not all profilers have- they know what it takes to know what makes someone appealing, but rare is the ability to be as charismatic and charming as she is.

She’s good at talking to him.

She’s worked at the BAU for about a year now. 13 months, 7 days and 8 hours since she walked through the doors of the bullpen for the first time, beaming at him for the very first time. Give or take.

Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if everyone knew that he was in love with her. He’s halfway certain she does, and is being too polite to mention it. Normally, Spencer is incredibly regimented about boundaries. While the BAU is his family, and there’s no real way to deny that, he knows that he’s less than ideal to go out with. He’s stocky and he never cuts his hair (even though she swears it’s cute longer) and he’s an awkward guy- gangly and tall and just ill-fitting to be part of the scenery of her life.

It’s a Friday, and a rainy one at that. It’s one of the blessed ones where they don’t really have a case, just paperwork to catch up on, reports and her desk faces a window.

Normally, when Spencer gets his work done (a good four hours before everyone else on a paperwork-only day), he’d head out. Catch up on whatever Russian novel he’s been chipping away at- but she’s here, and he’s made her favorite tea.

“I thought you could use a treat,” he says, walking over to her desk. She looks up at him, brushing overgrown bangs, “It’s not really a great one, but I’ll get you some scones on the way to mine, yeah?”

She looks up at him, dropping her pen and focusing entire energy on him. He feels a bit overwhelmed, like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“Did you know that I adore you, Spence?”

He is very much not aware. No amount of her saying it will ever make him know. She takes a long sip from the mug. He knows how much honey she likes in it. He studies how she looks, eyes closed serenely, completely invested in what he’s given her.

“You’ll be taking her home, pretty boy?” Morgan snickers, in a not altogether unkind manner.

“Fuck off,” she says kindly, not taking her eyes off of Spencer as she rebuffed Morgan’s teasing.

“Easy, easy,” Morgan laughs, “I’ll leave your boyfriend alone.”

If she has anything to say to that, it doesn’t come out then.

He’s still bright red, though. Morgan is amused, and Spencer knows that she really, truly adores Morgan. Spencer loves him too, but it would be nice if he laid off the jokes.

She doesn’t date coworkers.

He knows this because of the first time they’d met, when he’d been walking in carrying a croissant for Garcia and a coffee for JJ, and saw what can only be described as a truly ridiculously beautiful woman in the bullpen.

She’d been leaned back, smiling openly as Morgan tossed some random pick-up line towards her. He remembers it now like he can still hear it, her lilting lovely voice carrying just the right amount of warmth to make this not sting, or at least sting as little as possible.

“I’m sorry, Derek,” she had said, “I make it a point not to date coworkers.”

Which of course is fine. She can date whoever she wants, and it’s a good policy to have personally. And Spencer’s never really be the kind of guy who excelled at getting dates. He knew from the first minute that he saw her that even if she didn’t think that way… well, it wouldn’t be him, who she picked.

Now, they are very close. So close that she drives him home from work every Friday. Which usually includes staying at his shitty apartment and watching VHS tapes of documentaries and Doctor Who.

He wants to kiss her every Friday. All, the time, really. It’s kind of plaguing him. Clearly, she likes hanging out with him. Something about him is appealing. It’s foolish to assume that it’s more than friends, especially for someone like him to be with someone like her.

She doesn’t date coworkers.

“I made sure the film tonight has subtitles!”

“Are you saying film because this film is foreign, Spence?”

“I promise it’s worth it!” He says excitedly, “And they’re really done well. You won’t have to have me whisper the translations to you in real time!”

“I didn’t mind that,” She laughs then, a real laugh, “but I’m glad we’re getting to hang out tonight.”

It’s funny- they’ve done this so, so many times, but he never stops being thrilled.

___________________________________

Sometimes, when the summer air is forgiving enough, they walk home from the office. She takes the train in, and they walk back to his place. Tonight is one of these nights, and god- she looks lovely. She’s tied her blazer around her waist, and the sunset hits her face in that gorgeous baroque painting kind of way.

“You’re very pretty,” he hears himself say before he can stop it. He’s endlessly pleased when she preens at the praise.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Doctor,” she says, shoving her hands into her pockets, a nervous gesture. He wants to hold those hand, intertwine her lovely delicate fingers with his bony wispy fingers.

“You’re being nice to me,” he says, looking down at his shoes. They’re stupid. He should wear loafers, or some other shoe that doesn’t make him like half-child half-geek.

“I’m being accurate, actually,” she says she bumps his shoulder.

She’d be a wonderful girlfriend. He lives in the world this can happen quite often, in his fantasy. She laughs at his jokes and tells him he’s kind, and good, and she means it. He’s lucky to have this much of her- more than anyone else on the team! Spencer knows he’s her favorite. The way she’s looking at him now, how she give-up her Fridays to spend with him, on his ratty couch, how she always listens. Whenever they're both on the jet and he falls asleep, he always wakes up with a blanket on him. She's so good at loving people.

Being her favorite on the team does not mean he’s in the running to be a boyfriend. But he’d fucking want to be. He’d be a good boyfriend. Spencer, he’s gone so far for her. He fantasizes about getting her flowers that have symbolic meaning.

“Are you okay, boy-genius?”

“I’m better than okay. Do you want popcorn?”

She wants popcorn. He sets the movie up, and she gets comfortable on his couch, curling up with his purple felt blanket, and his mind betrays him with unhelpful images of what it might look like if she was his, if this is what he came home to.

Don't picture welcome home kisses, or movie nights or being wanted. Don't.

It’s very, very hard to focus on the movie.

She’s touchy, with him. He’s not sure if it’s because she could never see him as her boyfriend, but he’s grateful as she leans her head on his. She smells like peonies. When the credits roll, they stay like that for minute- her head on his shoulder and one of her legs thrown over his.

He wonders, not for the first time, if she feels the same way about him. If things were just..different, then they’d be kissing under the haze of his TV right now, if he’d know what that chapstick she carries with her every day tastes like.

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like if we met under different circumstances?” he says, once time passes and he speaks instead of thinking.

“Hmm?” She hummed, relaxed eyes flitting their gaze over to him.

“Like, at a bar or something.”

“But you hate bars.”

“That’s why I said or something!”

Her lip juts out adorably, “But then I wouldn’t get to see you in your element.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, resting his neck on the top of the cushion. The AC is a little too much in the room. He wonders if she’s cold. “But who knows. Maybe we’d date, or something.”

It’s the dumbest thing he’s ever fucking said. Both because it was a dumb way to say it, but because it was an advance. He feels white hot shame lick at his spine when he looks at her, and hears her laugh.

“I don’t think so, Spence.”

“No,” shitshitshit, “I didn’t mean-“

“I mean, if you don’t want to date me now, I don’t think meeting at like, Whole Foods would’ve been the difference maker.”

It’s then he hears it- the piece he couldn’t place in her voice, when she gets like this. It’s being resigned.

“What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Spence,” she says, another bitter chuckle coming through, “You know how I feel. I haven’t exactly beens subtle.”

“But you don’t date coworkers. You have a rule.”

She looks at him with no recognition of what he’s saying.

“No, because you told Morgan that, it’s the first thing I ever heard you say.”

“Yeah, but-“

“And yes, okay, you’ve been my favorite person almost as long as I’ve known you and yes, I would fucking love for you to be my girlfriend, but that was your rule!”

“You want me to be your girlfriend?”

“Obviously!”

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything else before, well- before she’s kissing him. More aggressive than that, really. Crawled onto his lap, arms around his neck, and where she leads Spencer is all too happy to follow. His body is not great at moving on instinct, but his whole nervous system feels alive- the weight of her in his lap, the feel of her waist under his fingers, the way he’s allowed this. It feels like such a pleasure, hedonistic in a way he’s never, ever been allowed to experience.

“You had a rule,” he says dumbly when she pulls away. His lips are wet. He’d like to go back to kissing, thank you very much.

“You’re the exception, to every rule, Spencer.”

When he kisses her again (which he’s allowed to do now, holy fuck) Spencer decides he’s going to spend the rest of all time earning that status.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader

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pretzel-box · 2 months ago

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Tags: Comedy, Some Fluff, Streamer AU, GN!reader x Human! Sebastian

Words: 1,9k

"Pressured_Solace has started a stream. Click here to watch."

The blue notification button caught your eye as it popped up on your desktop, the usual alert signaling that your favorite streamer was live. A thumbnail of the game he was about to play accompanied the message, and without hesitation, you clicked to join the stream.

“Jellycatfished joined the stream!”

“Is that the real one??”

“Bet it's another faker looking for donations.”

A grin spread across your face as you slid your headphones over your ears, adjusting them for comfort as you leaned back in your gaming chair. Solace hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on setting up the stream and chatting casually with the early viewers. Hearing his deep, familiar voice through your headphones sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, filling you with a warm, giddy excitement. Pressured_Solace was your absolute favorite streamer—witty, thoughtful, and with a voice that could melt butter. Like you, he streamed without a face cam, leaving his appearance up to the imagination of his audience, which only added to his charm.

“I think… yeah, I’m all set. Everything’s good,” he mumbled into his microphone. You could hear the sounds of items shuffling around and the clatter of coffee mugs on a wooden desk in the background. Then he leaned closer to the mic, his voice dropping to a playful tone. “Test, test, 1-2, 1-2. Can everybody hear me?”

The chat lit up with eager replies—greetings, questions, and a flood of emotes scrolling by at high speed. The sound of his chuckle was like music to your ears as he tried to keep up with the barrage of messages. You could feel his excitement; it was the same rush of emotions and adrenaline that coursed through your body when you streamed.

“Alright, just a heads-up,” he continued, his tone teasing. “I got a new microphone, and I haven’t fine-tuned all the settings yet. So if you hear anything other than my voice… well, that’s just proof I’m not a robot.”

His joke made you laugh out loud, and without a second thought, you hit the like button to show your support. This was classic Solace, always with that sassy vibe and the funny comments right up his sleeve.

You moved your cursor again, hovering over the donation button as you carefully selected the amount, leaning forward with excitement as you typed a message to accompany it. Money wasn’t an issue for you—you had sponsorships, collaborations, and a well-paying side job as a secretary at a company called Urbanshade. So you took the liberty of spoiling yourself a little by supporting your beloved streamer.

“Jellycatfished has donated $1000. ‘You're telling me you are not an AI that will take over the world, Solace??’”

The automatic voice read out your donation, and Solace burst into laughter, probably shaking his head in amusement. “Welcome back, beloved Jelly. How many times do I have to tell you not to donate so much, silly?” His words were playful, but there was a certain softness in his tone, a hint of affection that made your heart flutter. Knowing that your favorite streamer had noticed you always brought a smile to your face. “But seriously, thank you, Jelly, for the donation,” he said warmly. “I appreciate your support—although I’m starting to think you’re secretly trying to buy my loyalty.”

You laughed, quickly typing back into the chat, “Maybe I am! How else would I get the attention of the coolest streamer online?” A quick moment of embarrassment filled you as you suddenly regretted your message, was it too cringe? Too much?

Solace chuckled again into the microphone, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “You don’t need to buy my attention, Jelly. You’ve always had it.”

The chat exploded with a flurry of reactions, hearts, and playful comments. You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, even though you knew he couldn’t see you. This was the magic of streaming—the hidden identities, the mystery, the fun banter. It was your little escape from reality, and you loved every second of it.

Just then, a notification popped up on the screen.

“Pressured_Solace has invited Jellycatfished to a private match!”

It was an invitation to a combat pvp game that grew popular in the past few days, blowing up on social media. It became one of your favorite things to stream, and Solace knew that.

Your heart skipped a beat as you glimpsed at the sudden invitation. A private match? With him? You quickly accepted the invitation, feeling a rush of adrenaline and excitement. As the game loaded, Solace spoke again, his voice filled with that familiar teasing tone. “Alright, Jelly, let’s see if you’re as good in-game as you are at throwing money around.”

You laughed, feeling a surge of competitive spirit. It wasn’t the first time you played with him and surely not the last. “Bring it on, Solace. I’ve been practicing.” This was the last message you typed before the loading screen disappeared.

The game started, and the playful banter between the two of you continued over the ingame voice chat, filled with laughter, friendly taunts, and unexpected plot twists. The chat was loving it, spamming comments like “OMG, this is the collab we didn’t know we needed!” and “Ship them already!”

As the game loaded into the next round of the PvP arena, the tension between you and Pressured_Solace crackled like electricity. The map was a sprawling labyrinth of narrow corridors and open spaces, perfect for ambushes and quick escapes. You took a deep breath, fingers flexing over the keyboard, ready to bring your A-game. The chat, that was open on your second screen, was buzzing with excitement, filled with a mixture of support and playful taunts.

"Let’s go, Jelly! Show Solace who's boss!"

“Team Jellycatfished for the win!"

“Pressured_Solace may be good, but Jelly's got that magic touch!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the encouragement flooding in. The support from your fans always gave you that extra boost of confidence, especially when it came to facing off against someone as skilled as Solace. You knew he was good—really good. But you weren’t about to let that intimidate you.

“Alright, Jelly,” Solace’s voice came through your headphones, smooth and teasing. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

“Oh, I plan to do more than keep up,” you shot back, your voice light and playful. “I’m coming for you, Solace. How about a bet?”

“A bet?” He chuckles. “Sure.”

You started to smirk as an idea came to your mind. “If I win, I get to wish something from you.” It took a moment for Solace to reply, he was definitely teasing you by pretending to think. “Fine, but if I win, you're the one that has to fulfill a wish.”

“Deal.”

The match began, and you immediately took off, sprinting down a side corridor to grab some resources. You knew the map well enough to anticipate the power-ups and health packs that would spawn in certain locations. If you could get to them first, you might stand a chance.

But Solace was a step ahead. As you rounded a corner, you were met with a hail of bullets, forcing you to duck behind a crate. You could hear Solace chuckling through the mic.

“Nice try, Jelly, but you’re gonna have to be faster than that,” he taunted, his confidence evident.

Your heart raced as you peeked out from behind the crate, firing off a few rounds in his direction. He dodged easily, taking cover behind a wall. The chat was going wild, cheering you on, urging you to give it your all.

“Come on, Jelly! You got this!”

“Don’t let him intimidate you!”

“Use the power of the Jellycatfished!”

You grinned, feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You quickly reloaded and made a break for it, dashing toward the nearest cover. You had to stay on the move—staying in one place too long would make you an easy target. Solace’s aim was deadly accurate, and you needed to keep him guessing.

But every time you thought you had a plan, he was already two steps ahead. He moved through the map like he was born there, seamlessly transitioning from offense to defense. You managed to get a few hits in, but he was quick to recover, always staying just out of reach.

“Having fun yet, Jelly?” he asked, his tone light but focused.

“More fun than you can handle,” you retorted, launching a surprise attack from above, dropping down from a higher platform. Your ambush caught him off guard, and you managed to land a few solid hits before he rolled away, retaliating with a well-placed grenade that forced you back.

The chat erupted with excitement.

“YES! Go, Jelly, go!”

“That was epic!”

“Don’t let up, Jellycatfished!”

Despite the cheers, you could feel the pressure mounting. Solace was clearly better, his skill evident in every move he made. He was precise, calm, and knew exactly how to control the flow of the game. You, on the other hand, were running on adrenaline and instinct, trying to keep up with his calculated strategies.

And then he made his move. In a swift, decisive maneuver, he cornered you in a dead-end alley, cutting off your escape routes. You fired desperately, but his shots were faster, more accurate. Before you knew it, your health bar was dwindling down to nothing.

“Looks like this is the end, Jelly,” Solace said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Any last words?”

You grinned, a surge of determination flooding through you. “Yeah… don’t underestimate me.”

With a final burst of energy, you lunged forward, launching one last, desperate attack. It was reckless, but you had nothing to lose. You managed to land a few more hits before Solace finished you off with a well-placed headshot.

“Defeated! Pressured_Solace wins the match!”

The screen flashed the results, and the chat exploded with a mix of cheers and playful groans.

“GG, Jelly! You put up a good fight!”

“Solace is just too good!”

“Rematch! Rematch!”

“That was intense!”

Breathless, you leaned back in your chair, a smile tugging at your lips. “Not bad, Solace. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad? I’d say that was a pretty solid victory,” he replied, his tone teasing. “But you did put up a good fight, Jelly. I’m impressed.”

You laughed, feeling a warm flush of pride despite the loss. “I’ll get you next time, Solace. Mark my words.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said with a grin you could practically hear through the screen. “I always enjoy a challenge from you.”

The chat continued to buzz with excitement, fans from both sides celebrating the epic showdown. Even though you didn’t win, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. You may have lost the match, but you had fun, and more importantly, you had earned Solace’s respect. And that, in itself, felt like a win.

As the stream continued, you and Solace bantered back and forth, the playful rivalry only fueling the chat's excitement. It was moments like these that reminded you why you loved streaming so much—the thrill of the game, the support of the community, and the chance to connect with someone like Pressured_Solace, even if you didn’t know him outside of this virtual world.

But there was always tomorrow, and another game to be played. And who knows? Maybe next time, the outcome would be different.

A message plopped up at last, Solace texted you privately over the streaming platform.

“Alright Jellykitten.” He obviously joked by giving you such a silly nickname. “Time for my wish, prepare for your doom!”

“What is it, Solace?”

“Share your discord tag with me.”

#sebastian solace #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #sebastian solace fanfic #roblox pressure #pressure #pressure x reader #Streamer AU

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kookygranger · 9 months ago

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Fairytale of Hawkins: Valentine's Special

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The lovebirds return. Robin comes to the conclusion that you and Eddie are in fact perfect for each other when you denounce Valentine's Day and all things Hallmark romance perfect. Eddie softens your edges.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, allusions to sex, swearing, reader and Eddie are in their late 20s/early 30s, fluff baby fluff

Word count: 2.6k

Author's note: A little look into the burgeoning relationship of towtruck!Eddie and you, a cynical city girl, post-Christmas romance.

Masterlist

Valentine's Day

“Fuck sake.”

Your colleague laughs as you swat away the paper hearts hanging in the doorway of the office lunchroom. “Why do I have to be assaulted every time I get coffee? I’m about three seconds away from tearing this shit down.”

“Yikes, somebody’s not feeling the love today.” Joel smirks over his mug, legs crossed at the lunch table and highly amused by your mood.

“I’m not feeling the love every day. Don’t see why there needs to be a stupid holiday to remind me.” You grumble as you reach for the pot of black coffee, filling your Bikini Kill mug almost to the brim.

“Trouble with the boyfriend? I thought it was going well.”

“He’s not my–“ You sigh. Joel was a work friend. One that shared stock in the workplace trauma and loved to gossip over a Manhattan at Friday drinks. And yeah you knew a lot about each other’s personal lives, but you always struggled with bringing down your professional walls and knowing when it was okay to share; to stop compartmentalising your life so much. Inherently mistrusting, even when it was unnecessary.

“It is–I just. I can still hate the holiday even when I’m…”

“In love?”

You make a face and walk back to your desk, Joel cackling behind you. He leans on your unstable cubicle wall as you sit back at your desk.

“So, prince charming not send you anything?”

“Of course not. He probably thinks it’s just as stupid as I do.”

“You didn’t talk about? Make any date plans?”

You shrug, “There’s no point in him coming all the way up here just for that. We’re both busy.”

Joel purses his lips and hums. You give him a sharp side eye and he backs off, hand up in surrender as he walks away. You roll your eyes when he walks past another cubicle and you hear the sass in his voice, “Beautiful roses Sarah! Somebody isn’t afraid to express their love.”

You let out a sharp exhale, rolling your neck to try ease the tension.

You hate that you were a little upset that he didn’t call to tell you he was thinking of you. You hate that this made-up day could make you feel like that when you had talked to him just yesterday, and your relationship was doing just fine thank you very much. Eddie called to tell you he was thinking about you all the time. Eddie sent flowers when he knew you’d had a rough day. Eddie sent you love letters full of poetry and blush-inducing accounts of what his mind wandered to all day when he was driving around town in his tow truck.

So why did it still sting when none of these things happened on the day that they happened to everyone else.

You should be secure in the knowledge that Eddie Munson didn’t need a commercialised day to show his affection towards you, like many other men in this world. Janet from accounts may have been cuddling her “lovebug” plush toy all day with a faraway look on her face but you knew for certain that she’d be grumbling at her husband Greg come tomorrow night when she was left to do the dishes after also cooking his dinner, despite working just as many hours as him.

But still –

Valentine’s Day sucks.

And you hate that the boy you are… incredibly fond of isn’t standing in front of you nodding his head in agreement as you dish out the Chinese takeout for dinner. Waiting with open arms and magic fingers to relieve the tension in your shoulders as you step through the door of your apartment.

You know you don’t have any right to think these things really. You and Eddie had only been dating since Christmas.

Maybe dating was a loose term, but you had been on dates. You were almost inseparable the week between Christmas and New Year's before you had to head home and back to the office and had been calling each other regularly since. Eddie had taken a trip to see you a few times (three, almost four due to bad weather) and you went on dates.

Good dates. Great dates. Dates that always ended with you wrapped in each other’s arms under your bed sheets. And god, you loved every moment spent with him.

Every full-bellied laugh you’d get out of each other, every glance as you walked side-by-side and soft kiss you shared in between conversations. He was always on your mind. Maybe you were even teaming on the edge of infatuation, and maybe this had a little something to do with your foul mood. The pressure of deep-seated denial of your feelings teetering from innocent to something, compounding in your head. Boy, was that headache really digging its heels in.

Robin’s chuckle cuts through the static over the line as she listens to you grumble.

“Wow, you really are the perfect girl for Eddie Munson.”

You stumble, “You think– wait what do you mean by that? Are you coming over to hear me grouch face-to-face or what? I got the strawberry cheesecake Ben & Jerry’s.”

“Actually,” you can picture her face scrunching up as she elongates the confession, “I kinda have a date.”

You squeal, “Excuse me?! Buckley you’ve been holding out on me! Why’d you let me ramble on about my misery when you have a hot date?”

“Because you hate Valentine’s Day.”

“Well yeah, but I love you. I wanna hear all about your cavity-inducing V-Day plans.”

Robin sighs a long-suffering exhale.

You decide to take your bad mood straight to bed and skip calling Eddie. It wasn’t his fault, and you certainly didn’t want to call just to vent and drag him down. You were tired. You missed him. You were worried that might be too much for you to admit over the phone.

***

Valentine’s Day had set the mood for the rest of the week; by Friday you were done. You were dragging your body up the stairs to your apartment, thinking that maybe it was time for you to go to Eddie. Go back to Hawkins if they’d have you. You couldn’t shake this missing him thing, and the fact that you hadn’t heard his voice in days wasn’t helping.

The past couple of nights your calls had gone unanswered. You weren’t worried, just sad. And you were finally coming around to the fact that it could only be fixed by one boy. God, maybe you had more in common with Janet from accounts than you thought. Both of your moods were heavily influenced by men.

When the fuck did this happen?

Your inner pity party clouds your awareness, taking no note of the sounds or smells coming from your kitchen as you push your heavy front door and kick off your uncomfortable business casual shoes as soon as you’re past the threshold.

It’s the loud clatter of a pan and hissed fuck that has you jumping out of your skin.

“Eddie?”

His head whips around, grin spreading across his face as he spots you by the door. A tea towel over his t-shirt clad shoulder and hands busy stirring things over your stove. Things that smell good.

“Hi.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

His eyebrows raise, lips forming that stupid smirk that has you virtually already on your knees.

“I’m gonna take that as a good what the fuck and not a get the hell out what the fuck.”

You jog the last few steps and crash into him, arms wrapping around his neck. He takes some of your weight as you melt into him.

“Of course it’s a good what the fuck.” You mumble into his chest, feeling his chuckles under your cheek. When you pull back he cups your face and greets you with a deep kiss. “Do I wanna know how you got into my apartment?”

His laugh hits your face in a warm breath. “Robin lent me her key.” He goes in for another peck before he starts rubbing your cheek soothingly with his thumb, taking in your tired face.

“Pretty sure you’re safe from amateur thieving hands with those two deadbolts, sweetheart.”

“Don’t mock Munson, I’m a girl living alone in the city.”

He nods, “You’re right. Maybe I’ll install a chain too. Gotta keep my girl safe.” He places another quick peck on your lips before turning back around to mind the boiling pots of water and simmering sauces.

Goosebumps. Literal goosebumps at the thought of this man calling you his.

“What is all this anyway?”

