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pinksturniolo · 8 months ago

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Two Is Better Than One - Chris and Matt Sturniolo

Chris x Matt and Fem Reader

The second part to Versus

polyamorous: characterized by or involved in the practice of engaging in multiple romantic (and typically sexual) relationships, with the consent of all the people involved.

or also defined as: the relationship you, matt and chris have built. it started out as an innocent game of truth or dare one night which turned into much more than you could have ever imagined. trust, respect, and honesty. these are the three rules set in place that are strictly to be followed.

but what happens when they just don't want to share you after all?

content warnings: poly relationship, not much plot to this one, heavy smut, raw sex, matt v chris, mean!matt, softdom!chris, fingering, oral receiving/giving, threesome (no incest thats just gross), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, manipulation, jealousy, angst, fluff at the end

word count: 4,662

“Fuck, Matt…” You whine, the feeling of pleasure almost overwhelming, his long fingers sliding in and out of your wet, throbbing core.

“Is this okay? Does that feel good?” he asks, his head leaning down and eyes searching your face for any sign of resistance, his expression resembling a mixture of concern and excitement. He asks you as if you weren’t obviously enjoying it, moaning his name, your fingers grasping tightly onto his bicep as he fingers you. You’re basically panting like an animal, your head thrown back against his shoulder.

He’s asked you about a dozen times since you dared him to kiss you if you’re okay and if you’re comfortable. It’s endearing though, and something you’ve always appreciated about him.

“God, yes. Please don’t stop.” You reply breathlessly. He had pulled you into his lap earlier, your back against his chest, teasing you for a little before plunging his fingers into you, exploring you for the very first time.

He hums in satisfaction after you voice your approval and kisses the side of your neck, as you lean your head back more to allow him full access.

Chris watches with wide eyes and a slack jaw, leaning on his arm as he lays sideways on the carpet across from you. From his position he has the perfect view with you exposed to him, your legs spread open for Matt. He’s painfully hard in his pants, his palm rubbing over himself to relieve some of the tension.

This only makes you wetter as you bring your head up to stare back at Chris and he makes eye contact with you. The way he watches you makes your heart flip in your chest. He licks his lips, looking back down at your dripping hole, squeezing around Matt’s fingers as they curl inside you and he places a thumb on your clit, starting to rub circles.

You close your eyes and throw your head back against Matt again, completely lost in the feeling, the coil in your stomach starting to unravel. Colors dance across your eyelids as you squeeze them shut, your thighs tensing and loud moans from you fill the room.

Matt whispers words of encouragement in your ear and your orgasm rolls through you in delicious waves as you feel yourself drench his fingers with arousal.

Matt uses every ounce of strength he has not to cum from the sight of you losing yourself on his lap, his eyes locked on you. The sounds you make are like music to his ears and he knows he’s hooked now.

You never would’ve thought Matt would be the one to touch you like this, giving you the first orgasm that you’ve had from someone besides yourself in a good while, let alone Chris also watching it happen. But it’s incredibly sensual, and forbidden, and dirty, and you absolutely love it.

You recover from the short burst of ecstasy and sit up a little, your breath shaky and remove the death grip you had from Matt’s arm. Chris is still in shock, staring at you like he’s just witnessed the best porn scene of his life.

“What’s wrong Chris? Scared you can’t do better?” Matt says, taunting him.

He scoffs, and snaps out of his trance, grabbing you by the ankles to pull you towards him. You gasp from the sudden shift, and the mischievous smirk on Chris’s face has you blushing.

“Come ‘ere Princess. I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

That was 6 months ago, and this is now. Now, you’re sitting on Matt’s bed as he stands in front of you, the rage vibrating from him so strongly it’s starting to scare you. The difference between Matt now and Matt then is baffling. But the few times you’ve seen him like this, you couldn’t hide the fact how much it turned you on. He was the sweetest person you knew, yet he could absolutely ruin you if you pushed him to that point.

“Beg.” He says finally. Your doe eyes stare up at him, but he keeps a stoic expression.

“I- what?” You start, unsure what exactly he wants you to beg for.

“You heard me, angel. I want you to beg for it.” He answers.

Chris smirks from his place on the gaming chair, enjoying the approach Matt’s taken. His front teeth dig into his bottom lip, the obvious boner from earlier still pressed hard against his thigh in his sweatpants.