He scratches his face, still turned away from you when he gestures to the vase full of wildflowers that you’re only just noticing, and the pink box stamped with the logo of your favourite local bakery sitting on your kitchen table.

“Robin told me you hated Valentine’s Day, which I totally agree with by the way, commercialised bullshit – but uh, I thought we could have like a not-Valentine’s Day dinner, and it gave me a good excuse to break into your apartment and see you so…”

You bite your lip, containing the grin threatening to break out on your face even though he’s still not looking at you. You wrap your arms around his middle, leaning your chin on his shoulder as he continues to work.

“So uh, how long on dinner?”

He keeps stirring, “Maybe 20 minutes. You hungry sweet girl?”

“Famished.” Your lips start to trace a line up his neck, doing that thing with his earlobe that makes him blush furiously.

“Oh. Wait, wait, wait��let me just,” he quickly turns off one of the burners and puts a lid on two of the pots, “Okay.” He spins around, beaming at you when you keen into his touch, warm hands cupping your face. “Hi.”

You return a lip biting hi before you practically pounce on each other. All the stress and inner turmoil from the week leave your body as he walks you backwards to your bed on the other side of your studio apartment.

You spend the next 23 minutes getting reacquainted under the large frosted glass windows that frame your bed, lips parting only for short gasps of air, before Eddie hops up, almost tripping in his attempt to put his underwear back on and jogging the short distance to check on dinner. You giggle at him, and you see the flushed pink return to his cheeks as he winks at you over his shoulder.

Dinner is amazing. Apparently, Steve taught Eddie the basics of cooking when they moved in together (Eddie taught Steve all about tater tots and oven food) and he experiments further when he’s got spare time, especially if he’s cooking for someone that he loves…like Dustin or Wayne.

The night ends much the same as it started after you gorge on the pastries from the bakery, which coincidentally all happen to be your favourites.

Eddie’s chocolate brown eyes are far away as he traces patterns along your jaw and bare shoulders.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask softly.

He exhales slowly through his nose, “Just thinking about how much I miss you.”

You smile at him, his eyes dart to your lips, “I’m right here.”

His eyebrows twitch in that frown you’ve learnt to adore. “I know, it’s just–“ he leans in, forehead touching yours, “I think…” you feel his frown deepen against your skin as he pauses.

“Eddie, are you okay?”

“Yeah…and no.” He leans back, head hitting the pillow beside you, his hand coming up to rub his forehead as his eyes scrunch tightly. You let him take another deep breath. You let him take the time to find the courage to spill out his next words. “I’m in love with you.” The hand that was tracing soothing circles in his bicep stops as his head rolls to look at you. “Like, I never really knew what real love felt like until we started doing whatever this is,” he gestures to your bodies curled up under your sheets, “kind of love.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” His face scrunches up again. “And I know, that’s a fucking lot when it’s only been what, a couple of months? And we don’t live in the same city and this is supposed to be fun and casual and you’re a cool city girl with your own life and friends and I drive a tow truck in a small town that thinks rock music is the devil’s music. And trust me,” he shakes his head, hand braced on his chest, “I tried not to. But you make it really fucking hard with your pretty face, and the fact that you look hot as hell in your little corporate outfits but also in my gross Slayer t-shirt, and the whole saying anything that comes to mind sassy without even trying to be thing, and the great taste in music, and the fact that you try to watch all my favourite horror movies even though they give you nightmares and you’re scared that your sleep paralysis demon or whatever you call it is gonna pay you a visit – which by the way is fucked – you know, you don’t make it easy sweetheart.”

He sounds kind of angry. The way his chest heaves after his admission and his brows stay perpetually creased would make anyone who didn’t know him concerned. But you know Eddie Munson.

“I’m in love with you too.”

“What?” His head snaps so quickly you're concerned he might’ve pulled a muscle.

“I didn’t think we were purposefully keeping things casual, I just thought ‘cause of the distance that’s what worked but…I’ve missed you a lot lately and I kind of came to the realisation this week it’s because I’ve fallen for you. Hard, by the way. You know I was gonna call the airline and sus flights to Indy after work. It’s not fair for you to keep having to drive all the way up here. Especially since you end up spending more time on the road than you do here with me.”

He's still frowning, but his eyes are as soft as a puppy’s as your confession sinks in. “Sooo…what do we do now?”

You shrug, moving closer to him as his arm snakes around your back, his hand rubbing soothingly up and down your spine. “I don’t know. But, I do think that I can swing a lot more weekends in Hawkins. Like, at least half the month.”

He beams then, frown lines smooth as his smile, “Really?”

“Yeah. Would that be okay?”

“I think I can handle it.” He places a soft kiss on your lips.

“What about Steve?”

“Fuck Steve.” Another kiss. “Wait, what do you mean?”

You laugh, “I mean, would he be okay with me staying over?”

“Of course he would. If not, I’ll kick his ass.” He shrugs.

“You think you can fight Steve?”

“Ah sweetheart, Steve has never won a fight in his goddamn life. Plus, I got street smarts. All he’s good for is swinging around that damn nail bat.”

“The what?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, smirking before distracting you with another kiss. “You love me, huh?”

You puff your cheeks up and exhale, “Apparently so.”

“You love me.” You giggle as he teases you with sweet kisses along your jaw.

“Don’t get too cocky Munson. You’ve got it bad too. You bought me flowers within the window of Valentine’s Day.”

You feel his smile against your jaw. “Yeah, I’ve got it bad. Real bad, sweet girl.”

Tagging: @storiesbyrhi hi x. And @eddieslooneymoonie, @micheledawn1975, @skrzydlak just in case.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #towtruck!eddie #she writes

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hazbinsillynight · 9 months ago

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Radiostatic week 2024

Day 5: seven years gap

Seven years gap: It's been seven years. Seven year since Alastor left his side. Seven year since he left Vox. Seven years without being able to hold each other.

The first time Alastor saw Vox after his long departure of seven years, the TV Overlord was animating a show. He changed a lot from what the radio demon could see. The last time he saw him he was a new Overlord, searching to create a team of powerful demons so they could dominate Hell together. He clearly had the strength to be one of the strongest Overlords but Vox wanted to not only be strong thanks to his demonic powers, he wanted to be essential for all Pride districts.

The media demon changed so much since that famous day when Alastor left him seven years ago. His TV head had been replaced by a more recent model, allowing Alastor to look at these intense red eyes until his heart's content. They were so hypnotic, way more captivating than their last version in black and white. He didn’t know the other demon could change the parts of his body. When they were still hanging around together Vox always complained about how outdated his TV was, it looked like he found a solution to his problem.

The media Overlord looked way more confident too, having a team helped him in the end. Even if he didn’t need it if you asked the radio demon. Next to his nemesis were two other Overlords. One he knew for being Angel Dust’s boss, Valentino, and the other Niftie told him about, Velvet.

Vox looked satisfied with his life as if he had forgotten everything about him. Alastor chuckled, trying to resist the urge to go to his rival to tease him a little. He wouldn’t say it even under torture but he kinda missed having the TV demon in his life. Things couldn't get boring when he was around and even if Alastor was busy with the hotel he could use a distraction or two.

Behind him his shadow was overjoyed, the little rascal always loved teasing his rival. Alastor scratched the neck of the shadow being, amused by its chirpings. It was pointing at the TV, looking impatient just like a child in front of a toy.

“I know you want to play with him, but wouldn’t it be better if he came by himself? I bet he’ll be crazy about it.” The radio demon chuckled once again, imagining the face of the media demon meeting him in the street on pure hazard.

Yes, seeing Vox after all these years was clearly something he wanted to do. The demon changed so much but would his old Vox be still there under all these new modifications? Would Alastor still see his lovely smile when the other thought he wasn’t looking? Would his ridiculous yet endearing mimic when he got the attention he desperately wanted, still be there? Would his charming silver tongue still be an exquisite temptation for the radio demon? So many questions whose answers will have to wait. Let’s hope it will be worth it.

“I’m counting on you, Vox. Don’t disappoint me” the radio demon said before disappearing into the shadow, not wanting to drag the attention of his nemesis.

********

The first time Alastor came back into Vox��s life the Overlord thought he was going crazy. He was simply animating a new broadcast with Velvet and Valentino which was pretty rare since they were both always so busy. Everything was normal, Val had his usual alluring and decadent attitude when Velvet was smiling with stars in her eyes when she talked about her new collection.

Vox was glad everything was going as he planned, the audience was so high with the three of them reunited. The show was almost over when he heard it. Alastor's voice. He was so shocked he almost dropped his mug of coffee which Velvet noticed if he based himself on her curious and slightly worried gaze upon him.

This wasn’t possible. This wasn’t possible! Alastor left! He disappeared and no matter how hard Vox looked after him he couldn’t be found!

The TV Overlord could hear some muffled noise coming around him, the cameras were off and the show was over. He didn’t notice it. All he could do was hear Alastor’s voice again and again. Velvet and Valentino were in front of him, clearly talking but he couldn’t distinguish their words. His eyes were fixing nothing as he was lost in his thoughts.

Alastor couldn’t be back, right? Or could he? After all these years he finally would have appeared again? The memory of the deer demon wrapping his arms around him came to his mind, their numerous battles, their meeting around a coffee, their dinners together, their games… Everything was so vivid…

It wasn’t fair! He tried so hard to forget, to simply forget these moments. It wasn’t too much asking right? He just wanted to take everything off of his mind. Of his heart…

“Voxy!!” Valentino screamed, his hands around his partner’s screen. He looked so worried, just like Velvet.

Val. Right, he was at the studio. With Valentino and Velvet. No Alastor. The demon disappeared seven years ago, this was stupid. He was either gone or got killed during one of the exterminations. He clearly preferred the first option, the only thought about Alastor getting killed was unbearable.

“Sorry I…I just need to check something. I’ll be quick.” Vox said before zapping away at the screens around him.

“Vox wait don’t!” Both of his partners exclaimed, in vain.

He needed to check. He needed to be sure, to know if the demon who broke his heart was really back. Alastor… Just why did he leave? What did Vox do wrong that caused his best friend and forbidden love to disappear like that on him? It’s been seven years!!

The sonar signal he got from one of his screens came from a street near Cannibal Town. It made sense, if Alastor was back he would normally go to a place where he could feed. Finally! Here he was the screen where he heard his old rival.

But there was nothing, not even a trace of the red Overlord. Did he just lose it? Did he finally lose his mind just like a lot of sinners down here? Frustration tears started pounding in his eyes. He was so stupid! It’s been seven years! He had gotten over it so why were his feelings coming over like that?!

The screens exploded behind him, leaving him alone on the quiet street. He just should go back. Val and Velvet were probably waiting for him to come home, worried as fuck by his strange behavior.

Just when he was going to walk back home a familiar chirping resonated around him. The street was clearly empty with no one in sight but he knew that sound too well. It wasn’t something created by any living demon down there. As if he wanted to prove his thoughts, the lurking shadow suddenly appeared in front of him with the most deranged smile possible on its face.

“You!” Vox exclaimed, not sure if it was real or if he was just crazier than he first thought.

The shadow thrilled once again, looking overjoyed to see him. Suddenly Vox found himself wrapped into the dark shape’s arms while it was nuzzling its head against his neck. It was real. It was real!! Alastor was back or at least his shadow was!

The media Overlord didn’t know if he was furious, happy, or desperate. All his emotions and thoughts were actually a mess right now. It was going everywhere and nowhere at the same time. But when he hugged the shadow back it was as if all his problems were going away, as if nothing had changed in these past seven years.

“So he can get one of your embraces but I can’t?” A specific and familiar radio voice exclaimed with a teasing tone.

Here he was. The radio demon, exactly the same as he was seven years ago. The same demon Vox learned to love unconditionally. The same demon he hated for all these past years. The same demon his heart was longing for.

“Alastor…” He was afraid that saying his name would make him disappear again.

He could feel the tears holding up and burning his eyes as if it used to do when he was human again. His throat was knotted and it was difficult for him to talk. Then the radio demon opened his arms with a smile and a sorry look. Words weren’t necessary when it came to the two of them. Now in the warm embrace of the deer demon Vox listened to his heartbeat until his heart's content. Alastor was alive, he was back and he was with him.

It took him some time to calm down. They stayed in that position momentarily, saying nothing, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

Alastor smiled when he looked at the other demon in his arms. He’ll never let him go again. He’ll never live like that again, deal or not.

“I missed you too stupid TV.” He finally said, gently petting the edge of Vox’s screen.

“It’s been seven years asshole!” Vox exclaimed, blushing and both furious and embarrassed at the same time

#hazbin hotel #radiostatic #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x vox #vox x alastor #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #radiostatic week 2024 #alastor #tumblr fic

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writingjourney · 2 years ago

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ziplocked love pt. 4 | dew x fem!reader

summary: you spend more time with the ghouls and ghoulettes on tour, find a solution to your problem – and decide that eternity maybe isn't so bad :)

content: ~4k words, soft, needy, love-sick dew, banter with the other ghouls, suggestive at times but no smut, this is pure fluff and cheese really.

This is sickening but I wanted to give you this conclusion I've been sitting on for months now bc I felt weird not finishing it.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4/Final Part | Read on Ao3

✦ ✧ ✦

“I swear to Satan, one more comment and I’ll murder all of you.”

You feel right at home. All morning the ghouls have been teasing Dew for the bright hickeys on his neck, very visible on the pale human-appearing skin and distinctly mouth-shaped. You sit in a diner, getting breakfast on the road, the ghouls surprisingly well-behaved apart from their bickering. You’re sipping your coffee and watch how Dew furiously blushes every time Swiss flicks against his neck, asking if it hurts.

“Like you had a chance,” Sunshine comments over the rim of her own mug.

“I absolutely have a chance,” Dew grumbles.

You lean into him, still tired, head resting safely on his shoulder, and he immediately softens. His hand finds your thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze, letting you know he’s there. Last night, you slept on the bus for the first time, tightly wrapped in Dew’s arms but not really finding any restful sleep. You won’t have enough time to get used to the movements and the tiny space. You’re only here for another full day tomorrow. Two nights.

“The coffee didn’t help?” he asks.

“Hm, not really, still feeling tired.”

He kisses your hair, wrapping his arm around your shoulder now. “You can always try napping again later.”

“God you are so sickeningly sweet,” Cirrus says. “Maybe I need to go find myself a human as well.”

“Have fun finding one who’s willing to deal with that attitude,” Dew says.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Swiss comments.

Dew shrugs. “I found someone.”

“Only because you somehow found the only human who was willing to deal with your weirdness.”

“Weirdness?”

You sigh against his shoulder. “You’re all weird – that’s part of the charm. And you’re also underestimating how weird humans are. We’re not that different.”

“She has a point,” Aether says.

“Mhm,” Rain mumbles.

Back on the bus, you do need to take another nap because you barely manage to keep your eyes open. Dew joins you, scrolling on his phone as you rest on his chest, face buried in his neck. With his even breathing and gentle warmth surrounding you, you easily manage to doze off. Time passes, how long is only a vague estimate, but you’re roused by repeated movements underneath you. When you open your eyes, you notice that Dew has wriggled free, trying to get out of your little bunk.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you ask and he chuckles at your accusatory tone.

“I’m going to ask Papa if we can find a way for you to stay,” he explains. “I know, you’re worried you’ll be treated differently at home and all of that. But I don’t want you to go back.”

“We can do it, Dew. I don’t want you to think I need babysitting or something.”

“I know we can do it, that you can do it,” he snaps. “We did it already. But why torture ourselves when we don’t have to?”

You sigh, rolling onto your back. “I don’t know. They’re going to think I’m getting favours.”

“Well, you do, you’re my girlfriend. That’s just how it is.”

“You know there are so many siblings who would kill to be on tour with all of you.”

“So what? If anyone gives you shit I will give them twice as much shit back.”

You smile. “I know.”

“Come on, you don’t really want to go back.”

“No, I don’t. The thought of being alone again makes me nauseous.”

“Fine.” He purses his lips. “You want me to say it I’ll say it. I won’t let you go. I’ll throw the worst tantrum you’ve ever seen, worse than the time I almost murdered that guy who hit on you at the old man’s birthday party.”

You can barely hide your smirk. “Worse than that? I thought you’d burn the abbey down.”

“Don’t believe me?”

“Who are you gonna murder, then?”

“Whoever says I can’t keep you here.”

“Papa? Sister?”

“Whoever,” he repeats with a deadly serious stare. “But I don’t have to resolve to murder right away. I think a wise starting point would be arson, then I’ll work myself up.”

“You act like you’d be methodical when we both know you’d just scream and punch a whole in a wall until they’re so annoyed they let you have anything.”

He gapes at you indignantly. “I would never do that.”

“You did it before.”

“No?”

“When you wanted them to allow me to basically half-move into your room because you got frustrated of me leaving all the time?”

He shrugs. “Okay, maybe.”

You smirk. “Just admit you’re clingy and needy and that it’s easy to push your buttons and that–“

He roughly grabs your hips before you can go on, pulling you so close you struggle to breathe. “Hey, watch it, you little minx.”

“It’s all stuff that I love about.” You smile as you wrap your hands around his neck. “I wouldn’t want you to be any different.”

That lures an almost shy smile out of him. He kisses you before you can tease him, slow, languid, the kind of drawn-out kiss that you usually share when you’re snuggled up in bed. After a while he presses in harder, tongue sliding into your mouth. You sink into his arms, relent to his efforts. It’s clear that he’s trying to make you so dizzyingly kiss-drunk that you forget your sass.

“Please,” he says once you break away. “Just stay here with me. We can do this all day, baby, we can do even better things.”

“Liar. Not all day.”

“Well, when I’m not on stage.”

“Hmmmmm. Maybe I need another to be fully convinced.”

He playfully rolls his eyes, but indulges you, giving you another slow kiss. “So insatiable. How do you want to go another month without this, huh?”

“I don’t. But what if we can’t?”

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

“Yes, but you can’t actually burn something down.”

He raises his brows and you smack his shoulder. “Dew.”

“Fine. But I’m asking and I will do whatever… legal… things I can do to convince them.”

“Okay, I can live with that.”

You lean into him, face against his neck, his hair tickling your skin in the way that makes your heart flutter without fail. He holds you so tight that you’re almost convinced anyone trying to separate you would have to use a crowbar. Not that they would be able to use one inside the narrow bunk bed.

You’re not sure how exactly you fell asleep, even less sure how you managed to stay asleep, but you wake up to Dew being gone. At first your immensely confused as to your surroundings, then you recognise the weird shaky movements as the driving of the bus. You feel like you’ve been hit by a brick – the kind of nap that makes you reconsider several life choices. But you climb out of bed, making your way down the hall to the seating area on wobbly legs.

✦ ✧ ✦

Half an hour of intense bickering, mostly on Dew’s part.

You’re tempted to just squeeze our ears shut because of course everyone on the bus has an intense opinion on you staying here on tour with them. The public opinion right now is that you should just stay, fuck Sister’s opinion and do what you want. sPapa is the voice of reason, making phone calls to the abbey, trying to reach Sister who seems to be so busy today that you’ve been left hanging in the line for minutes now.

“She can’t make you go back if you don’t want to, you have free will,” Dew says. “And even more importantly I have free will and what I want is the law.”

“That’s exactly how it works,” Sunshine says, grinning at you.

Papa who sits at the other end of the bus, trying to reach some semblance of quiet for his calls, suddenly speaks up and everyone stops in their tracks. “Yes, yes, hi? Oh, okay, eh… sì, sì. I will let them know, yes. Thank you, sis. Yes, of course. See ya, yeah. Stay well, okie-dokie?”

He hangs up and jumps from his seat. “Good news, little lovebirds.”

“Good news?” Dew half-yells.

“Sister said your little amore can stay. Let me speak–” Papa says, stopping Dew who was about to jump on you in his tracks, then he turns to you. “She wants you to document what’s going on for the clergy newsletter. Like a… remote work kind of situation. She says you can’t think she will grant you a month-long holiday distracting the ghouls without some contribution to the… eh, success of the project.”

“But they already have real photographers here,” you argue. You have been taking photos for the clergy newsletter at home sometimes, writing a few articles here and there, but on tour they had the professionals.

“Behind the scenes kind of thing,” he explains. “The stuff the public doesn’t get. For ministry use only so the other Siblings feel like it makes sense that you are here and it’s not just a favor.”

“Oh okay,” you say, finally grasping what this means. “Yeah, sure. That works.”

Dew is already on you, restraint all but used, his mouth crashing onto yours before you can ask any more questions. You’re half-startled but kiss him back quickly, the other ghouls cheering around you as he fiercely continues to move his lips against yours. When you break away, you’re dizzy, everyone’s hand on your arms, trying to hug you. You do your best to reciprocate their affection, the reality of it all slowly settling. You can stay with Dew, you won’t have to go back and wait for him again.

“See, I told you I always get what I want,” Dew whispers, pulling you into his lap on one of the seats.

You smile. “And without arsen nor murder!”

“Murder?” Papas asks, then shakes his head. “You know what? I don’t even want to know. Now I can finally go play games on my phone and you leave me in peace, yes? We stop by a mall later so everyone make sure you have a partner to go with and NO, no one gets an exception. I won’t lose one of you again only to find you naked in a fountain with people making tiky-toky videos of you trying to eat the fish.”

“Rain, he means you–” Aether whispers, earning him a nudge to the ribs that makes him hiss.

Papa just sighs and rolls his eyes, bringing one hand up to massage his temples. “By Satan, why do I keep doing this to myself?”

✦ ✧ ✦

A few hours later, on your way to yet another hotel, you stop by the huge mall just as primed. It’s not as much a fun trip as a necessity for you at this point, considering you only packed for five days and not a whole month. But the ghouls are hyped up anyway, like kids on a field trip, and pile out of the bus in their human glamour with so much excitement that it’s catching.

The thing is, you and Dew have never been anywhere together outside of the abbey. Staying in a hotel and getting breakfast in a diner have already been special. But now, walking around a mall with him, hand in hand, his now very clawless fingers laced with yours, is so domestic, so beautifully normal, that it makes your heart beat twice as fast.

As it turns out, Dew is not scared of PDA even outside of the abbey because he simply does not care what any of the humans around you think. He is also not very concentrated on completing the list of necessities you’ve written beforehand but gets distracted by anything that catches his interest. Most of all, though, he’s really focused on you, pointing out things in shop windows, kissing you randomly, so very clearly showing you he’s happy you’re there.

Eventually, you manage to grab all the toiletries and a few basic clothing articles you need.

Then you pass an absolutely exaggerated candy store and Dew gets you all his favorites that he discovered while on tour. As you explore more of the mall, you munch on sweet and crunchy treats, taking in all the new things you would never find at home.

Several stores later, Dew suddenly stops, nearly making you stumble.

“What?”

“You haven’t kissed me in two minutes,” he complains.

“I kissed you like ten seconds ago.”

“No, you didn’t?”

“I didn’t?”

“No that one was too short, doesn’t count.”

“It totally counts.”

“No. You said you love how clingy and needy I am, deal with it.”

“Ohhh.” You smirk and let him pull you close, wrap your arms around his neck. “We should have just stayed in and skipped the mall.”

His hands find your ass. “Well, you needed to get clothes. Even though I’m still not sure what for.”

“Because you’re so obsessed with me you won’t let me go back.”

At that he smirks. “Ah, yea, I’m absolutely the only obsessed one here. Not the needy woman who woke me up in the middle of the night to fuck for the fourth time.”

“Because you kept rubbing against me in your sleep.”

“Keep telling yourself that, baby. It’s fine.”

“Awww, I’m sure it was horrible for you.”

He whimpers. “It was awful. I suffered for you.”

You smack his shoulder and he laughs, finally leaning in to kiss you. It’s not the most glamorous location to make out in, but you deepen the kiss anyway, too enamoured with him and his beautiful smile. He still tastes like candy but it’s odd not to feel his forked tongue or his fangs on your lips, no tail wrapping around your leg. You slide your hands down to his butt and into the back pockets of his jeans, pulling him closer. He moans.

When you eventually break away, you can’t help but grin.

Dew does too when he takes your hand and pulls you with him, walking down another row of stores you haven’t heard of. You definitely have to get more underwear and it’s a struggle not to let the ghoul by your side convince you to get some of the fancy lingerie. But you’re out for necessities, so you go for the simple multi-packs and look for ones that don’t cost a fortune.

In the end, you get a set of red lace lingerie anyway after having him whisper in your ear how he’s going to take it off of you in exquisite detail. Once you’re out of the store, you’re ready for lunch and so you go looking for something to eat.

On your way, you pass by a seating area with a bunch of rides for kids. There’s no one there apart from a mother with her little son who’s having the time of his life on a coin operated horse that’s neighing every few seconds. You also pass a bunch of vending machines for toys and sweets. You don’t really care about them but then you spot a gumball machine at the very end.

You stop in your tracks, effectively stopping Dew with you. “Aw, look, there’s rings inside!”

He furrows his brow. “Rings? Why is that exciting?”

“People get their loved one a ring like that. It’s a cheesy thing, really, but kinda sweet.”

“Should I get you one?”

“A ring?”

“Yes?”

You frown. “Dew… you know why they get those rings?”

“As a promise to love them forever. Because rings are eternal, right?”

He’s not looking at you but scanning the contents of the machine. One of his hands is lifted, finger moving up and down as he counts how many of the plastic balls he’d have to get for the desired content. His words ring in your ears, echo in your mind. As a promise to love them forever.

You struggle to speak normally, voice threatening to quiver any second. “Yes. I mean, usually to propose and marry but I guess that’s the… the idea behind it. To be together forever.”

“Cool, so, should I get you one, then? I don’t know how marrying works, but I think being together forever sounds neat.” He looks from the machine to your red, puffy eyes that are trying to hold back tears. “What’s up?”

The lump in your throat makes it hard to answer. “You want to… you want to love me forever?”

“Of course I do.” He furrows his brow, lifts his hands up to cup your face. “What’s the issue? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I don’t know,” you lie. In fact, you’re overwhelmed by how easy this comes to him, by how naturally he assumes you’re going to be together for so long. For eternity.

He smiles like he’s seeing right through you. “What, you still think I’m just messing around with you? That I don’t mean it?”

You shrug, face all scrunched up in emotion. Dew just lets out an aw and then he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he gently runs his hand over your back. He feels perfect, like he always does, and it’s the type of hug you never want to end. But the real issue is that this whole conversation stirred something inside of you that you can’t quite place, an intense, all-consuming feeling.

“Baby, when I say I love you, you need to know that I mean it,” he says. “You’re my everything. To me you’re it, my favorite person, and of course I want you forever.”

“You know forever for you means something different than for me?” you whisper into his neck, barely able to face the words.

„Do you think I won’t find your soul in the afterlife?“

Your heart shatters and puts itself back together at those words. You haven’t really thought too much about that before but now you have an idea why this feels like such a heavy admission. It makes you sob, cry like a baby.

“Oh, hey.” Dew tries to break away, to take a look at you, but you hold onto to him with all your strength. “Baby.”

You fight him and he relents, lets you cling to him and hide the mess on your face.

His voice is soft when he speaks. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.”

“So, good tears?”

“Yes, very good.”

“Okay.” He strokes your back, one of his hands sliding under your shirt for some skin contact. His fingertips feel hot against your spine, tickling your skin. But it grounds you, slowly drying the tears. When you break away, Dew wipes your cheeks, cradling your face in his slender hands.

“You okay?” he asks, worry written on his face. “I haven’t seen you cry so much ever. Are you sure this is all what you want?”

“Dew. I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby. So much. But it’s okay if…. I don’t know, if this is too much. Forever is a lot, especially for a human, I get it.”

“No, it’s… it’s all I could ever want. I just… I didn’t think I’d ever have it.”

He smiles softly, leans in for a gentle but firm kiss. “Well, you do. I won’t go anywhere, better get used to my pesky ass.” That makes you smile and as always, he grins at that. “My pretty girl.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true, you are.” He kisses your forehead, lips lingering for just a second longer than usual. “Imma get you that ring now.”

He takes your hand in his and places a coin in the machine with the other, turning the lever around. It takes him three tries to get the ring out that he wants. It’s a gold one with a red stone, obviously, and he adjusts it to your size until it fits snuggly onto your ring finger.

Then he looks at it, runs his finger over the plastic stone. “So, this is cheap as fuck.”

You laugh. “Yeah, but it’s cute.”

“Why do people get them if they suck?”

“Well…” You shrug. “It shows that it’s not about the material value. But the meaning behind it.”

Dew scoffs. “But it won’t last long. Not forever, at least.”

You take his hand in yours, letting them hang loosely between your bodies. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t want you to get me an expensive one for the gesture alone.”

“Wouldn’t be fore the gesture,” he says. “It would show everyone you’re mine. Isn’t that the purpose? Everyone sees you’re spoken for?”

“I think they’re aware I’m yours by now.” You laugh, thinking about all the times he nearly bit someone’s head off for flirting with you. “But we can think about it. You’d have to wear one, too.”

“Oh, really?”

You falter. “I mean… only if you want, obviously. It’s not like we’re really getting married, so it’s more symbolic.”

Dew frowns. “I don’t really get that.”

“It would only be a legal thing humans do, which… I don’t think would work with a ghoul. But I don’t really care about it,” you explain. “We can do our promises just to ourselves. I think I would like that.”

“Sweet.” He smiles. “So we’ll just swear to love each other forever and wear matching rings?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think there’s a store here somewhere that sells better ones?”

You smile to yourself. “I bet.”

✦ ✧ ✦

Half an hour later, sweaty, tired and feet aching but so incredibly happy, you climb back onto the bus. Almost everyone is already back, opening bags to assess all their new possessions. You’re barely fully inside before you’re cornered and pulled onto a seat right next to the ghoulettes. Sunshine holds up a new top that she bough but you don’t have any time to admire it before your attention is directed to Cirrus, who grabs your arm and lifts it up high.

“Hey, what’s that on your finger?”

“A ring.”

She squints. “That’s new.”

“Yea, um… we just got them.”

“We?” Swiss asks, joining in.

“Dew got one, too.”

The multi ghoul whistles at Dew who just joined you as well. “So, what? You got married in a mall? We’re not even in Vegas.”

“Not married, we just got matching rings,” you explain. “As a promise.”

“Ohhh, look at our little fire ghoul, he’s gone all soft,” Swiss teases. “He’s a little softie now. A sweet little marshmallow. I bet I can squish you between my fingers.”

Dew scowls, eyes narrowed to slits. “Say that again.”

“What if I do?”

“I’ll–“

“Stop it. I have an important question, “Aether interrupts. Everyone turns to look at him. “Can I be the best man?”

Dew sighs. “We’re not getting married. Can everyone calm down?”

“Well, now that you’re wearing rings you’re practically married, right?” Cumulus asks.

“I agree,” Sunshine says. “I think that counts. You put rings on each other’s fingers, that’s practically all humans do as well.”

“Congrats.” Aether takes Dew’s hand and shakes it exaggeratedly. “I’m so proud. I mean, technically, I think I was the one who got you two together. So really, you should thank me.”

“Hey, I gave him super helpful advice too,” Swiss says. “So I think I deserve a thanks as well.”

“You deserve a headbutt,” Dew says. “You gave the worst advice ever. It’s a surprise she chose to date me at all.”

“That says more about you than me, though,” Swiss argues.

You sigh, leaning back in your seat. Dew notices and flips Swiss off before squeezing himself between Cirrus and you. With his arm wrapped around you, you start to feel the exhaustion of today finally settling in your bones. So much happened and yet you feel oddly at peace. The next few weeks will be stressful and exciting, tour always is according to Dew, but you can’t wait to finally experience it all with him, eat red velvet donuts, buy stupid things in stores, share snacks and hotel beds and just… be with the ghoul you love more than anything.

“I love you, you little menace,” you whisper against his shirt collar, pressing a kiss to his neck.

He shudders at the contact, squeezing you closer. “I love you, too, little minx. Can’t wait to spend the rest of forever with you.”

✦ ✧ ✦

Thanks for reading! This concludes that little series. I’m sorry it took me so long to write for these two again. I really didn’t want to leave this out in the open for so long. In any case, I hope you enjoyed ♡

#dewdrop x reader #dewdrop fanfiction #dewdrop ghoul #the band ghost fanfiction #ziplocked love #dewdrop x female reader

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f1tyreslightmyfyre · 11 months ago

Text

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 6

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 6 Warnings: Stalker behavior; WWII references to Hitler and Nazi regime; non-graphic vampire violence

The scent of… cooking? Meat? Beef? Tickles your nose.

Blinking awake against your pillow, the smell fills your bedroom, so fresh and vivid. But you live alone – so who in the hell is currently in your kitchen? With a groan, you scrub a hand across your face before glancing at your phone. Fuck, you’re already so late for work – at least you don’t have a boss yet to report your tardiness.

Crawling out of bed with a yawn, you hear a faint rattle of metal pans in the kitchen and… is that also jazz music? Throwing on a sweatshirt over your sleepshirt and deciding your shorts are good enough, you grab your phone and step out into the living room.

Sunlight shafts through the windows and jazz music does indeed come from some source in your kitchen as a man stands over your stove. He’s not… well, you’ve never seen him before. His bronze skin paints a sharp contrast to your white kitchen cabinets, and the black hair atop his head is thick to match the visible hair on solid forearms. The broad line of his shoulders tapers down a strong back to a lean waist, and… good lord, did you not have enough thirsty thoughts last night?

“Good morning.” He calls out with Spanish-accented syllables without glancing over his shoulder. “After last night, you need food – and probably some of those.” He turns and fixes you with the most soulful brown eyes as he points at the end of your counter. An unfamiliar pill bottle rests next to a steaming cup of coffee, and your uneasiness grows.

Gripping your phone tighter, you cross your arms against your chest. “And what’s to stop me from calling the cops instead?”

The man gives a dismissive shrug of his shoulder before turning back to tend to the skillet on the stove. “Nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been arrested, nor the last probably.” With a spatula flip, a loud sizzling noise fills the air. “But I’m here to help – after George texted me last night, it’s the least that I could do.”

A chill runs down your spine – not because you’re surprised to meet yet a fourth vampire in as many days – but, well… you dart a sharp gaze to the windows. And no, you aren’t just imagining the glow of bright morning sun painting the city and shining on your windowsill. “But it’s morning – it’s daylight out.” You say, quickly turning back to keep a closer eye on him. “If you’re… well, like George – then shouldn’t you be turning into dust or something right now?”

The man snorts an amused chuckle as he turns and reaches for a plate. “You know, I don’t know if anyone’s ever tried it before? Or maybe they have and it’s our best kept secret? But a little sunscreen, a little sleep deprivation…” He pauses, waggling a brow as he turns back around. “Mr. Stoker didn’t get everything right.”

Something about it – about him – is undeniably charming and despite your better judgment, your unease starts to ebb. Or maybe that’s the exhaustion talking because fuck... it’s just too early for any and all of this. You shake your head, still waking up and trying to process just… well, everything.

“Come on,” the man prompts, waving you over to the counter. “Food will be finished soon, but coffee is already there.”

With a sigh, not knowing what else to do, you walk over to the counter. The steaming mug invites your temptation – even the sugar bowl rests next to it with a spoon. “How… how do you know I take sugar in my coffee?” You ask. “How do you even know how to make coffee? You can’t drink it.”

The man gives a vague tilt of his head. “I don’t, but my girlfriend does… and she says you can never go wrong offering sugar with coffee.”

An incredulous laugh bubbles in your throat. “Your girlfriend… as in, like… a mortal?”

He arches a challenging brow. “Is that really so hard to believe?”

You slump onto the counter-height stool, reaching for the coffee cup. “Honestly, I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Believe that food will make you feel better – and coffee, and one of those supplements.” He nods again at the bottle and turns back to the stove, switching off the heat. “If you’re going to let Charles feed from you, then you should learn about vitamin B12.”

Your brows pinch indignantly as a blush overtakes your cheeks. “I’m not going to let him… feed from me –”

“Oh, but clearly he did last night. His scent is everywhere.” The man says, busying himself at the counter – and why do you still not know his name?

Raising the mug to your lips, the coffee washes over your tongue and it – surprisingly, isn’t burned or too bitter. Nor is it too scalding, and you take a hearty gulp. “What’s your name?” You ask, licking a stray drop from your top lip. “I’m –”

“I know your name.” He cuts you off breezily as he turns around with a plate in hand. “My name is Carlos.”

Your brows furrow at the sight of a hamburger as he sets the plate in front of you. “Hamburgers aren’t breakfast food, you know.”

“Oh, but you’ll like this one – my girlfriend says it’s the best hangover cure.”

Another laugh catches in your throat. “There’s… that… I have so many questions.”

“After you eat, maybe.” He nods down at your plate as he reaches for the supplement bottle. “And I’m serious, but you’re not listening – treat blood loss like a hangover, yes? Hydrate, eat, and take B12.”

Two tablets shake from the bottle into his hand onto the plate and… honestly, the last thing you expected this morning was to wake up to a vampire nursemaid. Unsure what else to do and unable to deny the food’s heavenly aroma, you tuck into the burger. Flavors of savory mushroom, seared beef, buttered bread, tangy pickles, and spicy mayo burst on your tongue – and fuck, this burger is easily the best thing you’ve eaten in months. You take another greedy bite, realizing just how hungry you are.

Carlos hums a satisfied sound. “I’m glad you like it – I told you it was the best, yes?”

You dart your best annoyed glare up at him as you continue to chew.

He just smirks in return, looking far too casual and comfortable in your kitchen as he leans against the counter in jeans and a red polo shirt. Setting the burger down, you reach for your coffee as he reaches for his phone. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” you say. “So, why are you here cooking me a hamburger and telling me to take B12 supplements?”

“You should read this first.” He says as he sets his phone on the counter and slides it over to you.

A news article dated three weeks ago dominates the screen.

NAZI TREASURE MAP WITH RUMORED LOCATION OF LOOTED WORLD WAR II-ERA TREASURES STOLEN

The National Archives of Austria is reeling from a theft on the eve of their annual Open Access Day. As part of the Archives’ 2023 event, over 1,300 pages of previously classified or confidential World War II documents were planned to be made public. However, at least one document of interest will have to wait until it is recovered by authorities.

The stolen document is a map that is said to contain clues to three sites of never-found Nazi treasure that is rumored to be buried in a radius around Salzburg. When Austria was invaded in March 1938, the Oesterreichische Nationalbank had about 100 tons of gold. That was almost four times as much as the Germans had at the time. This golden treasure - in addition to watches, jewelry, jewels and more - was claimed by the Reichsbank and relocated exclusively to fund the Nazi war machine. As Hilter’s army swept Europe, looting more conquered countries of their riches and cultural treasures, the storage locations in the relative safety of Austria provided an ideal repository.

With the literal translation of “Salt-Fortress”, Salzburg’s natural Alpine surroundings contributed to its rich history in salt extraction and gold mining. The extensive network of underground mines and associated caverns provides plenty of opportunities for burying treasure in well-protected, well-isolated areas.

The theft of this map from the Austrian National Archives on the eve it was to be released to the public raises more questions than answers for investigators. Is someone trying to keep the location of the hidden treasure underwraps? Is the map accurate in its depiction of ‘x marks the spot’?

“To this day,” Franz Walzer, World War II historian says. “Approximately €6 billion from the Reichsbank remains unaccounted for, in total. But when you look at Austria - at the more famous hide sites like Salzwelten Altaussee, Austria’s largest salt mine - only approximately €8 million worth of treasure was recovered. If you ignore the priceless artwork and precious gems and focus on the gold bullion - about €123 million of Nazi gold remains unaccounted for. Is all that gold still resting - to this day - in some hidden cavern or cave in the mountainous terrain surrounding Salzburg?” The historian’s eyes twinkle with excited glee. “It’s certainly possible!”

You blink up from Carlos’ phone, trying to understand it. So what if a supposed World War II Nazi treasure map was stolen from some museum? How could that possibly have anything to do with -

Charles’ voice left no room for doubt. “I’ve been undead since 1940.”

“1940…?” You echoed. “Shit, that’s… World War II.”

“Yes, it was.”

The memory slaps you, but it also makes your brow furrow. Charles is Monegasque, not Austrian or German. And George…was he also around during World War II? But why would he possibly care about some old map? Surely, neither of them actually think that a hoard of Nazi gold just waits for them to discover…

Do they?

Too many thoughts cloud your mind for so little coffee, and you shake your head, setting the phone on the counter and reaching for your burger.

Carlos reaches out for his phone. “Toto says that Seb stole the map to give it to Charles, and what Toto says, George takes as gospel. Especially since Seb and Charles still remain… close.”

You nod incredulously, chewing a bite. “Right… I don’t know a ‘Seb’ or a ‘Toto’.” You say, arching a brow with mouth half-full of food. “But, seriously though… Toto? Like the band? Or the dog in the movie?”

The corner of Carlos’ mouth lifts. “He hated when that film was released – no one who quotes it to him tends to live much longer.”

“Sounds like, in his case, his bite is worse than his bark?” You chuckle softly as Carlos just stares down at you, crossing his arms against his chest. Heat burns your cheeks as you raise the burger for another bite. “Sorry… bad joke.”

“Then, you’re lucky that I at least find you funny.” He deadpans. “And the fact that you’re cracking poor jokes tells me that Charles is too busy playing mysterious and George hasn’t insulted your intelligence by assuming your ignorance.”

“But it is ignorance.” Indignation flares in your tone. “At least, up until now – assuming you’re saying what I think you’re saying. That Charles has some World War II treasure map that George wants for himself?” The words sound no less ridiculous as they ring in your ears, but honestly, life has stopped being normal since that first meeting with Charles Leclerc, III.

“That is what I’m saying. Except, George doesn’t think that Charles has it – he thinks that you have it.”

Your eyes widen as you nearly choke on your coffee. “That’s impossible – Charles has given me nothing. And… seriously, if Charles does have this treasure map, wouldn’t he and Max be in Austria trying to find it? Especially if it is millions, or even billions…”

“Is it possible that Charles believes there’s no truth to the map? Is it possible that he’s given you something and you just don’t know it? Is it possible that he’s had a change of heart over the decades?”

You arch an unimpressed brow. “You must give some credit to all of those theories, otherwise, I doubt you would be standing here in my kitchen.”

Again, the corner of Carlos’ mouth lifts, though this time it has a distinctly wistful edge. “I only saw one storage site for myself – the biggest, in fact. The Altaussee Salt Mines were said to contain nearly 8,000 paintings, drawings and sculptures, and truly… the collection was unbelievable – stunning, even for someone of my age.” His gaze hardens with memory. “But Charles and Max weren’t staring at it with the same wonder – it wasn’t new to them when I met them. By that point, they already had a system, you see.”

An incredulous laugh catches in your throat. “So, now Charles is an art thief?”

“He wasn’t easy to frighten off – but we did our best to hold the mines until the Allied troops arrived. And by July 1945, they reported the recovery of 6,577 pieces of artwork. But what happened to the other 1,423 works remains… a mystery.”

“So… Charles and Max stole 1,423 pieces of artwork from that mine?” A low throbbing ache starts to build in the base of your skull. You take another sip of coffee, hoping to chase it away. “And let me guess,” you continue when Carlos says nothing. “He’s holding it for ransom? Or he’s a black-market dealer of fine art, hmm?”

“Have you ever heard of Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man? Or da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine?”

Those names… wait. Why did those names seem familiar? Hadn’t you just read…? A chill runs along your skin as you glance back at Carlos. “I read something in passing… something about those paintings recently being found….”

“Two of Charles’ most recent sales,” Carlos pauses as he nearly rolls his eyes. “At least he has the decency to have the paintings restored before he takes them to market.”

“But this is all speculation.” You counter as your brow furrows. “You have no proof of any of this… right? If you did, you’d probably have him arrested by now… or staked, or… something.”

The corner of Carlos’ mouth curls with a disconcerting edge. “If the wisdom of immortality teaches anything, it’s the value of covering one’s tracks.”

“Or falsifying documents.” You hear yourself say as more puzzle pieces start to fall into place. “Obviously, Charles has a paper trail – there’s one at the office from grandfather to father to him… though, they’re probably all just versions of himself, right?”

Carlos waggles his brow in a show of approval. “You see? You’re already beginning to see.” He looks down to his phone, tapping the screen and the gentle jazz refrains fall silent. With a nod, he glances back up to you as he shoves his phone into a pocket and heads for the door. “And, now… once you finish that delicious burger, the rest is up to you.”

1945

“We’re close on this one.” George’s voice carries in the night as moonlight glints off mineral crystal formations. “I can feel it.”

“We don’t have many options left.” Carlos agrees as they traverse deeper into the darkened tunnel. “The soldiers have all pointed us to somewhere in these mountains.”

“And we can look for eternity if that’s what it takes.” George says as he scans the tunnel overhead. “Europe’s cultural heritage is in tatters and we cannot allow that to stand. Without art, without beauty, without reminders of the history so valiantly fought for - what is all this destruction truly worth?” He turns back, offering Carlos a cheeky grin. “It’s like you told me - to keep finding beauty no matter how ugly the world becomes.”

Carlos nods as he scans around the tunnel. Old mining remnants surround them - wire cables, chain and pulley rails, discarded refuse. The air hangs heavy with stale salt and rusting metal as they navigate deeper into the abandoned mine. Humanity has permanently scarred the Totes Gebirge long before either of the great wars erupted. But as the Allies continue to advance towards the nearly defeated German borders, nothing is safe from the destructive forces in retreat who stop at nothing - absolutely nothing - to leave behind anything more than flames and ashes.

And if the great art and literature of the European nations reduces to charred out husks, then what? Will that be the ultimate victory of the Axis Powers despite their defeat?

Sounds emerge from deeper in the tunnel - footsteps, voices and… shuffling? Movement? He catches Geroge’s gaze as they both freeze, listening with rapt attention. Even for their supernatural hearing, the voices are just far enough away to be unintelligible, but at least two distinct voices are audible.

George’s mouth curls with a hopeful grin. “Well, that’s the most promising we’ve ever heard.”

Carlos nods in silent agreement, motioning forward and to the tunnel on the right. George falls silently into place beside him as they move down the corridor, taking care to mask their movements. Even this deep behind enemy lines, they both still wear Allied uniforms that make anyone in a Nazi uniform jumpy with their trigger fingers. And the less bullets that Carlos has to dig out of his skin, the better.

The voices - speaking English - grow more pronounced as they venture down a sloping tunnel, following the rusted remains of ore cart rails.

“No, even without the signature, it’s one of Hals’.” A heavily French - or maybe Italian? - accented voice carries softly. “It’s a shame, really,” the man continues, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “We’ll have to mend it.”

“How exactly do we do that?” Another voice with a harsher, sharper accent asks. One that Carlos can’t immediately place. “Are you sure it’s even worth anything?”

“How dare you.” The first voice scolds almost playfully. “Frans Hals was practically the first person to prove that visible brushstrokes were a thing of beauty and not a flaw of the artist. See, just here?” A pause follows as Carlos and George round another corner to see the faint glow of yellow light ahead. “He’s been called the ‘Manet of his day’ for that.”

“If you say it’s true, then it probably is.”

The Frenchman chuckles softly. “Of course it is. I’m always right.” The shuffling of wood scraping against stone echoes in the tunnel. “Take this one up and I’ll start on the next one.”

Pressing up against the stone wall, Carlos motions for George to draw back into the shadows. He takes a silent step forward, just rounding the tunnel’s opening and glimpsing the scene beyond. An electric torch glows from where it’s pointed towards the stone ceiling, casting a faint glow over… dios mio.

The expansive collection of artwork, statues, books, crates, chests, and tapestries eclipses anything Carlos has ever seen in his undead existence. Countless great treasures of European history fill the cavern and disappear into other shadowy corridors, safely hidden away while destruction rages above. He can’t even begin to fathom the immense value of such a treasure pile, but there has to be enough here to endlessly fund a war machine - or rebuild a global power - if this falls into the wrong hands.

And the sight of the lone man in civilian clothes raises Carlos’ immediate suspicion. His dark brown curls are tousled from exertion as he leans over an open crate, inspecting the contents and making studious notes in a leather-bound ledger. The second man isn’t present, but if these two men are slowly removing this vast collection from the abandoned salt mine, then maybe more men await them on the surface.

Carlos steps out of the shadows. “Good evening.”

Sharp, startled green eyes dart up to connect with his, and Carlos’ brow furrows with curiosity. One vampire recognizes another, and he almost doesn’t believe it. Or at least, he stopped believing in coincidences long ago. But this green-eyed vampire is young… so very young to be so far behind German lines, and judging from the astonished look on his face, he hasn’t met too many other vampires to understand the power of supernatural instinct.