But the second your eyes flick over to Chris, Matt sighs in anger and shakes his head.

“Chris, get the fuck out.”

He sucks his teeth, throwing his hands in the air like a defeated child. “Bro what-“

“She’s too distracted right now. It’s still my fucking night. I said she’ll get what she wants. But on my terms.”

Chris glares at the back of Matt’s head for a little and then sighs, looking at you briefly before getting up from the chair and leaving the room, closing the door.

“Matt, I’m sorry. Can we please talk- “You start but he’s quick to shut you down.

“Shut your mouth and get on your knees. Now.”

Your face heats in embarrassment but your thighs clench together in excitement. Matt notices, watching your every move. He would never make you feel uncomfortable, and he knows you well enough to watch your body language and cues.

And he knows that your face is red with embarrassment because of his change in demeanor and his harsh tone but he also knows your thighs are clenching together because there’s a throb starting in your core. And he loves the effect he has on you.

You slip to your knees on his floor, as he unbuckles his belt and pulls his boxer briefs down a little, his cock springing out as he holds it in his hand in front of your face. He’s already hard and ready for you, as you shuffle even closer to him, placing your hands on his thighs.

“Go on. Show me how sorry you are.” He says, his voice deep and still thick with sleep.

That’s all you need to hear before taking him into your mouth, letting him slide as far down your throat as you can manage. He groans, holding the back of your head as he lets you adjust, your throat constricting slightly as you gag around him.

And you are sorry. You’re sorry that you let Chris have his way with you in the kitchen while you left him in his bed alone. You’re sorry that you made him angry, especially after his earlier confession. You’re sorry that this whole relationship between you three has gotten so messy.

So, you let him wrap his hands in your hair as he thrusts slightly, breathing through your nose and letting him control the pace, wanting to pull more sounds of approval from him. You let him fuck your mouth, holding your head and bucking his hips like that’s all you are to him right now, a hole for him to use.

He does this for a few good minutes, thoroughly enjoying the tight warmth of your throat around him. You’re sure that there’s a redness forming on your knees from being on the floor and tears start to leak from your eyes, but you don’t mind. You would gladly let him use you in whatever way he wanted.

“Fuck, angel... just like that. Take it.” He moans, and you reciprocate, your fingertips digging into his thighs. You’re basically slobbering on him now, saliva starting to pool out of your mouth and onto your chin. The cold metal of his rings scrape your scalp as he fists your hair tightly. You’re almost out of breath and you look up at him with lust filled eyes, your lashes fluttering. He nearly loses it then, his orgasm threatening to tip him over the edge.

But then he pulls out quickly before he can and you gasp, catching your breath.

He pulls you up by your arms, and practically throws you onto his bed, your back hitting his sheets. You barely have time to say anything before he’s stripping you of your clothes and pulling his pajama pants off. He crawls onto the mattress after you, holding your legs in place so you stay spread open for him, his throbbing dick still hanging out of his boxers.

He presses into you, sitting up on his knees on the bed as he runs his tip through your folds, causing a jolt of pleasure in your stomach and your mouth hangs open, watching him.

His eyes are transfixed on the way you’re leaking in need, slickness coating him as he slides through you teasingly over and over, and then looks into your eyes, a hungry, almost irritated look on his face from how insane you make him.

“I wanna hear you beg for it Y/N.” He demands.

You want him so bad, you would say anything he wanted you to.

“Please, Matt. I need you.”

He tsks, shaking his head slightly as he continues to tease you. “Not good enough.”

“Matt… Please fuck me. Please, I need to feel you baby, I’ll be so good I promise.”

He bites his lip, feeling his dick throb at the sound of the needy way you beg for him.

“Yeah? Not gonna make me mad anymore sweetheart?” He coos, and you shake your head in earnest as he locks eyes with you. He presses his tip against your entrance with a smirk on his face and you whine with frustration.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door and you can only assume it’s Chris. Matt chooses not to hear it, pushing himself all the way inside you without warning and you cry out, the feeling of him burying inside you as deep as he can, his hips flush with yours.

He doesn’t move at all, gripping the back of your thighs and pushing them up and tight against your upper body so he has your legs open even wider for him. His eyes are dark as he looks down at you, the dominance penetrating.