Carlos breaks from the stranger’s gaze and motions George forward.

Another soft gasp comes from the vampire across the room as his gaze meets George’s. The tall Briton shakes his head with an incredulous smile as he speaks. “Blimey… is this… does this always happen whenever you meet another vampire? This instant recognition?”

“The undead see what the living fail to notice.” Carlos simply answers before turning back towards the other vampire. “What’s your name, young one?”

The vampire arches an indignant brow. “If I’m undead, as you say - then you can’t trust the age of my face, can you?”

Carlos dips his head, shooting a glare from under his lowered brow. “Your disrespectful behavior tells me that you’re even younger than I thought.” He takes another step forward, watching the unknown vampire close the ledger protectively. “Tell me, where is your sire?”

The green-eyed vampire eyes him warily. “And why should I? We were here first, and you are trespassing.”

George huffs an indignant laugh. “Us? Trespassing?” He shakes his head as a grin teases the corner of his mouth. “Tell me, mate, is this not a German Army storage depot? And if you’re not a soldier, then we outrank you.”

“Your uniforms mean nothing here,” the other vampire scoffs with amusement. “Especially since we’re on the same side.”

Carlos runs his gaze down the man’s lean form. “You’re French, no?”

The other vampire huffs indignantly. “Come on, mate, I’m Monegasque.”

George’s face piques with curiosity. “But Monaco is neutral.”

“So is Spain, but your friend there still wears a uniform.”

“He’s not my friend,” George counters sharply. “He’s my sire, and you will show him due respect.”

“Due respect?” The other vampire answers cheekily. “Like we’re… we’re lords of old? Or dukes with titles?”

“Due respect,” George clarifies. “By standing aside and letting this vast collection of history be dealt with properly.”

The green-eyed gaze narrows sharply. “And just what does that mean? How do you know that we’re not dealing with it properly?”

Carlos shakes his head, glancing around the collection. “Quite clearly, you have some knowledge about art, but your other companion doesn’t sound nearly so enlightened. Now perhaps, you’re doing the right thing and returning these treasures to their rightful homelands… or perhaps, you’re doing something else if you speculate about their worth.”

A shrewd light sparks in those green eyes even as indignation tightens the line of his mouth. “How dare you suggest -”

George steps forward, thumping his foot against a crate to cut the other vampire off. “Oh, he’s not suggesting, mate. We heard you talking… and if you think you can sell off these treasures, then you’re just a war profiteer. And there are laws against those.”

“Laws of the mortals, hmm?” The other vampire shakes his head. “You must be even younger than me if your mortal construct is still so strong.”

Carlos’ gaze narrows. “Mortal construct… it’s been a long time since I’ve heard that phrase.”

The other vampire shrugs. “It’s what my sire calls it. And if my being so young is so bad, then you don’t get to judge when you have a mate that’s even younger than me.”

George hisses. “You need to learn some manners.”

“George,” Carlos whispers in warning. The situation already hangs by a tenuous thread and he doesn’t need two new vampires letting the venom get the better of them, succumbing to their aggressive, uncontrollable urges. While Carlos is certainly more experienced to incapacitate them both, there are too many treasures that would be collateral damage.

Carefully, Carlos glances over at the other vampire, whose face has hardened like an animal on the defensive. “Everyone just needs to keep calm,” he says softly, keeping his voice even. “We’re not here to threaten you, but we probably do need to come to an arrangement.”

The other vampire shakes his head. “There’s already an arrangement. If you’re just jealous that you didn’t get here first, then go find yourself another cave, mate.”

“Jealous?” George sneers. “What makes you think anything about this has to do with us?” He motions around at the vast collection. “If you think your immortality gives you the right to profit off centuries of human history, then you’ve already lost your way - you fail to see the beauty despite the ugliness of the world.”

“On the contrary,” the other vampire replies. “It’s because I see the beauty that the opportunity exists. War created it, after all - like it creates many other opportunities. But this here? Nothing more than the opportunity to save beauty from falling into obscurity.”

“By taking it for yourself.” George counters with disgust. “Rather than turning it over to the proper authorities to redistribute among the nations?”

The other vampire’s lip curls with snark. “I can’t help it if there’s no proper authorities here.”

George moves faster than Carlos sees it coming. He leaps over the nearest crate and leverages his taller height against the unknown vampire. The sounds of their struggle fill the cavern as they crash against a wooden crate, splintering the boards against stone. Carlos swiftly rounds the crates, intent to stop the clash when loud footsteps stomp down an adjacent corridor.

“What the hell is this?” A taller man with dirty blonde hair and the unknown accent glares down at Carlos.

Carlos meets his gaze, disappointed to encounter another vampire so young, so tenuously in control of his instincts. He squares his shoulders and hardens his gaze. “Stand down, young one.” He locks his eyes to the taller vampire, raising a hand to emphasize his warning. “You won’t win if you try.”

The blue-eyed vampire seems to consider the gravity of Carlos’ words before something in Carlos’ face convinces him to yield. Carlos nods his approval before turning back to focus on George. The Briton has the other vampire on his back, nearly pinned against the floor with one hand as he brandishes a jagged wooden board in the other. Carlos’ face falls with horror as he draws a purposeful breath.

“Stop that!” A new voice bellows, filling the cavern and stunning everyone near motionless. “For goodness sake, stop that right now!”

Carlos turns toward the new arrival and his face brightens with a long forgotten memory. Sebastian wears his hair differently these days – hell, so does Carlos – but time has done nothing to diminish the generous mischief that always danced in his eyes. The older vampire comes to a stop as their gazes connect and fond recognition warms his face. Carlos never doubted that he would indeed see Sebastian again but finding him in an Austrian cave filled with spoils of war never even crossed his mind.

Carlos nods at the elder vampire, reciting the customary greeting. “Sebastian Vettel, direct of Toto Wolff.”

Sebastian bends at the waist in a half-bow so reminiscent of his sire. “Carlos Sainz, also direct of Toto Wolff.”

Carlos returns the half-bow on instinct. At least, Toto taught both him and Sebastian some manners after their respective transformations.

“Wait…” The Monegasque’s voice sounds over Carlos’ shoulder. “You two know each other…?”

Sebastian sighs in vague annoyance, turning his gaze towards the floor. “Yes, Charles – we have for centuries.” He shakes his head in disappointment. “Come on, get up off the floor. And you,” he motions at George. “Put that board down. You’re not a barbarian.” He turns back to Carlos with another disappointed shake of his head. “There is so much about this current generation that I don’t understand.”

Carlos offers a weak shrug. “War makes of man what it will.”

“Since when did you get so poetic?”

Carlos arches an indignant brow. “Since when did you turn progenies and teach them so little manners?”

A familiar subversive edge lifts the corner of Sebastian’s mouth as he chuckles softly. “Are you going to rat me out to Toto, hmm? You’ll forgive me if there’s not a lot of time to teach bowing and scraping in the middle of the biggest global conflict the world has ever seen.”

Carlos’ mouth pinches to a tight line even though he can’t deny the validity of the statement. He hasn’t exactly done the best job of educating George on vampiric customs, either – but for the moment, they have bigger problems to solve.

He glances over to see George, now standing and brushing dirt off his uniform, but the tense set of his shoulders still remains. The shorter Monegasque – Charles – stands near the sandy-blonde haired vampire as they glare at Sebastian with open uncertainty.

“We can save the bowing and scraping for later,” Carlos agrees at length, scanning around the cavern. “What are you doing with all these war spoils?”

Sebastian glances around, seemingly bored. “They certainly don’t belong in the hands of the defeated. Such treasures are not to be ransomed or bartered.”

“Then, what are you doing with them?”

“I think Charles already told you, no?” Sebastian glances over at his progeny. “Just because these cultural riches don’t deserve to be bargained by the losing side doesn’t mean that they should fade into obscurity.”

“So, then you’re saving them,” Carlos ventures. “Until the Allied forces arrive to properly see to their rightful return.”

Sebastian’s face darkens. “Mortals made this mess of the world. How can they possibly be trusted to set it fully to rights?”

Carlos’ eyes widen. “You can’t interfere with that. You know we can’t!” He motions around at all the boxes and crates. “All this here needs to run its natural course – looting it from the looters just makes you…” he pauses as words escape him. “Well, it just makes you-”

“A liberator?”

“No,” Carlos shakes his head. “I was trying to think of the word, but I could only come up with looter. Which isn’t wrong, just redundant.”

The older vampire takes a step forward, shrugging his shoulders. “A looter just takes advantage of the distractions of war. But this conflict is coming to an end. The Nazis are on the run… err, how does the saying go? Without the head of the snake, the body dies?” He pauses, surveying out over the vast collection. “And this? All of this…” He spreads his arms wide to encompass it all. “Deserves to be free among the living world.”

“Then, we’ll wait with you,” Carlos says, stepping up to Sebastian’s side. “Until the Allied Forces break the final lines and peace is declared. Because yes, each nation deserves to have their heritage returned.”

Sebastian’s face darkens with memories that someone the age of his physical appearance shouldn’t possess. “But do the nations truly deserve it? Do they truly understand the blood and sacrifice behind so many of these so-called relics? How could they possibly…” He reaches a hand out, brushing the edge of a gold gilded cross that protrudes from a crate. “They gloss over history’s ugliness to only see the beauty…”

Carlos shakes his head, almost sadly. “Cynicism doesn’t suit you, Sebastian.”

“‘Cynicism’, he says,” Sebastian repeats with a shake of his head as he rounds another crate. “How little you truly understand, Carlos… and here, I thought Toto had done a better job.”

“He gave us both our starts, but he doesn’t dictate how this ends.” Carlos takes another step, keeping Sebastian in close range. “So, we can just wait together… to see how this ends…”

Sebastian continues to leisurely stroll. “I’m afraid that the cave is a bit too crowded for that. And we have much to do.”

Carlos narrows his gaze warily as he steps forward, and a faint scent hits his nose. Something metallic, something faintly sulfuric… the telltale scent of oxidized silver plating. Another step forward brings more of the pungent scent to his nose, and he doesn’t dare look at the crate in question. If he can smell it, then Sebastian does, too, and drawing more attention to it won’t help him. His eyes meet Sebastian’s, and he instantly tenses as the knowledge sinks in.

Carlos wets his top lip. “So, then we have an impasse… no?”

“Yes, an impasse.” Sebastian confirms, shoving both his hands in his pockets. “And with Charles and Max, we outnumber you - and we were here first.”

George growls low in his throat. “If you think we’re leaving, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

Charles hisses softly. “And you really think you can win against the three of us?”

George shakes his head. “I would have had you earlier were it not -”

Carlos doesn’t listen to the rest as he makes a decision and lunges forward. The element of surprise stays on his side against the elder vampire as he seizes him and hurtles him towards the crate of silver-plated treasures. Wood boards splinter as Sebastian crashes through it and a waterfall of ancient crusader coins tumble out. Sizzling smoke rises from the crate along with Sebastian’s agonized cries as the silver burns on contact.

“Perdóname, Sebastian.” Carlos whispers as Charles and the sandy-blonde haired vampire rush over towards him. “You have two choices,” Carlos says, fixing them with a hard stare. “Help him or fight me - only one of these you will succeed at.”

Charles’ mouth curls to a sneer despite the fearful concern in his eyes. “Tu es un connard!” He then cries in furious French, baring his fangs even as he rushes over to the crate to help. “If you weren’t already dead-”

“Yes, I understand,” Carlos deadpans, feeling little remorse as the two young vampires flank Sebastian and pull him - still smoking - free from the crate. Mercifully, he appears to have passed out from the pain, and truly, Carlos doesn’t envy him. Those wounds will take time to heal, but they will heal - in retrospect, it’s rather like the war-torn world above him. With peace will come healing. He nods towards the tunnel from which Sebastian entered. “Take him to Toto - once Sebastian wakes up, he’ll know how.”

The taller vampire scowls at him with an icy look. “You’re a right prick, you know that, mate?””

Carlos’ face sinks under the weight of five centuries worth of existence. “Live long enough, and you’ll make the hard decisions, too, which no one will ever thank you for.” Again, he nods towards the tunnel. “He’ll do better without the scent of silver in the air, now go. And don’t come back.”

A look of helpless, conflicted anger passes between the two young vampires before they heed Carlos’ words. With Sebastian braced between them, burned arms slung across their shoulders, they shuffle towards the mouth of the tunnel and disappear into the darkness.

Only then does Carlos allow himself to relax and he catches George’s gaze. His progeny regards him with dark, suspicious curiosity as if his whole fundamental understanding of Carlos has shifted. And perhaps it has. It will do the younger vampire good to learn that one doesn’t live an immortal life without getting one’s hands dirty. Or turning on a centuries’ old friend to safeguard humanity’s legacy.

At length, George shakes his head slowly. “Crikey, that… I didn’t know silver could do that.” He gives Carlos a wide berth as he gingerly steps closer to the damaged crate and spilled pile of silver coins bearing the cross of the Crusades.

Carlos gave an answering, almost surprised shake of his head. “Silver causes burns outright, but holy silver? It’s even more harmful.”

George looks back at him carefully. “Of all the crates here, how… how did you know that specific one had silver in it?”

Blinking up from the crate, Carlos sweeps his gaze around the room. “There is much that you still have to learn, but first, we should see about securing this cave. We don’t know when the Allies will finally get here, and we can’t afford to have someone else pick up where Sebastian left off.”

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Tag List: @fictional-l0v3r @hollie911

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stevenbasic · 1 year ago

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GITJ Post 340: A Saturday at Melissa's. p15 (11:18 pm)

I was laying in Melissa’s lap, her hand idly stroking my hair as we were apparently waiting for someone to bring me a cup of milk. She wanted to settle my stomach before bed, and forgive me I was just so enthralled by this gorgeous young woman (and exhausted by my evening) that I didn’t complain at all. Yeah, it was emasculating, embarrassing, even infantilizing, the treatment I was receiving. Certainly it was not the actions and behavior a semi-successful, almost-middle-aged physician should be engaging in around his employees. This whole day - though for some reason I only seemed to remember bits and pieces of it, - was full of misbehavior. But,goddamnit, I’d had a tough couple months so I was, uh…allowing myself these indulgences. After my divorce, these young women were becoming my friends, my new, uh, social circle. Melissa was a simple girl, and I thought I should be able to enjoy the simple pleasures she could provide and the, um, benefits of my new friends. That’s, at least, what I was telling myself. In reality the memories of even just the last hour or so in Melissa’s bed made my skin crawl a bit. What had she just done with me?? I knew she was strong but…whoah.

Since I’d woken she’d cleaned me up, dutifully, using some of the wet wipes she kept in her side table. She’d allowed me to gather some sheets around myself, in a modesty that she would call silly. Someone was on their way up and the last thing they needed to see was their boss naked, right? Melissa was still in her thin white robe, pulled tight over her young, bulging chest.

It was Shanette that came in, finally, with mug of milk in a strangely familiar pink mug. She shut the door behind herself, the latch clicking softly. In a set of pink pajamas, decorated with red hearts, she looked our way and smiled warmly. “Are you guys ready?” she asked, and began to step towards us.

“Yes!!” Melissa sang, wriggling a bit in her seat against the headboard of her queen-sized bed. She adjusted me on her lap a bit, sitting me up a touch. I brought my hands down to the sheets, making sure I was still covered.

“I brought a nice warm cup of milk for youuuuu…!” Shanette cooed, in a little song herself that already began to indulge my deepest fantasies. Shanette, more than any of the others, embodied a maternal charm that struck some deep chords within me. They were notes so many women around me were learning to play, but Shanette knew the tune well already, and with her now being more than six feet tall at this point and built nearly as bosomy as Melissa, it made her music hard to ignore. She was, just like Melissa, a dream girl to men of this new generation, who all seemed eager to relax, regress and let mommy take over. What she and her new boyfriend did together? I shudder to think.

She handed the mug to me. It was warm, as if it had been heated for me and it read, “It’s Not Easy Being Queen” on its side…again something that jogged a memory. But I didn’t have too long to muse on Melissa’s Mom’s coffee mug collection before - one hand behind my head for support, the other under the mug - Melissa urged the milk towards my lips. Laying in her lap like I was, I was sort of in an awkward position to drink but she was here to help.

Mmmmmm it smelled nice, the warm milk, and once more a sense of deja vu hit me. I felt the sudden, unconscious urge to take a nice big drink opening my mouth wide only to be stymied before I could even get a taste.

“Little sips until it cools,” Melissa stopped me, hand taking hold of the mug from below.

“Yes hun don’t burn yourself,” Shanette agreed, looking down at us from the bedside. She and Melissa shared a glance, and it was only when I nodded in understanding that Melissa slowly released her hold on the cup.

More carefully, now, I put lips to rim, tilted the mug up, and took a tentative sip. Mmmmm wow, it tasted great. Like, somehow, just what I needed. A familiar taste, an unusual brand maybe, something with a particular type of sweetness. Immediately I wanted more. I looked up at Melissa. “I-it’s not that hot…” I said.

“Shhh,” Melissa said, her hand once again under the mug to help guide it, “Just be careful.” She let me take a sip, a drink, and then under her and Shanette’s dutiful gaze I braved a small gulp.

I spilled a bit.

“Tsk tsk,” came Melissa’s little scold, as she used the hem of her robe to dab my lips and chin. I shrank a bit in embarrassment in her lap as she took the mug in hand again.

“Do you want to help me feed it to him?” Melissa asked Shanette.

“Of course!”

“I-I’m okay..” I immediately protested, though Shanette had already begun to climb onto the bed anyway. First with one knee, then the other.

“Here why don’t we use this…” she suggested, reaching back and taking hold of the plastic straw in the old cup of milk on the nightstand leftover from last night. As she turned, twisting at the waist and causing her pajama top to bunch and tighten around her chest, I was able to appreciate the size of her big breasts. She turned back around, slid the straw into the mug of milk, and Melissa presented it to me again. I looked up at her.

“That’s right, sweetie,” Melissa urged, “Suck.”

“Suck?” I asked.

“Suck,” answered Shanette, crawling in closer to us and leaning in now, directing the straw to my lips. The little red hearts of her silken pajamas were right in front of my eyes, stretched tautly over twin swells. She was obviously braless, with the faintest hint of a nipple poking through the thin fabric. Cleavage of chocolate skin peeked out from her neckline, beckoning softly. Her buttons strained to contain her, gaps appearing between each of them with slivers of shadowed, deeper cleavage tempting me further. So much boob, but if I turned to my right I was faced with even more - Melissa’s enormous chest ballooned above me in her white robe.

And so I sucked, mmmmm, the warm milk through the straw, enjoying its creamy sweetness that tasted like a memory. When had I grown to like milk so much? Something you’ve taught me, I guess.

Suck, suck, suck. I pulled eagerly at my drink, cheeks collapsing around the straw in suction. With nowhere else to look my eyes drifted naturally from the chests of Shanette to Melissa and back again. Suck, suck, suck.

“There you go, that’s a good boy for Auntie Shanette,” Melissa would coo, when my eyes went forward to the stretched red hearts.

“…and for Melissa…” said Shanette, when I looked back and up.

“…for all of us, for me,” continued Melissa, “for your big mommy-girlfriend.”

At that, my eyes went wide, my mouth parting from around the straw. Shanette giggled, chest jiggling, and reached in to caress my cheek.

“Tell him, Missy,” she said.

Melissa giggled herself. “That’s what I want to be,” Melissa purred, fingers lazily caressing my hair, my scalp, the back of my head, “your mommy girlfriend. Do you know what that means?

“You do, don’t you?” Shanette queried. Yes, it was a common trope these days, one you read about frequently. Just a look at Urban Dictionary will tell you that a mommy-girlfriend is a woman that dates men who love being treated like an incapable child. These men are treated to home cooked meals, their clothes are bought or picked out for them, their rent is paid and food is served to them on a silver platter. When she gets home from work she uses her seemingly endless available time to listen to his problems and concerns and makes sure that her boy-man is taken care of. To me, it seemed that more and more women were desperate to find secure love and were happy providing this sort of affection to these immature men. Being fully supported and controlled by a woman can make a man feel safe, and in these weird times it’s probable that they’d never leave.

“I, uh, yeah…” I agreed, shamefacedly. Was this me? Was this her?

They both saw the confusion on my face. “I want to teach you how to accept it,” Melissa offered gently, “Shanette’s here to help.”

“Wh-wh-??” I tried, failing to really comprehend what was going on.

“Shhhh, hun,” Shanette stopped me, moving the straw back to my lips, “Drink up.”

And so, with a bit more anxiety forming on my brow, I set back to sucking. More milk, more warm milk filled my mouth and fed me sweetly. The girls, for their part, cooed and clucked down at me dreamily, surrounding me with their softness and entrancing perfumes. I knew Melissa and Shanette had been roommates in the past. Was this something they’d done before? With other men? Was this some sort of weird, intimate game of theirs?

“You’re getting close to done now, aren’t you sweetie?” Melissa asked, as the mug had grown light.

“I think he is,” answered Shanette.

“I think it’s so sexy,” continued Melissa, with a crinkled nose and dimpled smile, “watching you drink breastmilk.”

I sputtered, I goggled, I looked up at Shanette.

“Shhh shhh shh…it’s not hers..!” Melissa laughed. My eyes got even wider and shot up to her with even greater fear. “Or haha, omigod mine!”

Jesus!!! Her assurance brought me some thin relief that nonetheless quickly vaporized. What the actual fuck! What…whose…had I been drinking?!?

“It’s Katarina’s,” Melissa explained, voice calm, “And don’t worry, you’ve had some before…”

?!!? Gah what?!?!

“Don’t you remember?” Shanette giggled.

“N-n-no..!” I sputtered, “I honestly don’t!” But, wait…did I?

“You really liked it…”

“When did-?”

“Earlier tonight, sweetie,” Melissa continued patiently, “when you were a little out of sorts, you took a little taste.”

“From…?!?” Please don’t tell me that I…!

“...from a mug, this same one..!” Melissa laughed, “Don’t worry!”

“Lots of us did haha!” Shanette followed, “The girl makes enough to feed a whole family. We had to try it!”

”But, I have to say,” Melissa smiled, “you seemed the most eager, little man…”

“Oh my god…” What the?!!? What had come over me? Had I been drunk?? Why couldn’t I really recall-

“Maybe somebody took some video…”

“And Kat really liked seeing you drink it,” Shanette said, “All the other girls loved it too.”

”Especially me!” Melissa sang, joggling me on her lap, up and down, “It gives me so many fun ideas…” She giggled, she wiggled her chest at me.

I realized, laying there, how much I had become the shrunken recipient for all of their heightened maternal impulses, for all of these mommy-urges women were apparently getting everywhere. Yes, yes, this was the trend in the world, the hot new thing, and apparently I was becoming a victim of fashion. What the fuck was I supposed to do? It was, in the end, ridiculous but…jesus…so fucking hot.

Shanette and Melissa urged me to drink more.

“It’ll make you big and strong.”

“Or small and skinny.”

“Haha omigod shorter…”

“…weaker…”

“…tiny…”

“…just like we want you!! <giggle!>”

Oh, lord. Yes, they were just joking but goddddd. Suck suck suck. They were joking they were joking they were just joking but my heart beat red in my face.

Finally, I was done. The girls, apparently, were satisfied. Shanette took the mug, turned again to put it on the nightstand.

Melissa stroked my bare chest. ”So,” she asked me, “Bedtime?”

Before I could answer, though, Shanette had leaned in to whisper something to Melissa. Her eyes widened a moment later, and they both looked down at me and giggled.

What’s going on? “What’s going o-?”

Suddenly, I was forced silent as Melissa raised a finger to her lips and gave me a shushing motion from above, peering down at me in good humor. Good humor that made her eyes sparkle when she saw how easily she’d shushed me.

“Go brush your teeth,” she told me, already moving to help me sit up onto the mattress from her lap, “You can use the one in my bathroom.”

My eyes went wide again. “G-go brush my teeth? With y-your toothbrush?” I responded as I sat, repeating her instructions like a small child struggling with what he was told to do, simple as it was.

A brief laugh came from them then a bigger smile formed on Melissa’s face. “I would brush your teeth myself to make sure they’re cleaned properly,” she said, in her best house-frau voice, “but I’m holding back…for now.” She watched my face. Yes, I’m listening. “But you are to brush, floss and use mouthwash.”

“Ok, but…” I looked at Shanette, I looked down at myself, I looked across the room to where the bathroom lay. Then I looked back at Melissa. “I’m naked.”

The girls both giggled.

“It’s okay, hun,” Shanette offered, “I’ll close my eyes.” Mischief wrinkling her dimpled cheeks, she lowered her long-lashed lids and put her hands over her eyes.

“Now go. Scoot,” Melissa directed me, pulling back the sheets and exposing me as she pushed at my lower back from behind, “Go brush your teeth. It’s bedtime.”

Hopping off the mattress - god, my feet don’t even touch the floor - I jogged across the room towards Melissa’s en-suite bathroom, my half-thickened cock slapping awkwardly against my thighs.

“No peeking!” I heard Melissa scold her friend from behind me, and the two dissolved into frisky giggles.

Once in the bathroom I immediately grabbed a bath towel and wrapped it around my waist, and soon I had found her toothbrush, some toothpaste, and I was scrubbing away. It didn’t, strangely, strike me as too odd that I was using someone else’s toothbrush. Normally: yuck, right? But maybe after all I’d been through, this was just a small irregularity. In fact…can I taste you on it? It…it felt nice, using her brush.

Anyway, maybe because I thought they were watching me (they told me not to close the door) I felt extra motivated to do a good job. Brush brush brush, brush brush brush. And then - floss, floss, floss. I never flossed, but tonight I did. And then - garglegarglegargle - mouthwash! Haha, done.

I stepped back out of the bathroom, confident in my newly cleaned oral cavity, and froze. They were both kneeling on the bed, facing me, side by side. Shanette’s top was unbuttoned, Melissa’s robe undone. They were posing, enormous chests presented. I was just in a towel, and fuck I was getting hard again.

“Come here, baby,” Melissa cooed.

“We need to check…” said Shanette.

“… that you did a good job,” finished Melissa.

Slowly, I stepped towards them. They waited, each unmoving, and looked down at me when I found the mattress’ edge. It was like two impossibly built, statuesque genetic supergoddesses were gazing down from on high.

“Say ahhh!” Melissa instructed, taking my chin in hand.

I opened. “Ahhhhh….” I said, as wide as I could.

She inspected me, looking carefully into my mouth. “Do you want to see, Shanette?” She turned my head gently towards her friend.

“Ahhhhhhhh…”

Shanette nodded, also pleased. “Good job, honey.”

“Yes, good job,” Melissa agreed, “Now, are you ready to get some sleep?”

“I’m…uh…yes, ready.” Is she going to be sleeping with us?

Shanette's hand went to Melissa’s tit and she pressed her fingers into it, sinking them into soft flesh through the thin white robe. “Don’t worry hun, you’ll have her all to yourself,” she said, as Melissa giggled, “Your pillow is going to be so soft and so warm. It’ll support you just right.”

“I-I-I, uh…”

“It’ll help you nod off…”

“…and make sure you have sweet dreams all night,” Melissa continued. My eyes being clearly fixated on her left tit as it made even Shanette’s big hand look small only added to her amusement. But, she was now scootching backwards, and laying down in bed, onto her right side facing me, supporting her head with one hand. Her big breasts still bulged between the open flaps of her robe. “What kind of dreams do you want to have?”

“I bet he’s been having them already,” Shanette offered as she reached down to offer me her hand. I took it, and she helped me climb up into the tall bed.

“Maybe…” Melissa mused, watching me get settled next to her, as Shanette helped me lay, on my back, aside her. She saw that I had my hands crossed, awkwardly, on my chest, my head on a pillow and dwarfed by the boobs that looked just to my left. . “Do you, sweetie?” she asked, “Do you dream about me?”

Yes of course I do.

“Want to make those dreams come true?” Shanette said and then - getting a silent nod from Melissa - laid down on my other side, also facing me, also positioning her big soft breasts right next to my head.

I looked to my left: Melissa. I looked to my right: Shanette. Each way, all I could see was cleavage, bulging boob. Creamy, tanned. Chocolate, milky. Floral, vanilla, coconut perfumes and oils filled the warm air around my face.

Shanette also had her head supported by her hand, left elbow up on her pillow. “Does the little man need some boobie time?” she cooed.

“Shanette’s going to help me make your dreams come true,” Melissa said to me, “Just tell us what you want…”

They inched in closer to me.

Unable, now, to find the courage to do what they obviously wanted - to just turn to one of them and lose myself between their tits - I laid on my back and stared up at the ceiling. The lights were gentle.

“You look so shy, so insecure, so vulnerable…” Melissa said.

“I-I…I’m sorry…” I can’t help it.

“Shhhhh…” Shanette hushed, “…we love it.”

“We’ll protect you,” Melissa whispered.

“You’ll be safe between us,” Shanette assured, as she reached over, over my passively upturned face, and peeled Melissa’s robe open, away from her ballooning chest. I’d turned my face a bit to watch, and moaned in a shudder as a big, white left breast came to view.

“oh my god…” I groaned. It was huge, far larger than my head, skin smooth and taut with a swelling brown nipple and areola the size of my palm. A basketball, maybe? Bigger?

Without a word, Melissa’s arm reached over me in turn, peeling Shanette’s silken top, decorated with hearts, away from her chest. Also huge, also swollen, also bulging towards me with burgeoned softness her breasts were deeper in complexion than Melissa’s but a shade paler than the rest of her skin. Her nipple stood already engorged, the bumps of montgomery glands dimpling her darker areola.

“There, sweetie,” Melissa purred, as I stared into the chest of her big, tall, high school friend, “Do you feel better?’

I…ugh…I I I I turned to Melissa’s breast.

“Oh Missy,” Shanette giggled, “he can’t even talk..!”

“Yeah, he gets this way,” Melissa replied, one finger reaching out to run itself from my forehead, down the bridge of my nose. She tapped its end, playfully. “Boop! Don’t you honey?”

“I-…” I couldn’t say a word.

“Boys really are helpless when there’s a pair of tits in their face, aren’t they Missy?”

“Or two pairs!” Melissa giggled, pressing her left press down with her shoulder, causing it to squeeze and bulge towards me.

“Have you ever been with two girls with breasts bigger than your head?” Shanette asked, “Hm, Dr. J?”

“I don’t think he has, Shanette.”

“No, hm?”

“How do you like it, sweetie?” Melissa asked, raising herself up a bit on her right elbow and turning her torso more towards me. This brought her massive left breast in to squash into my face and head, along my left side.

Shanette followed suit, turning her shoulder down into me and mushing her right boob into my face. Instinctively, my body tensed and stiffened, my head sinking back down into the pillow behind me as far as it could. The twin masses of boob just followed, molding around my face, cheeks and ears until nearly all light was blotted out. I was surrounded by pillowy soft, perfumed flesh, firm and warm. Above me I heard the giggles.

“Look, we can just sandwich you in between them,” Melissa said.

“I can’t even see him anymore Missy,” laughed Shanette.

“Oh no!” came another laugh, this time Melissa’s, “my boyfriend’s disappeared!”

“It looks that way, huh?”

“What’s this like, hm sweetie? Like you’re being attacked by two big marshmallow monsters?”

“Smothered between two pillows?”

“Smooshed under two big balloons full of jelly…or eaten by two big marshmallow monsters?”

“You said that one already, silly.”

“<giggle!> oh yeah!”

Around me I felt hips turn towards me too, as the two bountiful young women closed in closer.

“Do you want me to take this towel off him?”

“Yes please,” answered Melissa.

I felt the air now on me, and now a thigh over mine.

“Ooooh Jay, isn’t this cozy?” Melissa asked, her voice coming to me through the flesh of her chest, “Do you feel safe and warm like this, your darling little head between our big breasts?”

“Just relax,” Shanette cooed, her voice also both muffled and amplified by her huge tit, “Feel our big, soft breasts against your face.”

“That’s right, sweetie, relax,” Melissa urged, as her big thigh now came over my left leg, trapping it, “Melt for us.”

The girls now giggled and cooed, squirming and squashing against me, in perfect unison. Their breasts mushed into my face, surrounding it, my mouth and jaw now opening and closing like a starveling guppy. All the air I breathed came from their skin.

“There’s a certain type of guy, a guy who loves breasts,” I heard Shanette begin saying, musing, “Guys who want to wake up with them as their first sight. Who want to take their first meal from them, spend all day held to them, surrounded by them…”

“Oooo that sounds familiar..!” I heard Melissa laugh, pressing into me playfully, “But aren’t all guys that way?”

“Seems that way these days, huh?” Shanette agreed, “But this one here is yours.”

Above me I heard a deep moan from Melissa turn into a laugh. “Omigod Shanette this is too much!”

“…And at night they want to fall asleep held to them, between them…” Shanette began to finish.

“…so small and tiny and weak…”

“…Are you that type of guy, Dr J?” she finally asked.

Was she…was she actually expecting me to answer? From down here, buried beneath boob? I was not just speechless but unable to speak.

“You are, aren’t you sweetie?” Melissa laughed, the eager exhilaration in her voice plain as day, “You’re my little boob-monkey, huh?”

That’s what you want isn’t it? Me clinging to you like an infant chimp to its mother. I couldn’t do anything but agree. I didn’t dare argue, or god forbid lie. Under the gentle weight of their breasts I slowly tried to nod.

“There you go…” Shanette purred, “…good boy. Isn’t it nice to admit how much you need them?”

“It is, right? And, isn’t it so much better when you just let people help you?” Melissa cooed, “Sometimes it’s nice to just lie there and let someone else take care of you. That’s all I want to do baby, take care of you and make you feel good. Make it nice for you.”

Boob. Boob. Everywhere boob.

“Missy let’s let him out for a minute.”

“Okay…”

Slowly, I felt the squeezing press of their tits lifting off me. Shanette’s breast, smelling of coconut oil, pulled away smoothly. But, my skin felt stuck to Melissa’s, cheek-to-tit, whether by her perspiration or mine. The heat and our sweat must have stuck us together…or there's something else happening. My face followed her breast as my head was lifted off the pillow.

“Oh my god look at that,” Shanette said.

“Yeah and he’s not trying to pull away,” Melissa commented. “Are you sweetie? Ooo look at you…”

It was true: my face remained plastered, stuck to her breast by the cheek. What was this?

“You really like my breasts, don’t you?” she giggled, “Rubbing your cheek against me like that?”

Do you think I’m doing this on purpose? Under my own strength?

“I bet it’s been so long since he’s gotten this kind of attention, Missy, and maybe he just doesn’t want to let you go!”

“Is that it, huh?” Melissa cooed down to me. Gently, she began to lower me back down again, the back of my head resting again on the pillow, cheek still stuck to her skin. “Maybe you’ve never had somebody do this for you before? Hm? Poor baby…I’m here for that now.”

The two girls clucked and purred down at me. I felt Shanette’s hand petting my hair.

“I think it’s time, Missy,” she said.

“Okay, yeah,” Melissa agreed, and then I felt Shanette’s gentle fingers holding my face and Melissa use her hand to peel her breast from my cheek. Shanette then guided me, turning me more towards Melissa.

“That’s right Missy, put your nipple right there. That’s good,” Shanette instructed, as I watched and Melissa positioned herself more fully over me. I was face to face with her big nipple. “You just lie there, hun,” she told me, “we got this.”

“Mm hm, we got this,” Melissa echoed, and inched in closer.

“Now, Missy,” Shanette said, “have him suck.”

Melissa gently worked it in until her nipple was between my lips. I’d opened my mouth already, instinctively, and my world became darker again as Melissa softly dropped to rest her huge breast onto my face. Her right hand no longer supported her head, and had slid underneath mine to cradle me to her. “Here we go, baby,” she whispered, as I closed my mouth around her.

“Just lay there and do as mommy says,” Shanette spoke.

“Suck, baby, suck,” Melissa purred on cue, “suck suck…”

“There you go baby, that’s right…” Shanette purred. I felt her hand petting me gently, caressing my arm. “This is good practice for you two,” she said.

“Mmmm I like it..!” Melissa giggled, as I had begun, earnestly, to suckle her. Her nipple was big in my mouth.

“It’s called dry-nursing,” Shanette said, “Missy…make sure he has a good latch.”

“Yeah, baby, seal on tight there,” Melissa cooed down to me, using her free left hand to reposition the weight of her breast at my face. I settled my mouth and lips around her more firmly, and continued to suck. I was keeping a slow rhythm, relaxed. My eyes just cleared the mass of her breast, and when I looked up I saw her watching me. I closed my eyes again.

“That looks good, Missy,” Shanette commended, “He’s a natural.”

“It feels nice,” Melissa agreed, gazing down at me. “I’ve been waiting for something like this, something to get us closer, start breaking down barriers.”

“That’s right, that’s good. Just relax, the two of you, bond together,” Shanette purred from behind me, “Dr. J, just let yourself drift off, think about Melissa, know how much she loves you.”

“Yes yes sweetie, I do love you, so much,” she cooed, “just keep sucking…”

I felt Shanette’s lean in, her breasts now squashing into my shoulder as she brought her lips to my right ear. “You tried Katarina’s milk earlier,” she whispered, “You liked that?”

I groaned, purrling and mewling into Melissa’s tit.

‘“Think about it, as you suck here on Missy,” she continued, her voice big and close, making my toes curl, “wouldn’t it be nice…?”

I groaned again, my whole body shivering.

“That’s right, that’s right baby,” Melissa spoke, “Suck on me. Suck on me like a hungry baby that needs milk.”

oh god oh god oh god.

“He’s doing so well, but he’s a little worked up,” Shanette now said to her friend, “A little tense.”

“Oh, sweetie, are you tense?” Melissa cooed, her voice sweet and heavy with honey as I dry-suckled her breast, “You poor thing.”

“I bet a nice orgasm would help him relax so much”, Shanette continued, indulgently, and then I felt her take hold of me. “He’s so hard.”

I stiffened, and my body jerked. There was actually some pain but the direct cause wasn’t her actions. Rather it was due to my exhausted reproductive system still trying to perform. It had never worked this much over such a short time period, and it was exhausted, tender, inside and out. I felt like, yes, I needed relief, release, but getting there might hurt.

“Oh, sweetie, shhh…” Melissa purred down to me, “Shanette…be gentle.”

You can tell, can’t you?

“He needs a mother’s touch,” Shanette cooed, and soon I sensed the scent of coconut oil, and things became slick around me, in her hand. Had Melissa helped out? Squeezed something onto me?

And now, rather than encircling me with her palm and fingers, Shanette pressed my erection against Melissa’s bare midthigh. Oh, yes, that feels nice. <suck suck suck>. She began to rub it gently and slowly against the soft, silky skin of Melissa’s tan, clean-shaven leg, the juice of oil lubricating and slippery.

“That’s nice, isn’t it?” Shanette’s hand was slick up and down my long length, Melissa’s muscular thigh warm and welcoming. I continued to suck, to suck, to suck, slowly, slowly, slowly and felt the pleasure seep into my bones. A mother’s touch. A mother’s touch. A mother’s touch.

“You feel so nice, up against my leg,” Melissa cooed, “And you’re doing such a good job sucking at my nipple.”

“Nice and slow, nice and slow,” Shanette purred, and I began to groan. I was sore, yes, but the climax was building already inside my swollen sac, making my belly tremble. “It’s okay, we’ll go at your pace…nice and gentle.”

And then Shanette began to humm, low and soothing behind me, as she pet me into Melissa’s leg . A familiar melody began to form. And then she began to sing. Quietly, at first, but there was something about it, something with a palpable magic:

“When you wish upon a star

Makes no difference who you are

Anything your heart desires

Will come to you…”

“Omigod Shanette…” Melissa praised, seemingly at a loss for words. Her voice, yes, was gorgeous. Shockingly so, in fact. The timbre, the tone, the very essence of her voice was like a casual siren song, and it covered my waking thoughts like a warm blanket. Melissa’s singing voice - she’d sung to me on our first date, in her car - was nice, also, but Shanette’s, here? It struck deep, deep, deep and I felt it close around me and my mind like a gentle hand, embracing me but also opening me up for them. My cock was throbbing now, still being rubbed into Melissa’s thigh by our songstress. She continued softly and slowly with her lullaby:

“If you wish it in your dreams oh my god if you knew what I wanted how big I want you

No request is too extreme <suck suck suck>

When you wish upon a star can it come true?

We’ll grow for you… wait what?

“Shanette that’s lovely,” Melissa gushed, as the magic of the lullaby faded and I continued to dry-nurse at her massive breast and - oh my god, on hearing that last line - I started finally to rut into Melissa’s leg, “I didn’t know you could sing.”

”I didn’t either…”

NNNNNggghhhhh….

I came, in an easy gush, onto Melissa’s leg, all my tension draining away as I nursed myself to sleep…

===============================================

Thanks again to ResistanceIsFutile for helping me through another big one

My Patreon

#growing into the job

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darklydeliciousdesires · 7 months ago

Text

Sky Full of Stars - Chapter Two.

Ahhh, fuck it. Why not another chapter to get the ball rolling? You guys are so good to me with your lovely comments, so in turn, you get more story!

Previous chapters - One

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,312

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

“Hey Jade, I’ll give you some privacy,” Marv, their driver spoke with his usual wide smile upon seeing her climb onto the bus with a guy he recognised but couldn’t immediately place why. “Need to go find me some food anyway.”

“Alright, Marv. The food truck has just about everything tonight. No more bad burgers!” she chuckled, moving through the narrow gangway. The bus wasn’t what he’d expected it would look like, a small lounge area at the front, two rows of sleeping bunks towards the centre, a tiny kitchen area and even smaller bathroom (complete with an amusing handwritten sign that advised if anyone took a crap, their head got flushed along with it) and finally, another lounge area right at the back.

The seating section surrounded a small table, the space perhaps the least claustrophobic on the bus. It certainly looked a lot larger on the outside than it did within. How she coped being cooped up in it while travelling, he didn’t know.

“Do you want a drink? I’ve got wine somewhere, do you like Merlot?” she asked, beginning to root around in the overhead cupboards. “No, it’s in the kitchenette. Hang on.”

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.” Sitting down, he had mere moments to take stock of what an interesting day it had been so far. It had started out not so great, jammed against a barrier with a crush of a permanently apoplectic mosh pit behind him, the early evening bringing with it something much more comfortable and sedate. He was joined again quickly by the woman who only continued to captivate him further with every passing moment, passing him a solo cup half filled with red wine.

“Sorry for the uncouth receptacle. We don’t keep breakables on the bus beyond coffee mugs, save things getting smashed to hell,” she explained, taking a seat. “So, tell me more about you. You’ve fascinated me so far. I want to know what lurks beneath the extremely attractive exterior.”

Yes, she certainly was very naturally charming, Adrien feeling his stomach flutter pleasantly. She hadn’t asked him about his acting, or which industry people he knew, what he’d be working on next, oh no. Him. She wanted to know about him. It made for a refreshing change, although eventually she did inquire into his profession, one she was slowly making waves in herself. Lamentably, although she’d been in quite a high number of projects over the past eight years, he hadn’t actually seen her in anything. Or so he thought.

“I mean, it was only a small, independent movie, but I’m really proud of it, playing an icon like Janis. She was such a huge influence,” she spoke, watching his eyes widen.

“Shit, I have seen you in something. I saw you in that! Sorry, it’s just, you look very different to how you did playing her, obviously.”

“What did you think?” she asked, sipping her wine. “No need to flatter me either. Be honest.”

“Honestly?” He paused a moment, scratching his chin and pulling his cigarettes out, lighting up and knocking the pack across the table to her, Jade sliding the ashtray closer. “I think you did the best with what you had to work with. You played a very convincing Janis Joplin from what I know of her, but the direction of it wasn’t great. They could have done a lot more. From what I remember, you really put your heart into it, green to playing a lead role as you were - and that did show – but your performance what made it.”

His words surprised her. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed the direction of the biopic, but the fact he’d been completely honest with her. “Thank you. See, so many people have been phony about it, blown smoke right up my ass, but what you said was exactly how I felt. I put my all into it, although I ultimately felt like I was only as good as what I was given. They skipped over so much of her life that would have made it even more interesting, only to go for the sensationalist element. Bloody pissed me right off.”

He loved the way her speech was a mishmash of Britishisms and Americanisms, a slight New York lilt coming through on every sixth or so word.

“You’ll learn the further you get into it, be more selective over what you give your time to.” She asked him if he minded giving her a little more advice there, Adrien only happy to, liking very much how completely unpretentious she was.

In her world, she was a big deal, huge, in fact, but in acting she was still a relatively small fish in an extremely large pond. As for Jade, she considered herself extremely lucky, getting to listen to the wisdom a man who since winning an Oscar seven years before had only gone from strength to strength.

“I know it comes with the job, speaking to press, but I always feel somewhat antsy about it,” he began a time later, as they spoke of the pitfalls of their respective careers, chewing the corner of his lip. “It isn’t even an editing thing; your words just tend to get filtered through the gaze of so many other people and it ends up as a rendition of you rather than the definitive portrait. And preconceived notions can be tough to shake.”

Oh, the affinity. His words definitely struck a chord. “This is why I’m very interview shy. I’m too much of a juxtapose, and people don’t know how to take me. Yes, I’m quite quiet and introverted to a degree, but also, when it comes to my work, I don’t take any shit, and I will call people out on it. This leads to me being labelled as difficult, all because I tire of the same bullshit questions that my male counterparts don’t get asked, for example.

“So, I set certain terms, dictate which are allowed and unallowed questions, and that apparently makes me an obstreperous bitch. Journalists go in there and instead of focusing on what I actually say when they meet me, they’ve already made up their minds. Then the filtering you speak of happens, and it gets even fucking worse.” She paused then, tightening her mouth a little. “Just say if I talk too much. I tend to jabber on when I feel comfortable with somebody.”

He reached for her, sweeping the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “You’re fine. I like hearing your thoughts.” In turn, she liked sharing them, too. There was something about him she felt inexplicably drawn to, like she could trust him with anything, and not receive a drop of judgement; just a very good ear.

“So, why Seventh Gate?” he asked a while later, watching as she played with the flame on a candle she’d brought in to illuminate the space the darker it got. She detested false light as much as he did. “Is it from the urban legend?”

“Yes!” she enthused, utterly delighted at his accuracy. Surprisingly, not many people guessed right away. So the aforementioned legend stated, if anybody passed through all seven specific gates dotted around in a woodland area within Hellam Township in Pennsylvania, they descended directly to hell.

“A few buddies and I went and did the trail one time, drove down there with the location details of all the gates, but completely chickened out of crossing all of them. It was dumb, because it’s a complete myth, but nope, we were way too pussy to do it,” he laughed, watching as she giggled with mirth.

“We shot a music video there, got wasted drunk and ended up running through all of them. We did the last one bare assed naked, me with Jen on my back while chugging a bottle of vodka and screaming ‘take me Satan!’ at two in the morning, with the entire production crew crying laughing.”

“You’re fucking insane,” he laughed, that laughter loudening considerably as he pictured it.

“Yeah, we’re a little mental when the mood takes us.”

He could well believe it. “I sense there’s a lot more you could reveal that’d probably make my hair stand on end.”

Hmmm. To divulge her years as an absolute hellion to the nice guy sitting adjacent to her, or keep quiet? “C’mon, spill.”

Well, he asked for it.

“We got arrested for inciting a riot outside Tower Records in downtown Oklahoma, about five years ago. Huge police presence, fans jumping on cars, us thriving in the middle of it with our security team going crazy. It was fun. We got let out shortly after thanks to the negotiation skills of our manager, played the show that night, and then caused about ten grand’s worth of damage at the club the afterparty was held in.

“Still though, through all of that madness, I think I was just playing a part, getting the hedonism out of the way. I found fame so early, signed at seventeen, an album recorded in the same year and thrown out onto one tour after another for sixteen months without a real break. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I still like to party, but not to those kinds of extremes.”

“Not so wild any longer, huh?”

Oh, the grin that spread across her perfect, pillowy pout. It made him twitch quite sharply in a place he wasn’t sure he should quite so soon after meeting her. “Only in two places. On stage and in bed.”

He arched an eyebrow, eyes sweeping her a few times. “Being a tease again, hmm?”

“Depends.” The look she fixed him with amped his pulse instantly, Adrien not able to remember the last time he’d had such efficiently potent sexual magic cast upon him.

“On?”

Taking a big gulp of her wine, she licked a drop from her lip, staring into the blazing green of his eyes. “Whether if I came over there and straddled your lap, you’d let me kiss you or not.”

He had to admire her nerve. She had way more game than he did. His eyes fell to his thighs, then back at her with a smirk. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

She moved the three feet separating them slowly, her glide all feline, much more cheetah than tame house cat, her eyes glinting like blue shards through the dim light. Moving carefully astride him, it burned slow like napalm, her hands resting to his chest, stroking down as he clasped her narrow waist, their foreheads touching.

“Mmm, wow, Mr. B,” she purred, her heart thundering through an inferno within her chest. “Aren’t you absolutely divine close up?” Her lips had caught his before he could even think of replying, their kiss deepening to a slow dance of tongues within a second. It was lazy, yet scorching, their hands roaming one another as the burn gained heat.

A soft moan echoed her throat, her hands moving to rake her nails down the dark stubbly beard flecking his cheeks and neck, the sound darting right to his cock. His entire being hummed with it, the desire to slowly peel off her clothes, but he wouldn’t be that guy. He never had been, and oh, how his body hated him for it, feeling her pressed right up against him, aching in his gut to take it further.

“Oh wow,” she murmured, her mouth moving to his neck to lay delicate little kisses, swirls of her tongue tasting his flesh, the salt of sweat mixed with whatever cologne he wore faintly lingering there against his gorgeous skin. “The way you kiss gives me serious cunt flutters.”

He snorted, laughing softly at her so alluringly delivered crudeness. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” That little hum preceded her mouth landing upon his again, and god, how she could have ripped all of his clothes off and ridden him to the edges of heaven right there and then, she was so torridly aroused by the man beneath her. She wouldn’t, though. Gone were the days of quick sex with a hot guy simply to sate her desire. With him, she knew she wanted more. “Okay, if I don’t control myself now I never will, but please know you make that very difficult.”

He shook his head, arms tightening around her. “Sorry. I’m not about to let you go.” More kisses followed, a little calmer, gentler passions exchanged, the contented murmurs he made causing her heart to skip happily. At thirty-one years old, it had been a long, long time since a man had made her feel like she was a young woman in first flushes of becoming utterly besotted with somebody, and even though she was more than used to it, it pained her that she’d have to let him go in a few hours.

That feeling? It was entirely mutual.

Eventually, they settled to resting beside one another, two sets of long legs propped up on the table, Jade lying with her head against his chest as they talked, and talked, and talked.

“So, why’s it complicated?”

“Well, I suppose it isn’t really, but some would see it that way. We’re just a mixed bunch of nomads,” she began, before launching into the story of how she came to be. “So, my mum is the daughter of Italian immigrants. My grandmother was originally from Staten Island, brought there as a baby in arms after her parents moved from Sicily, but then relocated to the UK when my great-grandfather got work over in London for way more pay. They used their entire savings to take the ship voyage over and lived penniless in the Walthamstow slums until his wages came in.

“She grew up poor, but eventually prospered, met another son of Italians and married him, had my mum, but their marriage ended when she was eleven, so my grandmother moved her back to Staten Island for a fresh start. She wanted to be with a man who actually had time for her away from his career. My grandfather worked his way up from washing dishes to head chef, eventually restauranteur, and he always put work before his family, so my gran bailed and went back home.

“Then after four years, very sadly and quickly, she learned she had breast cancer and passed away, so my mum and uncles crossed the ocean again to return to London and live with my grandfather and his new wife. Are you keeping up so far?”

“I am,” he confirmed, making a side-to-side motion with his hand. “There’s a lot of back and forth between Staten Island and London, but I’m with you. Carry on.”

“See what I mean, though? Nomads! So then, mum starts dating this guy at eighteen and unexpectedly falls pregnant. She had no idea what to do, of course coming from a very devout Catholic background she felt guilty as hell over the idea of abortion, but knowing she’d only be nineteen when she gave birth was scary, too. To make it scarier, the guy she was with told her he wasn’t ready to become a father and vanished into thin air, leaving my poor mum alone with an impossible decision to make.

“Well, that was until she met my dad. They fell in love very quickly, and he told her it didn’t matter that she was carrying another man’s baby, he wanted to stand by her and raise me as his own. He always says, “We are not bonded by biology, but god sent you to me as my baby. You are my first born, always.” His name is on my birth certificate, and he adopted me right away. I mean, it’s obvious I’m not his biologically because he’s black, but he’s the only dad I know. You might have seen him earlier, actually. He was the guy who looks a little like Morgan Freeman who was probably looking at me with a mixture of mild despair and a lot of pride. He’s out here for work currently, so swung by to watch us.”

“Why despair?” he laughed, trying to remember if he’d seen such a man in the chaos of that afternoon.

“He says I’m entirely too noisy with a microphone in my hand.”

His mouth twitched into a lopsided grin, kissing the top of her head. “He’s got that right.”

“How are your eardrums now?” she asked, looking up at him with a grin that had him in soft fits.

“Better,” he confirmed, tightening his arm around her. “Continue.”

“Right, so yeah, dad is originally from Harlem, but he got a scholarship place at a university in London based on his academic excellence. And believe me, my dad is so, so smart. He’s a cardiothoracic surgeon. So, years later, after he’d fully qualified as a doctor and done five years of residency, he was offered a job at New York Presbyterian, we moved back to Harlem, lived in an apartment for a while and then they bought a beautiful brownstone that they still live in to this day.”

“Why did he choose London?” he asked, curious when there were so many amazing colleges in the US.

“He said he wanted to see a little more of the world before he locked himself into being a surgeon, so applied further afield. When he was still studying, him and my mum used to save all their cash and take little backpacking holidays in Europe when I was a baby. There’s a great picture he keeps in his wallet, holding me at the top of the Eifel Tower when I was one, screaming my lungs out!”

Something she had made a very good career out of, he thought. “Do they just have you, or have you any siblings?”

“A brother and a sister four years younger than me, twins, too. Rachel and Marco, named after my maternal grandfather and paternal grandmother. I got named after my mum’s favourite gemstone. She’s really into Oriental artefacts, it’s what she studied at uni around looking after me, Asian art. She works as a curator now at the Guggenheim, specialising in antiquities from Asia.” She then paused, looking up at him sheepishly. “I’m talking too much. Again.”

“Shut up,” he scolded softly, “I could listen to you tell me about your life for days.”

That made her smile, always thinking she went on entirely too much when she spoke of her life and loves. “Tell me more about yours. About your parents and siblings,” she requested, idly stroking his abs through the dark fabric of his t shirt.

“No siblings, mom said I was too much trouble to think about having more,” he joked, smiling at he thought about her. “She’s a painter and photographer, and my dad is a professor, he lectures in social science at NYU. He likes to paint, too, it’s what bonded them. He met her at an art class they were both taking while they were at university, and he said he has never, ever seen paint used in the haphazard way my mother creates her art. That’s what first attracted him to her, seeing this woman with her hair all pinned up with paint brushes, paint smudges all over her face, staring at her canvas with the kind of focus that made her look constipated, apparently.

“When I was a baby, she used to put my hands and feet in these huge tubs of paint and let me crawl around on giant canvases, and I’d thrive, covering myself in as many colours as I could, rolling around and making a huge mess. My grandmother used to shake her head, baffled at it all, but my mom was just like, “He’s expressing himself, I’m starting him early!” I love to paint for hours, days even when I’m not working. My overall creative drive definitely comes from them. Well, her mostly. The Lois Brody method.”

Her head shot up, eyes rounding. “Your mum is Lois Brody? Oh my god, she’s a legend! I love her photographs!” she cried, Adrien smiling with pride.

“Yeah, she’s amazingly talented. Has this way of capturing something completely minute that others wouldn’t notice and making it the focal point of the entire photograph. I don’t know how she does it, but she’s incredible at seeing what others miss,” he revealed, still smiling widely. He was very proud of his mother, and it showed.

“I had no idea you were her son, but then I don’t know who anybody is. It’s actually embarrassing, how it sails over my head, or how I get people confused. I met Katy Perry and thought she was Zooey Deschanel recently. I told her I recognised her from the TV show Weeds, and she’s just like, ‘eh?’ at me. I’m such a twat,” she confessed, hiding her face behind her hand as he laughed.

“Don’t feel bad, I’m not clued up on pop culture either,” he reassured her, Jade suddenly snorting.

“That isn’t even my worst one. Jen and I went on holiday to Nepal a few years back, and I saw a guy dressed in orange riding a bike and thought he was the Dalai Lama! The tour guide was in hysterics.”

As was Adrien, laughing so hard, he had tears in his eyes. “His holiness on a bicycle. That’s amazing!”

“He might like to cycle! You don’t know that he doesn’t!” she cried in a cutely comic voice, her laughter escalating as she sat up, the gorgeous man who embraced her unable to stop himself from completely falling apart.

“Stop it,” he hissed, one arm still around her, the other hugging his stomach, which was starting to hurt. “You’re so damned funny, oh my god.” He composed himself for all of three seconds before falling to pieces again, Jade softly slapping his chest. “I can’t breathe!”

“It isn’t that funny,” she protested, laughing now purely at him continuing to crack up.

“Yes, it is!”

He wouldn't forget that in a hurry, or the night he was sharing with her either, looking at his watch and becoming painfully aware he likely didn’t have long left with her as ten o’clock loomed, asking the question he’d been putting off for the last few hours. “How long do I have you for, then?”

“Until midnight. Then I turn back into a pumpkin.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You know, like Cinderella.”

Oh, god. He couldn’t handle so much laughter. “Cinderella doesn’t turn into a pumpkin, her coach does!”

Cringing, she hid her face, shaking with laughter. “Oh, yeah that’s right.”

“You’re incredible,” he laughed, holding her close again. “I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna let you go in two hours, you know. This idea doesn’t sit well.”

“No,” she sighed wistfully, stroking his chest, placing a kiss against his collar bone. “Not with me either. God knows when I’ll get to see you again, because I really want to. I’m locked into touring until December, though.”

“Yeah, I have two weeks off as of today and then I’m going to Hawaii to shoot Predators. I’ll be there for a month for all the outdoor filming, then back for a month and a half in LA to finish the rest, then I have three weeks of press stuff booked more or less solidly until mid-December.”

“Boo hiss,” she pouted, hand moving to stroke his face, hating that it would likely be around three months until she got to spend time with the lovely man whose arms she lay in again. “It’s what we signed up for with our careers, but it doesn’t stop it from being disappointing when things like this happen. When you meet someone you really find a connection to, and then can’t spend any further time with them.”

He looked sad, kissing her head, the cogs in his brain beginning to turn as he entered a few moments of contemplation. “What if I didn’t have to leave you just yet?” Met by a face of curiosity, he continued. “How do you feel about tour bus stowaways coming along on tour with you for a week, should said prospective stowaway be able to make that happen?”

Her eyes lit up, pushing herself to sit straighter. “Really? You could do that?”

“Maybe. Gimme ten minutes to go and check.” Kissing her, he stood up, lighting a cigarette and pulling his phone out, heading back down to the front of the bus to make a phone call, the night air cooler than the heat of the day he’d felt himself baking under. While he made a call to his manager, Jade sat and fiddled with her jewellery, nervously awaiting his return. What if he couldn’t? But, oh. The joy if he could.

She could scarcely believe it, that the man actually wanted to blow off his commitments in order to spend a week on a bus with her while she and her band travelled around California to continue to west coast dates of their tour. Seven days with him, although of course it wouldn’t be all of the time, having her own interviews to be present for along the way, visits to radio stations as well, a webcast she was also taking part in too around their live performances. Some of the time would be better than nothing at all, though.

When he walked back in, her heart catapulted into her mouth, his face expressionless before slowly, he began to beam. “Looks like you have me for another week.”

He was deafened for the second time that day, this time by the pitch of the excited shriek she let out, scrambling from her seat and bouncing up into his arms, raining kisses all over his face as he laughed softly, holding her tight.

Seven days. Seven days that would change everything for them both.

#adrien brody fanfiction #adrien brody #adrien brody smut #adrien brody x ofc #adrien brody fanfic #adrien brody fic #sky full of stars #adrien and jade

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famina · 3 months ago

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The miserable accordeon player

Sooooo, I tried something new this time ! A bilingual fanfic ! Don't worry, no knowledge of French is needed ! There's even all the translation at the end ! But try and get the story without them the first way through! I wanna know if I did a good job being clear while having a characters that don't understand each other ! SO YEAH ! ENJOY !

TRIGGERS : Hunger, mugging, knife.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------You’ve made it. So long you wished for it, and now, finally, here you are : Paris ! The city of lights, where la crème de la crème of the 20th century resides. Which is the current century. You had heard the tales, but being here it is so much more…disappointing. Sure, the architecture, fancy boutiques and the food is to die for. But other than that…it’s just like any other city. Dirty, smelly, and full of poverty if you look just a bit closer. Somehow, the postcards failed to capture that.

Nevertheless, you are happy to be here. Your dreams are but slightly crushed and you are not going to let such little things bring you down. You walk around happily with star in your eyes. The elegant buildings all around you seem to glisten under the sun. You aren’t sure, but you believe you must be on one of the richer streets. All the boutiques and cafés are so refined that it cannot be otherwise. It must also be one of the most touristy places since it is swarming with street performers, colporteurs and beggars. One of them approaches you gleefully:

1“Hé ! Une p’tite piécette pour une chansonnette, ça vous dit?? »

A disheveled individual armed with a old accordion shoves his open hand in your face with an annoyingly large smile. What did he say?? You have not learned the language and so there is no way of knowing. But clearly he wants something, and clearly…it’s money. You are not the richest, and you have better things to spent it on then an obnoxious beggar! With an awkward smile, you shake your head and try to get away from him.

2“N-non? A-alors une dance peut-être? » The beggar starts doing a few dance steps.

3“O-ou j’peux vous présenter des coins sympas? Juste pour un sou, aller! » His smile is becoming just a bit desparate.

This is too much for you and you simply start running in the opposite direction of this oppressive weirdo. The weirdo in question is a bit baffled by your reaction, but then regains his dumb smile as he waves you goodbye while shouting : 4“Moi c’est Ernest ! J’suis ici toute la journée ! Bienvenue à Paris!”

You don’t return his gesture and simply enter the first open door you see. As you catch your breath, you realized you’ve entered a lovely café ! Which is wonderful because you were getting thirsty. You take a seat and order a drink and a delightful pastry. While you savor your little treat, you take in the ambience. The richly decorated interior is simply charming. And the coarse smell of brewed coffee paired with the colourful language makes this such a French experience. But as you get settled in this picturesque picture, a hand comes near you. And in a flash, swipes your bag!

You felt only a brush past you for a second, but when you look up to see the cause of it, you simply see a fast figure fleeing the scene with your bag. “HEY !” You shout, but it only makes the culprit run faster. Without a thought, you gave chase ! Across the streets, through the alleys, over the bridges, you followed him. Until suddenly…you lost him. And as you were catching your breath, you noticed that you also lost your way.

The sun is gone, you are now surrounded by tall old buildings in a narrow dead end. You retrace your step, but somehow end up in front of another dead end. Let’s face it. You are lost. Now, all you can do is ask a passerby for help, and hope you can understand each other. Luckily, many passersby appear, unluckily…they don’t look like the friendly type.

It’s a group actually, composed of what seems like young mans, you think, they are so dirty it is hard to tell. One of them steps forwards with a bad grin on his face.

5“Hé, p’tit bourge. On s’est perdu? On veut d’l’aide peut-être? Mais l’aide, c’est pas gratuit, tu sais. » The manacing man pulls out a knife from his pocket. Your blood runs cold.

“N-no ! Please !! W-What do you want??!” The assailant comes closer and closer, knife in hand.

6“Ah, aller, fait pas ton radin ! Et donne nous ton frick! »

You back away against the wall. How did this come to be. You where lost, alone threaten by an individual you couldn’t even understand and probably about to die. What to do?? Panick overtook you and your mind went blank. Until, a new but familiar voice erupted.

7“Hé ! Mais c’est p’tit Paul et sa bande ! » suddenly appeared the beggar you had run fron earlier today. With the silliest of grin and no idea of the situation he just stumbled into.

You didn’t particularly like that beggar, but you didn’t wish harm to him. You hoped the ruffians wouldn’t attack him. But to your surprised, your assailant became very nervous now that this smiling beggar had appeared. He even hid his knife back into his pocket as he spoke shyly.

8“E-Ernest? T-tu fous quoi ici?...On était occupé là… »The tall smiling guy gives a look of scolding to the ruffian.

9“Ouais! Occupé à terroriser les touristes ! Allez, p’tit Paul. On sait qu’t’es doux comme un agneaux. Alors arr^te de jouer les durs! » The accordeons player ruffles the hair of your assailiant affectionately.

The assailiant takes it for a second before pushing his hand away. 10“Ouais ! Bah on partait de t’façon ! Aller les mecs, on dégage ! » And as quickly as they had come, the group of ruffians left but with way less threat in their step. Leaving you with your unlikely savior who was waving them goodbye as he yelled. 11“Et passez l’bonjours à la belle Jeanne !” The tall street musician then turned his attention back to you. 12“Hé! Mais on s’est vu plus tôt ! Z’êtes partit un peu vite, j’ai même pas eu le temps d’me présenter, haha ! Moi c’est Ernest! » The man extends his hand to you again.

Ah. Of course. He did all that for money. They do say that money runs the world. Oh well, it was nice of him to help in any case. Unfortunately for him, all the money you had on you was on that bag that was stolen. And so, you cannot reward him for his deed. You try to tell him so by showing your empty pockets. He seemed a bit confused.

13“Hein? Quoi? Des poches? OH ?! On vous a fait les poches?! Aaaah…la galères… » He seemed sad for a moment. 14“C’est pas de bol, mais ça arrive. J’vous dépannerais bien, mais j’suis plus pauvre qu’un gueux. Ce qui..est c’que je suis. Haha! » He did a funny face that made you think what he just said was a joke. Was he trying to cheer you up? It would be a bit rude not to laugh then. You offer him a quiet little laugh. This seems to cheer him up as well.

15“Mais, c’est pas vot’ coin ici, non? Z’êtes perdu? J’peux vous ram’nez sur la rue principal si vous voulez! » With a playful gesture he seemed try to get an answer out of you. But of course, it was hard to do without understanding the question.

“I-I’m sorry…” You start saying. “I…I don’t understand”

16“A-ah?! De l’anglais, hein? Hmm…MMMMMHH » He seems to think deeply and struggle. he then suddenly speaks with the most atrocious French accent and a lot of hesitation. “You…hum…want too…go back...Mane street???”

Oh ! He wants to take you back to the main street ! Great! But…can you really trust this hobo who knows ruffians. Well, what’s the alternative here? Stay here alone until the next gang comes to attack you. So, reluctantly, you nod. “Yes ! P-please…” The man’s enthusiasm grows even larger.

17“Super! Alors, suis-moi!” With eagerness he takes your hand and your starts walking with this strange new guide to Paris. This guy is very happy to have a companion. He rambles on and on about things you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t understand even if you spoke French!

18“Alors, z’êtes de où? Bon, v’pouvez pas répondre, mais, vous trouvez comment Paris? Bon…C’est sur que c’est pas toujours la joie, mais c’est bien non ! Quoi que...j’suis jamais aller ailleurs donc je saurais pas dire ! Haha ! Mais y’a plein de coin sympa ! J’connais un cirque vraiment sensass ! Bon..y traite mal leurs employés, et ça, j’vous l’dis d’expérience. Mais sinon, il est hyper classe ! J’ai un ami qui y travaille ! Y fait un peu peur, mais c’qu’il est gentil ! j’vous dit. Aaah. Je d’vrais aller lui rendre visite un de ses quatre..Mais bon. J’essaie d’lui amener d’la bouffe quand j’peux. Mais ces temps-ci, c’est vraaaaaaiment la galère alors…j’peux pas trop…euh….. »

Progressively, his enthusiasm had faded and so had his walk speed. He was now supporting himself on the wall as he panted. You gave him a worried look. A look that tried to say “What’s wrong?” with just your eyes. He seemed to understand your question. And with a pained smile he said:

19“Ah? Ça? C-C’est rien…z’inquiètez vous pas pour moi…. » He stop walking all together. Now leaning hisback on the wall trying to regain some strength. 20“C’est juste….euh…haha..”

GROOOOOOOOOOooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWwwwwwwwwwwl

21“Que j’crève la dale comme pas permis ! Hahahah! » Through his apparent pained he gave you a genuine laugh.

Was that his stomach? He must be starving? Then…why is he smiling like that. He is now sitting on the ground, cradling his roaring belly while trying to keep smiling through it. You crouch beside him with a worried expression. The hungry beggar seemed displease to see you like this.

22“Euh….J-J’ai juste besoin d’un moment, après on y va!..d’accord? »

Was he trying to reassure you? What a sweetie. Maybe you had misjudged him this whole time. He WAS pestering you earlier today for money. But if he was this desperate for it..it makes sense.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooowl

His ravenous tummy gave out another loud cry that made the man ache in pain. You should have given him a loose coin or two earlier today. Now it was all gone and you had to leave your new companion suffering. Or maybe!

You ruffle through your pockets! You know it’s in there somewhere ! The starving musician looks at you with curiosity. And finally, you find it ! A small hard candy in a wrapper ! It was given to you at the hotel you reside at and you have kept it in your coat pocket for later ! Well later was NOW!

You hand the candy to the famished man and he looks at you in disbelief. 23“Hein? Pour…moi???” You nod happily ! Stars start illuminating his eyes as the happiest of smile appears on his lips. 24“Pour de vrai!? Ouah!! Merci !! Tu m’sauves la vie, sérieux!!”

He takes the candy and eagerly takes it to his mouth. He’s so pleased, you’d thinks his eating a feast. You’re glad you could bring such joy to him with such a little gift.

After a few seconds, the man seems to full of energy again. He springs back up and announces : 25“Aah ! Ça fait du bien par où ça passe ! Alors, on y va? » He extends his hand to you to help you get back up. You take his hand, feeling like you just made a new friend.

The rest of the walk, Ernest looks like his walking on clouds. He skips and hums a little tune. This makes you chuckle. You finally get back to the main street where you two had met that day. It is now empty and all the shop have closed.

26“Bon, ben, on y ait ! Tu pourras retrouver ton chemin à partir d’ici? Euh..j’veux dire…You..can..finding..home..now? » Ernest says with an awkward smile.

You laugh. “Yes ! Thank you very much. Hmm..Mer..cy??” you respond shyly. He beams!

27“Ah ! Mais y’a pas de quoi ! » He tilts his hat to you playfully. 28“Allez, à la revoyure!” He says trotting away gleefully. What a character.

You go back to your hotel and the rest of your trip goes on without problems. You never crossed path again with the excentric but nice street musician. But you hope you can travel back to Paris one day and treat him to a nice dinner!

TRANSLATIONS:

1“Hey ! A coin for a song, what do you say?”

2“N-no? M-Maybe a dance then?”

3“O-or I could show you some cool places? Just for a penny, come on! »

4“My name’s Ernest ! I’m here all day ! Welcome to Paris !”

5“Hey, lil rich champ. Are we lost? Need some help? Help ain’t free tho, you know.”

6“Ah, Come one, don’t be stingy! Give us the cash!”

7“Hey! If it isn’t lil Paul and his gang !”

8“E-Ernest? W-What are yad oing here?....W-We’re busy, okay.. »

9“Yeah ! Busy terrorizing tourists ! Come on, lil Pau, we all know you’re a sweet as a lamb. Ao stop trying to play tough already!”

10“Yeah ! Well, we were leaving! Come on, boys, let’s get out a here!”

11“Say hi to pretty Jeanne for me! »

12“Hey ! We’ve met earlier, right? You left pretty fast, I didn’t even got a chance to present myself, haha! I’m Ernest!”

13“Huh? What? Your pockets? OH! You got robbed?! Aaaah….that sucks…”

14“It’s a shame, but it happens. I’d help you out if I wasn’t as poorer than a beggar, which is…what I am, Haha!” (A play on word with a French expression.)

15“But this isn’t near your place, no? Are you lost? I can bring you back to the main street if you want.”

16“O-oh? English, huh? Mhhh….MMMMH.”

17“Great! Follow me then!”

18“ So, where ya from? You can’t answer, but how do you find Paris? Okay…It’s not always great, but it’s pretty neat, no? Well, I say that, but I’ve never been anywhere else so how should I know ! Haha! But there are some cool places! I know an amazing circus! Well…They don’t treat they’re employees well, and I speak from experience. But other than that, it’s pretty great! I got a friend who works there ! He looks scary but he’s the nicest guy ever ! I tell ya! Aaah, I should visit him some time soon. The thing is, I try to bring him food when I can. But lately, things have been veeeeeery tight. So…I can’t really…uh…”

19“ Oh? This? It’s nothin….Don’t worry about lil old me… »

20“It’s just that…uh…Haha…”

21“That I’m starving so much it should be illegal! Hahaha! »

22“Uuh….I’ll just need a moment here, we can go after…okay?”

23“Huh? For…me???”

24“For real!? Wow!! Thanks ! You’re a life saver, seriously!!”

25“Aah ! That hit the spot! Ready to go? »

26“Well, here we are ! Can you find your way home from here? Uh..I mean.. …You..can..finding..home..now? »

27“Ah ! It was nothin ! »

28“Well, see ya around!”

#stomach growling #hunger kink #hunger fic #hunger growls #paris france #belly kink #oc art #hungry boy #tummy rumbles #hungry tummy #belly growls #tummy growls

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jsehungergamesau · 10 months ago

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Against All Odds

CHAPTER 4

The sun finally breaks over the mountain horizon and it seems to bring the train to life with it. Attendants glide in and out of the dining car, bringing in breakfast foods and drinks and replacing the broken vase and glasses without a word.

Around 10 AM Teefee and Ivy join Jameson and Chase at the table. Ivy looks like she didn't sleep a wink and Teefee is bewildered to find the two of them covered in wood shavings. Chase can't help but flick a shaving at Ivy with a small grin as she takes a seat next to him, giving a weak attempt at a grin as she rubs her eyes tiredly. Teefee huffs and pours herself a large cup of coffee with half of it being cream.

"Today is going to be so much fun!" Teefee sings like a chattering squirrel. Today's outfit was just as ridiculous as yesterday's, this time giving her the appearance of a blue cotton-covered cloud with, of course, streaks of pink glitter. "Once we arrive in the Capitol you will immediately be sent to meet your prep team and stylists so they can prepare you for the opening ceremony!" The woman explains, and Chase wonders two things: how she can hold a pen with such ridiculously long and decorated nails, and how any human being can be this chipper so early in the morning. He's tempted to try the coffee, but it smells far too bitter, even with only a dash mixed into a mug of hot chocolate.

Jameson had retrieved his thimbles when Ivy and Teefee first arrived and he continues Miss. Whispers’ description of the day to come, "Don't resist what they do to you in the remake center. It will hurt a bit, but these are professionals and know how to make you look pretty for the people," Chase caught Jameson actively resisting rolling his eyes at his own words, "We talked about it a little yesterday, but did we decide what angle you two are going to present yourselves? Bold and hostile, clever and witty, charming and sexy?" He does allow himself a grimace at that, "Unfortunately you're both a bit rugged to pull off sweet and innocent, so we may have to pivot.”

It's obvious he despises talking like this, especially since Chase has seen a truer side to Jameson. But with Teefee in the room, Chase assumes he has put his pleasant mentor mask back on tight and talk Capitol to get by. Poor guy.

"The choice is yours but we need to send word to your stylists so they can make adjustments to fit your performance demeanor." Jameson finishes, taking a sip from a cup filled with amber-colored tea.

“I-I honestly don’t know. But back in Seven a lot of people thought I was pretty handsome and fun,” Chase shrugs, unconvinced by his own words, “I got asked out a lot but I only really had eyes for Stacy so I always said no.”

The idea of flirting with Capitol citizens honestly wasn’t the worst idea. He’s seen the Careers do it about a dozen times through this life and flirts always got the biggest sponsors. He remembers one year when a tribute from District 1 won in five days because he kept getting sponsor after sponsor. Food, water, new weapons, he got it all. All because he played up the charm with a pretty face to boost.

"Yeah, a real ladies' man back in school!" Ivy jokes with a chuckle as she looks over the breakfast table, "I also had my fair share of getting asked out, though I think guys saw me as more naive and.. fragile." Ivy grits her teeth as she says that.

“But I’m also gonna be a dad, I think that I have more to lose than just my life. I don’t think many other people can say that.” Chase offers.

“Well, the two flirts of District 7 might be a halfway decent angle.” Ivy groans, pressing her forehead against the table. Chase slides the plate of the orange fruit towards her and when she looks up he nods toward it. You should eat.

Ivy looks between the oranges and Chase, her eyes asking if it's really ok to take it. He nods again and nudges the plate closer. She gives Chase a weak smile and hesitantly picks up an orange wedge. She examines the rare fruit and pops it in her mouth. Eyes sparkling the same way Chase's must have looked when he first tried it.

Jameson sighs quietly across from them, "Seems like it's probably our best shot. Okay, Miss Whisper, please send notice to the stylists as soon as possible." He skewers his fork through a sausage and pops it in his mouth. "Just be aware that if either of you make it out, these personas will follow you forever. Do you understand?"

Chase and Ivy glance at each other, orange slices in each of their hands. Where did that come from? Jameson probably knows what he's talking about, but it was somewhat hard to grasp the context outside of what they can only assume.

“Well, having a kid is pretty permanent too. I’d say that part of me would follow me, games or not.” Chase shrugs and lets the fruit burst on his tongue.

Ivy's attention fixed on Jameson, she gives a sad nod, “I-... I understand. But it's what we gotta do to survive, right?”

Jameson's expression was stiff, but he gave a nod in return.

Before the silence broken up by forks scraping against plates could stretch too long Chase speaks up, “Speaking of stylists, is it going to hurt? Jameson mentioned it hurting.”

"Oh not much!" Teefee exclaims, leaping at the opportunity to fill the quiet, "Jameson, the jokester, was just kidding! It's not so bad." She takes a sip of her coffee, pinky out, and picks up her little silver clipboard to look over the schedule absent-mindedly. "It can even be quite relaxing! I went and got my eyebrows done a week ago and it only hurt a little!" She smiled brightly.

Jameson levels both of the tributes a flat look but says nothing.

“Okay, are we talking ‘splinter pain,’ ‘I just feel from 10 feet’ pain, or ‘Holy fucking shit a tree just fell on me and my ribs are broken’ pain?” He barely even acknowledges Teefee as she talks, keeping his full attention on Jameson. This annoys the woman, but Chase tries to ignore her.

Jameson looks up to the roof of the train car to think before signing in response, "Intense bathing, waxing off all your body hair, nail filing, hair cut..." He trails off, and Chase wants to reach out but keeps to himself this time, busying his hands with loading a ham steak and some kind of fried potato onto his plate.

Chase can see Ivy's eyes widen before Jameson drifts away, “Sooooo splinter pain times 10 and all over our bodies... greeeeaaaaat,” She says sarcastically as she peels another orange with subtly trembling fingers.

“Here, Iv, let me.” Chase mumbles and takes the fruit from her, but before she could protest he was already peeling the rind off and laying the slices on her plate. She fidgets with her necklace again and nods towards him with a small smile. Thanks, her eyes say silently as Chase picks up the talking, “So, stylist, parade, training, then interviews? Is that right?” He asks Jameson, but he's still unresponsive.

"Yes, that's the short of it!" Teefee nods, teeth white as snow as she takes over the conversation, not wanting to be left out. "Each event takes its own day and then training takes roughly under a week."

“So in total, we have seven-ish days to win the Capitol over. Right?” Ivy asks quietly.

“Right! So at this time be prepared to do your very very best for the cameras! Everyone will be watching you.” It's hard to tell if she was trying to comfort or threaten the two of them, but with Teefee it seems like it could go either way. The image of sugar-coated barbed wire flits through Chase's mind as he watches the two talk.

Quickly Chase tunes out their conversation with an internal roll of his eyes and reaches over to quietly take Jameson's still hand in his. That seemed to work before. Maybe James needs as much comfort as he does right now. Watching potentially two kids die year after year must be draining, to say the least.

Jameson doesn't immediately respond, but he does squeeze Chase's hand in return.

"We'll be at the train station by nine, so you both should be dressed and ready to greet the people of the Capitol! The city is dazzling, children. You're going to love it!" Teefee giggles. Actually giggles. It's high-pitched like a young schoolgirl's. Playful and innocent despite coming from someone who watches children slaughter each other for entertainment every year.

The entire train car getting plunged into darkness is what seems to jolt Jameson back into his own body and Chase holds his hand a bit tighter. Their eyes are locked in mild fear as the train pulls back out of the tunnel, spitting them all out into the mountain-surrounded boundaries of the Capitol.

°○°○°○°

Jameson's electronic words bounce around Chase's head as he clenches his jaw to suppress a yelp of pain, Don't resist what they do to you. Grit your teeth and bear it and it'll be over sooner.

"You kids from District Seven always have so much body hair!!" One of the members of the prep team with their skin dyed purple, Toynia, exclaims as she prepares another wax strip while two others buzz around Chase like tracker-jackers.

He's lying down on a table with his skin glowing a raw pink from being scrubbed down hard. His nails were filed into perfect ovals with no more cracks to be seen, and much to his dismay his beard was completely gone. They shaved most of it off before rubbing a thick cream that smelled like chemicals on the stubble and shining a weird light over his lower face. With another wash of more goo, Chase felt like he was more akin to a prepared turkey than an 18-year-old boy.

They haven't allowed him to look at himself just yet, trying to get him to a "beauty base zero" state so his stylist can see exactly what she's working with in his natural state. If the Capitol's standards of natural beauty were looking like he rolled out of bed looking ready to get married and smelling like roses, Chase wonders what their standard of being grubby-looking meant. Because certainly he's heard one of his prep team members chattering on about how one year a girl had so much gunk under her bitten nails she gagged.

The only way Chase was able to keep his mouth shut was by locking his jaw shut.

By the time these strangers are done, he feels completely exposed. His face was as fresh as the day he was born, and every inch of him scrubbed to sparkling. They took all his clothes from his home, including his father's flannel he gave him years ago, even after he begged them not to. He pleaded for them to at the very least give it to Jameson to hold onto. The prep team just laughed in his face and giggled amongst each other. Little chattering birds and probably with the same amount of if not less empathy.

Chase sat there on the table completely naked except for a nice thick robe that they were kind enough to supply. Thank god for that at least.

He felt bare without his stuff, without his beard, and without his things. He twists Stacy's ring around his pinky finger as he stares at the wall across from him, thanking whoever was listening that he was able to at least hold onto this one precious piece of home.

To Chase, the completely white chamber felt almost akin to a cage. A small, bare cage you’d maybe keep a dog in. But even the dogs here seemed to be treated better than all of the tributes. Certainly, they were more well-fed than any of the humans were back home.

Oh god, home. Chase would give just about anything to be back home right now. To have a peacekeeper shouting at him to climb faster or to stay in line. Hell, he’d even let them flog him again if it meant that he’d be back in District 7. His body itches to run into the familiar woods and get lost in the trees. He knows he wouldn't get far, but getting shot amongst the pine sounds far more merciful right now than getting paraded around before his inevitably much more gruesome demise. At least at home, he could die with some dignity. Will they even recognize him when his body gets returned in a box after the games?

It takes a while for Chase to even consider that they had forgotten about him here, until eventually, somebody enters through a nearly invisible door. Chase schools his face to not instantly glare at the woman before him who was to be his stylist.

She was tall, very tall, and fashionably thin as opposed to the dying-of-starvation thin Chase was personally more acquainted with. She wears an oversized fur jacket that hangs off her slender shoulders. Blonde hair was styled into two triangular buns on top of her head that brought to mind some kind of animal in Chase's head. Was that her real hair or just a wig? It was hard to tell the difference. Her spiked heels added even more height to her figure so she towers several inches over Chase even when he finally stands reluctantly to greet her.

He doesn’t know whether to stick his hand out to shake her hand or just wait for her to speak. He just stands still as she examines his body and does his best not to squirm.

The woman at first doesn't say anything as she just circles chase, eyeing him, taking him in. Like an animal circling its prey, which is fitting with her facial tattoos making it look like she is in fact some kind of cat. A tiger is the first thing that comes to mind, though Chase has never seen one in person. Maybe it was a photograph? Whatever. She stops circling and stands in front of him about two feet away. Chase has to tilt his head up to look her in the eye.

"It's very nice to meet you, Chase. My name is Tigris and I will be your stylist. I hope the process has been... bearable for you."

Her voice sounds very different compared to the prep team members. Their voices were so high, cheery, and posh. While Tigris sounds calmer and more serious. Calming in a weird, level way. Each word was carefully chosen like every sound had to be run by a council before coming out of her mouth.

“Well I’m not dead yet, so I’d say it was bearable enough.“ He tries to joke it off, trying to see if she can smile under all those tattoos and Botox. “So do I meet the Capitol’s standards yet, or do you need to send more people to scrub another layer of my skin off?”

The corners of Tigris' mouth go up a little. Chase assumes that's a smile. Does she have any idea how terrifying she actually looks? "The prep team is done cleaning you for now. I will say, you and your teammate are both a rarity. Most, if not all, other tributes are the complete opposite of each other but.. you both complement the other.”

Chase has no idea what on earth she's talking about. So, cleverly, he responds, “Uh, thanks?”

Tigris makes a motion with her hand. "Can you de-robe? I need to see you."

Chase rolls his eyes to the heavens and removes his robe, letting it drop to the floor unceremoniously. Any dignity he had has been stripped away from him. Which he guesses is the point. Strip them of everything they are so they become animals in a zoo. Animals that tear each other apart for their entertainment. “Your team was very thorough don’t worry.” He can't help but snark.

Tigris doesn't say anything. She just circles him like before, slowly. She stops abruptly and gently takes his hand, noticing the small metal band on his finger. She pauses and looks at Chase with a surprisingly sad expression. “You must think we're despicable, don't you?” Tigris doesn't say that sarcastically, or jokingly, or even tauntingly. She says it genuinely as if she truly pities him and this situation.

“Yes.” Chase doesn’t hesitate. He’s held hatred for the Capitol his entire life. Selfish awful people who take pleasure in watching children die. People who take and take and take and don’t ever give back. They say they provide order and security, but Chase knows they provide fear and danger. They’re monsters. They’re the animals, not the people from the districts. "But I don't think I'm allowed to say that while in your care."

"You can with me, dear. I do not mind. Between you and me, I feel like you could say worse if you wished. As long as you are clever, what else can they really do to you? President Snow has already sealed your fate. And I'm certain he has heard worse as well.” She lets go of his hand and finishes pacing around him. “You can put your robe back on and follow me to chat." Tigris walks away, motioning him to follow.

She just committed treason. Chase thinks to himself. Saying anything negative about Snow or the Capitol was considered a rebellious thought. Rebellious words. And considering what they did to 13, rebels were not welcome in Panem.

Tigris leads him to a room with two big black plush couches facing each other, in the middle is a low table with a small banquet of food. Lunch. A silver chandelier that looks like rain falling hangs overhead. Three of the walls are normal aside from the ugly pale green paint while the fourth is entirely made of glass, a window looking over the Capitol. Tigris sits down and invites Chase to do the same with a graceful wave.

He sits across from her, making sure as much of him is covered as possible with the robe. At the very least they could give him his reaping clothes back. They might not be up to Capitol standards, but they're home. Home and better than absolutely nothing.

“Can I have proper clothes?"

"Don't worry, your outfit for the ceremony won't be as uncomfortable as you fear. And the clothes you came with are safe. I made sure of it." Tigris says, pouring herself some wine. Chase's mouth waters at the spread despite his reluctance to indulge.

He's never had seafood before. Chase subtly watches Tigris as an example of how to eat the unfamiliar things on his plate and follows her lead on slurping the soft meat and sauce directly from the shell. Oysters, his mind supplies. The slippery texture was a bit much for him, and it was weird eating it seemingly raw, but he moved on to a shrimp dangling on the edge of a glass filled with thick red sauce and found the texture much more tolerable. Delicious.

"So, as you know, each of the tributes wears an outfit representing their District in the opening ceremony. Since you're from lumber we want to lean more towards nature and the wood. Not just throw a tree costume on you and call it a day. We want you both to look remarkable.” Tigris practically purrs as she interrupts their eating.

Chase nods along, trying his best to focus on this stranger's words as he bites into a roll consisting of seaweed, some sort of unfamiliar grain, and fish. It was incredible even if the roll fell apart in his fingers. "Okay, sure. So what do you have in mind?" He asks with his mouth full. A part of him really wants to believe that she wants to help him, but another more reasonable part knows she's here for her own gain. The best stylist of the year probably gets all the Capitol citizens clamoring after their clothes. Even more so if the tributes they clothed win.

Tigris takes a concerningly big sip of wine before addressing Chase again. “Your outfit will echo a… romanticized lumberjack. Your escort called ahead to us so I've made the proper adjustments to your costume already. My partner and your fellow tribute stylist have already done the same for her." Chase's dread sinks in. Oh god, they really are going to dress him up like a fucking doll. But at least he won't be entirely naked with only a maple leaf covering his junk and skin painted like bark. He remembers that already being tried a few years ago.

Remember what Jameson said. Chase grits his teeth and smiles with an encouraging nod, hoping to get a better idea of how ridiculous he is going to look.

“It shouldn't be too cumbersome. A corseted tank top, tastefully baggy work pants, and boots. I had quite a fun time designing your flannel to be made out of actual wood tiles of different colors, but it will be worn around your waist instead of an actual shirt. You'll practically feel right at home.”

That’s what the Capitol citizens think they look like back in Seven? Yeah, they wore flannels but they were thick and isolating for those cold winters and kept them safe from the rough raw bark as they climbed. It wasn’t a fun fashion statement. Everything they do in the districts, it’s to keep yourself and your loved ones safe and alive to the next day. Here, your clothes were just to show how much wealth you have. How much money you can spend to make yourself look as tastefully poor as possible. But not too poor because you didn't want to actually look like you clawed your way out of the districts.

But whatever. It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s for the Capitol, it’s for survival. It’s to play a game he has to win in order to get back home to his fiancée and future child.

“Okay. When can I change into that because this whole situation isn’t exactly a pleasant one.” Chase deadpans.

"In a few hours. My team needs to make the final touches on your outfit and then we have to give you back to the prep team for hair and makeup. What happens after the ceremony is your mentors' responsibility, but more comfortable clothes will be provided for each of you in your rooms."

But Chase just nods, pretending that he cares.

For a long while they just sit in silence. Chase polishes off his plate and asks Tigris if there are any oranges available. With a push of a button, she summons a small bowl containing miniature versions of the fruit Chase secretly delighted to have on the train. He peels and eats them while staring out the large window, not even bothering to try and make conversation with his stylist. He just watches the colorful dots that were the Capitol citizens move around like painted ants. An idle curiosity flits through Chase's mind if he could break the floor-to-ceiling window if he threw the table at it. He pops another miniature orange in his mouth before the idea can stick.

At some point at what Chase assumes to be around 4 pm, Tigris sets down her empty wine glass and stands. He follows her through the hidden door as he tries to savor the last orange wedge on his tongue as they walk. She leads him to a new room and releases him to the same prep team as before. He tries to crane his neck and silently beg Tigris for help when they grab his wrists, but the lanky woman is walking away.

Don't resist.

It takes everything for Chase to not have a permanent scowl on his face as these freakish people paint his face and tug at his hair. He feels one of them painting some kind of varnish on his fingers, but when he glances down it looks like there's nothing there at all. What's even the point?

"Here we are," Tigris says smoothly as she enters the room again an hour later with a large black bag.

Unzipping it, and the faint smell of wood wafts up and it actually catches Chase's attention. "I was experimenting with some new... materials. Hopefully, it's not too uncomfortable." If she had a real tail, Chase thinks it would be swishing around her in the way cats do when stalking prey.

Tigris shoos off the preps and helps him into his outfit personally. The tanktop was the worst part: made of some kind of stiff treated canvas and boning so it could be laced up in the back like a tight pair of boots. Chase felt like his air was getting cut off almost instantly. Everything was textured like rough bark which strangely brought some comfort, but the worst offender of the entire outfit was the "flannel." It wasn't even a real shirt. The "sleeves" were just two decorated flaps that clicked together under the "knot." It resembled more of a shingled roof with alternating squares of different wood samples, all held together by some flimsy shimmering orange material under it. The tiles all rattled together as Chase moved, and he felt ridiculous. Even more so when Tigris took some orange cord the thickness of a finger and started weaving some strange harness or belt around his hips.

To avoid cussing out these people for how stupid this all was, Chase just stares off into space, trying to think about how Stacy was doing. Was she home in front of their small television with her moms, or with Birch? Or will she be out in the square to watch the broadcast in public? He hopes that Willow is okay under all of the stress Stacy might be going through right now. Is Stacy eating? She had a bad habit of not taking care of herself properly when she was worrying about something too much. Birch should be able to convince her to eat. They're soft-spoken, but when Birch is heard they have a convincing way with words. Words that have comforted Chase so many times before. He wishes they could speak again. He wishes he was home-

The tightening of the laces behind his corset brought him back with a small gasp.

Before he knew it, Tirgis was finished. She and the team all stepped back to admire their work and Chase just stood there unmoving. Tigris gestures a manicured claw to the mirrors behind Chase and…

Chase looks almost nothing like himself. It’s like they stripped him of all that made him, him. Not just physically but emotionally as well.

His clean-shaven face was painted with harsh shadows that sharpened his face more than it naturally was. Some kind of brown eyeshadow that he thinks was supposed to be a “natural” eye but did manage to make his blue eyes pop out brighter. The makeup followed down his neck and to his exposed collarbone where everything seemed to be unnaturally accentuated as if he was more an exaggerated drawing than a person. Were those supposed to be branches in his hair? Ugh.

The outfit was tacky as hell. He registered bits and pieces as they were being put on him but all together it was terrible. The “tanktop” had a birch wood texture decorating it and it made his chest squeeze even more with the thought of his best friend. The dark brown pants were baggy with the printed bark texture of some tree Chase couldn't immediately place, and black boots with leaf designs laced up just under his knees. The bright orange cord laced around his upper legs and hips were obviously meant to frame and draw attention, so Chase was at least thankful that most of that gets obscured by the least functional flannel ever to curse the earth.

Now that he looks like this he has to go out there and pretend like he’s happy- like he’s grateful for this opportunity and all of it.

At least he gets to keep Stacy's ring on a copper chain Tigris provides him.

“It looks…nice.” That’s all he could muster up without showing any true emotion.

Tigris purrs from her chest, "You look ravishing, Chase. They will love you. Oh, one more thing." She slides a piece of green paper out from her work table and begins delicately folding it strangely. Chase can't help but watch as her pointer finger presses against each fold so it comes out crisp, folding and creasing the paper into different triangles until finally it takes a shape.

It's some kind of bird.

"There is a very old legend," She explains as she walks over to Chase again, "That if you fold one thousand paper cranes you get a wish." She says slowly as she carefully attaches the little paper bird to his shoulder. "My wish is for your..." She looks into his eyes, and he notices her pupils are ever so slightly slit. Were they contacts? Or did she pay to get them physically altered? "What is her name?"

"Stacy." He replies, trying not to grit his teeth at the whole ordeal.

"I wished for Stacy to be safe for you." Tigris finished simply, stepping back to take in her work with pride.

“Thank you.” He tried to muster an ounce of sincerity in his voice. But after the last two days, he can’t. He can’t feel anything except anger and disgust. Even this act of kindness felt fake. Like he was just a prop for Tigris to feel better. Oh, she made a beautiful outfit for you! She made you stand out! Her outfit is the reason you’re gonna get so many sponsors! Please. This whole thing, these games, were so ridiculous.

Tigris steps back, heels echoing in the room as she gracefully turns to the door, "Your chariot awaits."

°○°○°○°

Chase finds Ivy standing with Jameson and their horses in the closed-off corridor. The doors to the audience barely muffled the cheers and chatter of the Capitol civilians just beyond. Everyone is dying to get a first look at this year's tributes! And Chase was dying to get out of these stupid clothes as soon as possible.

The other tributes stood by their simple chariots and this was the first time Chase was seeing any of them in person. He tried to block most of them out when they were forced to watch the recaps of all the Reapings, but most if not all of them were.. younger than Chase. His stomach sinks. Was he one of the only 18-year-olds drawn this year? That is nearly impossible. But no, he looks around again and locks eyes with another boy seemingly around his age.

He was skinny, all lean muscle and his dark brown hair almost spiked up. If it was natural or gel Chase couldn't tell from where he stood. Brilliant green eyes seemed to illuminate with mischief and he held himself tall but a little off-kilter. He looks different for someone from District 2. Typically they're much more bulky from their (illegal but ignored) training. But this kid looked fast and lethal rather than hulking and brutal. The word sharp leaps to the front of Chase's mind.

Chase breaks eye contact first but can still feel the other boy's eyes on him as he approaches Ivy and Jameson.

Jameson was showing her how to carefully pet the horse with brown fur and white spots so they didn’t get spooked.

"Gently like this," His voicebox said before using the backs of his knuckles to pet the horse's muzzle where it could see them. "If you try petting them from the back they could get scared and kick your teeth out." He chuckles silently, allowing Ivy a turn.

"I've never seen such a beautiful animal like this.. they can do that and you guys just keep them as pets?!" Ivy says to Jameson gently petting the horse the way Jameson showed her, amazed.

Ivy’s gaze lands on Chase, and by the way her lips curve up into a smile, Chase could tell she was holding back a laugh. “Oh, my- is that really how they view lumberjacks?”

“Apparently.” He looks over Ivy’s outfit, her head nearly engulfed by her namesake. They put her in a skin-tight dress that must have had some kind of padding to make her curves more pronounced. It was all brown, textured with, obviously, bark patterns and fake vines wrapped around her like long snakes. Like ivy growing on a tree. Most of it crawled up her form and spilled into a ridiculous collar that swooped above her head to look like a tree canopy, but on closer inspection, it was more of those little paper cranes making up the leaves. He had to hold back a snicker at her outfit. “Well, at least no one will forget your name!”

“At least you look somewhat normal while I look like a fucking tree.” Ivy sticks her tongue out past the bright red lipstick. “Covering me in ivy. Not exactly subtle.” Small green gemstones shimmer on her face as she rolls her eyes.

Jameson laughs through his nose and gives them a small smile, "Yes I think that's the idea."

Chase gives a smile to Jameson in return as he joins in petting the horses. He really was the only one keeping them both sane. The only person from home and the only one who had an understanding of what they were going through. He didn’t glamorize a single moment of this, just explaining what would happen and being as sympathetic as he could. It was nice to have him through all this.

Tigris and Ivy's stylist, Jeuon, join them and help the two tributes step onto the chariot.

"Be sure to hold on tight." Jeuon explains with a lopsided grin, showing off a golden canine, "These carriages aren't the most stable." His black hair was styled in a collection of small braids that wrapped around each other in a large round bun on his head. Lips painted green to match Ivy's vines, but it was a shade too light. "Smile and wave to the crowd! Blow kisses, flirt. If we're going to sell your angle of sensuality then you have to play the part." He explains with a flourish of his hands for emphasis, showing an example of a coy wave with lowered eyelids.

"Smile and wave, flirt with the people. You're going to be great." Tigris purrs at them both.

"The horses know where to go. We'll meet you on the other side." Jameson explains as the grand doors begin to open at the end of the large hall. "Good luck." He and the stylists step back as the horses begin to pull the chariot.

Chase just shrugs, any words he could say would just be drowned out by the roaring crowd.

He grips the carriage as it starts to move, the constant wobbling throwing him off his balance. He can’t imagine what it must be like for Ivy in those heels.

The bright lights hit him hard and fast, nearly blinding him at how dazzling everything was. And the crowd, god he might go deaf from how loud it is. Chase has seen this whole show on television his whole life, but it does not truly capture the grandeur and noise of it all. He forces himself to smile and wave at the crowd, even winking and blowing kisses to every woman he can see. He watches as the girls his age, and even the older women and men, catch his kisses and even blow kisses back. Roses of all colors are thrown onto the ground and in his general direction. They all look as ridiculous as he feels. His face, his smile is on all the screens, his name and district underneath them. His smile grows wider, but it isn’t genuine. He tries to smile the way he would with Stacy, a goofy grin that she says makes her stomach do flips, but it just isn’t right. It’s too forced, but no one besides her will notice. He looks happy to the cameras, and that’s all that matters.

Chase feels Ivy’s grip tighten on his arm. The constant wobbling of the chariot paired with the high heels must be making her feel like she could fly off any moment. He grabs her hand on instinct, gripping it hard making sure that she doesn’t fall out. There was no need for District 7’s future victor to get trampled by horses on the avenue of tributes.

Eventually, their horses park in front of the grand white stage where President Snow stands over all of them, commanding attention and respect. Chase was so grateful that he could put his arm down and stop smiling. There was no way that the human body was meant for 30 minutes of constant waving and kisses. Even if it was, his body was not meant for it. The screens around them flash to each pair of tributes in their chariots as the fairly young president speaks to the nation.

"Welcome," His voice echoes and slowly quiets the crowd, "Welcome, tributes, to the 32nd annual Hunger Games." The crowd cheers, and Snow looks across the 24 children in costumes with a deadly smile, "May you bring honor and glory to your districts in these games. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

He’s watched Snow make announcements before, and everyone has agreed that he looked and acted like a snake. But now, in person, he could confirm it. His lips were puffy, yes, but his eyes were like that of a predator. And Chase was just a mouse scurrying away trying in vain to avoid his fate.

The president continued talking about the glory of the games like he did every year and wishing the tributes good luck. But Chase couldn’t hear it, all he could focus on was those eyes. Tigris’ were slits like cat eyes and Chase can’t be sure, especially from a distance, but Snow’s almost matched it. They were blue, an unnatural blue but those pupils, they were the real mystery. He never saw it on TV, but those pupils weren’t human. At least not in the way Chase would describe them. They were one of a beast, of a monster. A mutt.

Chase grabs onto Ivy making sure she doesn’t fall off as the chariots lurch into motion again. The crowd roars as the horses lead all the carriages away, plunging the pair back into darkness. But even then all he could think about was the cold and unforgiving eyes of that little man.

As promised, everyone met Chase and Ivy in the holding area, the prep teams ecstatic and chittering away like multi-colored songbirds. Chase tenses up as the flock crowds the two of them, all their hands clambering to touch them.

"Oh, you looked fabulous!"

"My heart stopped at that wink, you're a natural!"

"I was so sure those cranes would take flight! Along with my composure!" They all laugh but Jameson steps up and holds out a hand to help Ivy off the chariot.

"Well done. You didn't fall." He smiles, but his grey eyes look tired.

Teefee comes up and holds Chase's face in her hands, it takes everything in him not to smack her away like a fly, "You both look like a fantasy!" She gasps in wonder, her smile wide with pride, "Everybody will want a piece of you." The woman giggles, releasing him with a pat on his cheek, and leads everybody to the elevators. “I’ve already heard some sponsor talking~”

Tigris walks past Chase and nods approvingly but says nothing, sauntering on with her fur collar up high and long legs bare aside from some striped tights.

Chase looks around the room again while following his team, seeing the boy from District 2 again as he looks up. And the boy smiles at Chase. But before he could decipher if it was friendly or a threat, Chase was pulled into the elevator as the glass doors shut behind him.

Chase rests his head against Jameson’s shoulder, he didn’t know that a seemingly simple thing could be that exhausting. The attention, the cheers, the giggles, and the laughs drained him of everything he was. He feels like a hollowed-out tree, eaten alive by beatles and left with absolutely nothing inside.

“I want to go home, James.” He whispers just enough for Jameson to hear it. “I want to get out of these clothes. I can’t breathe.” Jameson doesn't say anything, but he takes one of Chase's hands in both of his and soothingly pats it. And that’s all he can do.

#jse hunger games au #chase brody #jameson jackson #jacksepticeye #jse fanfic #jse egos #mod parker #writersofjack #Ivy cinders #against all odds

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pogidoow · 1 year ago

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i don’t know if you do one shots but either way, i’d love to know when/how soap learned how frost prefers her coffee :-)

What a sweet request!!! Thank you <3

A/N: For some reason, I always feel like all my one shots lack something, so I don't really write them. But an attempt was made

Type: extra content for Frozen

Summary: Soap takes a liking to his newly arrived teammate. In an effort to get to know her, he observes her morning routine.

Word count: 808

CW: fluff, mention of loss

"We'll get right into it then--" Price's voice slowly muted itself out of Soap's ears as he watched you make yourself coffee on the other side of the room. His eyes followed your hands as you got the coffee out of the cupboard, enjoying the soft movements as if watching an art performance. His mind even played quiet background music that was occasionally interrupted by Price's raspy voice.

Every now and again, he'd look down at the worn-out surface of the table, scribbling in his journal as if taking notes of the meeting, then discretely bring his warm gaze back to your focused form.

Seeing you in such a different element, so off guard and comfortable, made him even more drawn to you than he already was. From the moment you met, he noticed your eyes had an entirely different story to tell than the one everyone heard about. You were a mystery to him, one only he wanted to solve.

He's been shamelessly watching you for three days now and each time, the first thing you'd do was bring the bag of ground coffee close to your face, close your eyes and take in its strong aroma. This part of your coffee-making process quickly became his favorite because each time, without fail, that moment would draw out a tiny smile on your face.

By the fifth day his mindless scribbling turned into a tiny sketch of your favorite coffee mug to which he added a small snowflake symbol. Below it, a short list of instructions followed, including the "smell the coffee first" step at the beginning.

After you lost Bo, for a while, your routine had stopped and you decided that coffee from the vending machine would have to do. Just when Soap finally felt like he was starting to figure you out, you changed again. However, he understood where your change of heart was coming from. Losing Bo in the way you did must've been horrible for you and the only thing that was on his mind was to be there for you in any way you'd let him.

So, on one random morning, he got up earlier than usual, took his journal with him and made his way to the kitchen. Sifting through the many pages of his journal, he stopped at the one that had your favorite mug drawn on it and carefully started following the instructions.

With your coffee burning his palm, he made his way to the vending machine and leaned on it under an angle, awkwardly fixing his position to look as attractive as he could while doing so. A cheeky and risky move, but he was sure it would work.

After about a minute of readjusting himself, the metal double door across from him opened, revealing your tired form that was comfortably drowning in an oversized tracksuit. Finally detaching your gaze from the floor, you noticed him in that silly position and couldn’t help but to smile immediately as you skeptically observed him in a silent stare off.

"What are you doing?" you asked once you approached him, another smile sneaking in-between the words.

He didn't reply, instead he put his open palm out to you with the corners of his lips sneakily lifting.

With furrowed brows, your gaze traveled to his palm then back to his face, "Do you need money for the machine? I'll get it for you. What do you want?"

"Bloody hell." his head bobbed to the side at your cluelessness, his smile turning into a charmed chuckle, "Just give me the money, will ye?"

Acting clueless, you squinted hesitantly before putting a few coins in his hand.

Still rolling his eyes at how oblivious of his joke you were, he sang "Ka-ching!" as he handed you your mug.

You took the mug without taking your eyes off him, "Not sure what just happened but thank you."

"Are you taking the piss right now?" he asked irritably but in a humorous manner then went on a passionate rent explaining the simple brilliance of his plan while you stared at him with a huge smile on your face as the plan of your own worked perfectly.

He immediately stopped once he caught your smile, "You're pulling my leg in? Aren't ye?" he shook his head, looking above you into the distance, amused by your reciprocated antics.

"The coffee is delicious." you complimented teasingly as both of you started walking towards the common room, "Might have to drink it every morning." you alluded as your eyes locked, neither of you paying attention to what was in front of you.

The tension only grew stronger at the moment of unspoken yearning, making him awkwardly laugh and break eye contact.

"Unbelievable, ye are." he chuckled as he opened the door for you, letting you in with another head shake.

#frzn #frzn asks #anon #frzn extras

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lykegenia · 2 years ago

Text

Like Glitter And Gold Ch. 7

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Characters/Pairings: Nate x f!Detective Rating: Teen

Read it on AO3

It’s not long after leaving Nate on the balcony that Leah steps through the doors of the café into bright, midday sunshine. The barista on duty has confirmed there aren’t any CCTV angles of the café itself, and there’s little more information on the wreck of the Pegasus that might tie it to the murder, but her second meeting with Samantha in the art gallery on the top floor of the museum wasn’t a total dead end, and it feels good to be making progress.

A few other patrons are sat at the scrubbed picnic benches on the patio overlooking the lake, huddled against a boisterous wind with determined fingers clasped for warmth around their mugs of coffee, eyeing the gulls that gather hopefully nearby. A figure a little further off beckons her over, tall enough that he’s easily recognisable even against the glare, and she smiles to see he’s bought her lunch already and saved a seat on a bench that looks out over the cliff edge towards the shore.

“Have you been waiting long?” she asks, cracking the lid of the juice bottle.

“For you?” He grins. “All my life.”

She shoots him a dry look. “That one was cheesy as hell.”

“I don’t think you mind all that much,” he replies.

“Of course not – you brought me food.”

For a moment, he leaves her to tuck in, watching fondly as she tries to find an angle that won’t blow stray wisps of hair into her mouth as she takes a bite. “I do recall you saying that so long as I did so, you’d stick around. I only hope you don’t change your mind.”

“Not likely soon,” she says around an undignified mouthful. “But in my defence, this is a really good sandwich.”

He smiles, turns to look over the water. “I’ve been thinking while I was out here… the curator’s surname –”

“It’s her married name,” Leah supplies. “But her husband is a descendant of the Pegasus’ captain – it’s how they met.”

“And to think I was hoping to be of help to you today,” he chuckles, stretching arm languidly along the back of the bench. There’s a sidelong glance to make sure she’s happy with the gesture, and a smile as she turns towards him with one tucked-up knee close enough to rest on his thigh. “So what now?”

Ignoring the burn in her cheeks – it’s definitely, definitely just the wind – Leah throws a cautious look over her shoulder to make sure they won’t be overheard. “We still have a few leads we can follow. Russell owned a boat, for one thing. But I can handle that… if you’d rather not.”

“I would brave anything for you, Leah,” he murmurs, an intensity to his gaze that seems to pierce through the brittle face she shows to the world.

She drops her gaze to brush away the last crumbs from her lap. “I wouldn’t ask you to, not if it was something that made you uncomfortable, or brought up such bad memories. I can manage.”

A tense silence engulfs them; even the sun is swallowed by a drifting tuft of cloud. When she peeks a glance sideways, the frown as he studies her catches her breath with all the doubts just waiting for a chance to pounce. Of course that wasn’t the right answer, it’s all she can do to mess things up, to bite at the hand offering a heart on a silver plate.

But as always, he twists from the unintended snap and reaches across the space between them, tucking a flyaway lock of hair behind her ear as he shifts closer.

“I didn’t mean to imply you aren’t capable,” he tells her. “One of your many talents seems to be the ability to tangle my thoughts into an inarticulate mess.”

“Really?” Sarcasm was always her strong suit. “But you’re always so charming.”

A smirk. “Do I charm you, Leah?”

“And you don’t even need pheromones to do it.”

The line brings a light chuckle to his lips as his touch moves from her shoulder to brush the edge of her jaw, soft as spring petals. She could stay here all afternoon, snuggled into his side to hide from the wind while they follow the movements of the seals bobbing in the waves, but it won’t help them catch their murderer. A sigh, and she squeezes her eyes shut, leans into his palm for all too brief a moment.

“I’m on the clock,” she reminds him, letting the sour note of regret sit heavy in her voice.

Nate’s smile falters, but he nods. “Next time, we’ll come when you’re not.”

The promise is made quietly, hopefully, and as they stand the movement brings him close enough to see all the varied shades of brown flecked within the depths of his eyes. A part of her still baulks at the softness she reads in his face, distrusting its sincerity like a child clinging to the steps of the swimming pool because she doesn’t believe she’ll float, but it makes her heart skip faster all the same. Perhaps, when they have a chance to be alone, without any prying eyes or Agency business to interrupt, she can find the words to expel that little black glob of fear, and perhaps he won’t hate her too much for her honesty. For now, however, there’s still the puzzle to solve, so she swallows it back down and takes his arm, focusing on the warm, solid presence at her side as they make their way back to the car park.

The drive to the marina is short, and Leah buries the shadows on her mind by mouthing along to the songs on the radio. Considering how much of a tourist trap the place is in the summer months, the final stretch to the car park is in poor repair, and only a delicate hand on the steering wheel keeps Nessie from losing wheels or undercarriage to one of the many potholes that line the track. By the time they reach the open chainlink gate and the unmarked patch of gravel by the waterfront, her teeth have been all but rattled out of her skull.

Lanes of moored boats stretch out in front of them, docile as a flock of grazing sheep with their masts bobbing contentedly in the breeze. Along the edge of the car park, rusted bits of junk lie in disorder next to sun-bleached buoys, chains, and thick lengths of frayed nylon rope that carry a brackish, bitter odour. Nate flashes a glance in her direction, nervous. The only sign of life is the clan of sparrows hopping like fallen leaves along the boardwalk.

Their phones buzz. Quicker off the mark, Leah pulls hers out to see a spam of photo messages from Felix, at least a dozen, all of the kittens. The poor signal at the lighthouse must have stopped them getting through before.

“You’ve created a monster,” Nate chuckles as she tilts the screen to let him see.

“Mm,” she agrees. “But you’re the one who to live with him.”

She taps out a quick response and refocuses. The yard is deserted, but the whirr of an angle grinder leads them to a large, open shed with a corrugated iron roof. As they head towards it, the sound stops and a man emerges, pushing a safety shield up from his eyes. An inch or two taller than Leah herself, he’s built broad in the shoulders, rounded about the middle by age, with a red face and thinning, mousy hair.

“Saw you pull up on the CCTV,” he calls across the space. “Can I help you?”

She nods and flashes her badge. “I’m Detective Kingston, this is Agent Sewell. We’re here about Russell Seakirk.”

The man’s eyes dart away. “Aye, I thought that might be it. Stanley Harris,” he adds, holding out a hand. “I own the marina.”

“Harris?” Nate asks. “We just came from the lighthouse museum –”

“Met Sam, have you?” Stanley flashes a weak smile. “She’s the wife. The museum’s actually how we met, you know.”

Leah nods. “She told me about it, and about the Pegasus.”

There’s a deep pause as Stanley crosses his arms over his chest and turns away.

“You must get asked about it a lot, and about the supposed treasure,” Nate suggests.

“Load of rot, all of it.” Their new person of interest blows a harsh breath through his cheeks. “Brian Harris was my great-grandpa. He saved lives cutting that cargo loose, and in thanks the liner company cut him off – gave him and his a black name so they couldn’t get work as honest hands anywhere.” He shrugs. “The only good the Pegasus ever did me was meeting Sam.”

“And the treasure?” Leah presses. “We have reason to believe Russell Seakirk was trying to find it.”

Stanley scuffs his boot at the gravel. “It’s a story, nothing more. If it existed, do you think I’d scraping by with this place? Russell wasn’t the first idiot who thought the lake was going to make him rich, but look how he ended up.”

“You didn’t like him very much, did you?”

He bristles. “Are you trying to say I killed him?”

“Did you?” she checks.

“No.”

Nate holds up placating hands. “Did he ever ask you about the Pegasus?”

“Never came up,” Stanley snaps, shrugging his shoulders higher.

For a moment, Leah lets him stew in his obvious discomfort, cataloguing the sullen body language and just how far to push it.

“We understand he had a boat here,” she says eventually, and watches as the discomfort shifts, but doesn’t quite turn into relief. “We’d like to see it.”

“Right.” He glances back to the boatshed. “Let me just put the tools away.”

The marina proper is locked behind a spiked, padlocked gate set into another chainlink fence, adorned with red signs warning of deep water and heavy equipment. As they follow along the concrete walk of the main dock, Leah passes a worried glance to Nate, who merely returns a wry smile and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. There’s tension in the line of his shoulders, but he seems to be coping.

Instead of commenting, she focuses back on getting more information out of Stanley. He seems more comfortable walking and talking, shrugging answers to her questions now that the subject of the Pegasus has been left behind. Seakirk paid his bills on time, kept to himself, ran tours and diving courses out on the lake during the summer, and like every other person with a berth, he had his own key for the gate and came and went as he pleased.

“What about in the winter months?” she asks.

Stanley shrugs again. “Not many tourists looking to swim in near-freezing lakewater. A fair number leave their boats docked in the off-season, some take them out for personal trips or for fishing.”

“And Russell?”

“I don’t keep tabs,” he answers, short. “That’s his over there. The Gillie Mhor.”

It’s easy to spot. Bigger than most of the pleasure craft around it, it’s moored to the main dock instead of one of the floating pontoons that sit lower in the water. The stern is open, with a ladder leading up to an enclosed wheelhouse and a bulkhead door into the interior. The deck must once have had quite a lot of space for tourists, but it’s been crowded out by a winch and a mechanical crane attached to some sort of lifting platform. It’s shiny, and new, and looks very expensive.

So that’s where Walter Greene’s money went.

“I don’t have keys, mind,” Stanley warns as they come up alongside it.

“No problem.” She waves the bunch of keys Tina relieved from the body before stuffing them back into a coat pocket. The dozen feet or so of water below them could become a huge problem if she develops butterfingers.

“Careful,” Nate murmurs as she tries to judge the gap.

He takes her hand to steady her – or maybe pull her back out if she falls in – and doesn’t let go until she’s stepped down safe onto the open lower deck. The movement of the boards beneath her feet take a little adjustment, but it’s subtle enough in the sheltered bay to not make her feel nauseated.

“I can look around here,” she tells him, answering the tightness at the corner of his eyes.

He nods. “Then perhaps… could I look over any logbooks you have for comings and goings, Mr Harris?”

“Uh, you want to do it now?” Stanley shifts an uneasy glance between them. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable leaving you alone, Detective – for safety. You’ll not be covered on the insurance if there’s an accident.”

“I’ll be fine,” she replies, as much to Nate as to him. “I promise not to pull the plug out.”

“If you’re sure…” He shakes his head and turns to Nate. “There’s a security camera on the gates, and as for people going on the water the boats are all fitted with GPS. Technology, eh? Everything’s automatic now.”

“I’ll be grateful to take a look,” Nate says, before glancing back to Leah. “Shout if you need help.”

She nods and waves him off, already casting her gaze over the deck as his footsteps fade away. The boards are clear, but as she reaches for the keys in her pocket she spots the damage to the cabin door that says she doesn’t need them. The lock has been smashed in.

With the unholstered Volt gun at her side, she inches closer, ears straining to catch any sounds of an intruder over the gentle lap of the water and the gulls overhead. The door swings inwards with barely a touch.

The dank, algal smell of the marina multiplies inside the cramped space of the cabin. Like the exterior, it might once have been roomy, but crates and spare parts are stacked in every inch of available floorspace, scattered in such a way it’s difficult to tell if the mess is a natural habit of the victim, or if his belongings were searched. The room beyond contains a narrow bed and a novel on the nightstand, and a tiny bathroom with a toothbrush in a mug next to the sink. Cupboard doors have been thrown open, their few contents spilled onto the floor.

At least the place is empty. Sighing, she puts away the Volt gun and pulls out her phone.

Nate picks up on the second ring. “Leah?”

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” she answers, endeared by the worry in his voice. “Can you ask Stanley if he’s had any break-ins at the yard, or anyone weird hanging about?”

“Of course.” Something muffles the audio for a moment before Nate puts the phone back to his ear. “Not that he knows of. Why – is something the matter?”

“The boat’s trashed like the chalet,” she says. “I’m going to have a look around.”

“Be careful, won’t you?”

“The worst I’m going to get here is a stubbed toe,” she chuckles. “But I will.”

As she clicks off and turns back towards the crates, her eyes catch on a corkboard screwed to the wall. Something was ripped off it with impatience enough that one of the four corner pins still clings to a scrap of blue paper. It might have been another map – or the same one she found in the journal – but it’s definitely not anywhere in the present mess.

The contents of the crates are just as baffling, a collection of junk – bits of wood, clumps of rust, pottery shards, and even a glass bottleneck with a stopper crusted over in decay – that on closer inspection have all been inked with strings of Echolian characters. After a long moment searching, she finds some that match, but without the journal and Nate to translate, there’s no telling what the labels mean. It’s probably just lucky that whoever broke in decided not to look too closely. After snapping a few quick photos for the layout of the space, she ducks back outside for cleaner air and phones Adam.

“What’s your status?”

“I found evidence that needs securing on Russell’s boat – it looks like someone came in and tried to find the journal, so I want forensics here as well in case they were careless enough to leave prints.”

“Understood.”

He cuts the call with an efficient lack of small talk, and Leah shoves her phone back in her pocket before hopping back over the side to find Nate.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #n sewell #nate sewell #nate x detective #nate x f!detective #detective leah kingston #wayhaven fic

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