“Matt.” You hear Chris say from behind the door.

“Make one fucking noise and I’ll stop.” Matt tells you lowly and pulls out halfway only to slam back into you, hard.

Your eyes widen and you can’t help the loud whimper that escapes you. He clamps one of his hands over your mouth, and you clutch his wrist as he moves again, your body jolting at the rough way he thrusts into you. “What did I just say? Hm?” He warns through gritted teeth, his breath shaky despite his harsh tone.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks condescendingly and you shake your head no fervently, his hand still over your mouth. You don’t dare to make a sound no matter how bad you want to. “That’s what I thought.” He adds and quickens his pace, watching as he pounds into you, the feeling sparking a slow burn in both of you.

You’re absolutely soaked, and he can’t take his eyes off how well you take him. You’re already clenching around his cock, and he moves his hips up, scooting even closer to you, now hitting you at a different angle, his tip brushing your cervix. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you’re biting into his hand, gripping his arm for dear life.

Knock, knock.

Chris sighs from the other side of the door. He can’t hear you, but he can hear Matt’s headboard bang against the wall, and he burns with envy. He knows how pathetic this is. Standing outside Matt’s door while he fucks a girl. His girl. As far he was concerned, you were his. You had his heart, and no amount of pettiness or jealousy would change that.

They had both agreed they would share you tonight, per their discussion earlier in the kitchen. It’s what you wanted. And now Matt was being greedy.

“Come on, sweetheart, I know how fucking good it feels. Cum all over my dick, I know how bad you want to.” Matt tells you and you’re melting in seconds, trembling beneath him as you climax, the feeling incredible. You’re making small, muffled cries against him, riding out your high.

But the feeling of release is soon replaced with an intensity that has your legs shaking as he still hasn’t stopped thrusting into you, his resolve still intact.

He moves his hand from your mouth to your neck, gripping slightly, enough that you feel hazy. The overstimulation has you breathless, your whimpers lost as he fucks the air out of your lungs. The pleasure returns though as he finds your g spot once more, and he moves his hand from your neck to your clit, bringing even more stimulation to your nerve endings and your whole body feels as if it’s on fire.

Before you can cum though, Matt is suddenly pulling out of you, flipping you around so fast your head spins and enters you again from behind. He leans down over you, one arm snaking around your chest and the other around your waist as he holds you close to him.

“You belong to me, did you forget that?” He pants, starting slow, deep strokes into you and you moan out from the feeling. The change in position has you tingling, floating in pleasure under him. And his words only push you to that glorious edge again, as he spews filthy words into your ear, his arm tightening around you.

“If I ever catch you like that again, I’ll make sure you regret it.” He thrusts into you faster now, his pace unforgiving.

Silk sheets the color of melted chocolate and patchwork arm tattoos. That’s all you can focus on as Matt slams into you, and you take every minute of it. It’s not long before you’re reaching that peak again, trembling under Matt and breathless. He releases into you, his lips against your neck, hot breath puffing on your skin.

But that wasn’t the last one.

He made you cum again, for the third time, pulling you to the edge of the bed while he stood up and fucked you till your vision went blurry and your legs went numb. This time, pulling out and painting white stripes on your stomach and chest.

Once he catches his breath, he goes to grab a towel to clean you and you lay on the bed, your mind still foggy and your heart pounding in your chest. You can’t really move, your body spent from the intensity.

You don’t even notice when Matt comes back to you, running the towel over your body and between your legs, cleaning up his cum that’s leaked out of you. He places a hand to your forehead, smoothing your messy hair from your face and places a light kiss on your cheek. “You’re okay angel, I got you. ‘m right here…”

Chris comes through the door now, hearing the sudden silence and sees the image of you sprawled out on Matt’s bed, the fucked out look on your face. You’re sweaty and your eyelids are drooped with exhaustion. He then sees Matt, caressing your face and whispering sweetly to you.

“Jesus, Matt what did you do to her?” He says, moving closer.

Matt ignores him, grabbing a water bottle from his nightstand and handing it to you, helping you sit up slightly. “Drink this, angel.”

“Y/N, are you okay?” Chris asks and looks at you. You look absolutely ruined.

You nod weakly, unable to form words yet and gulp the water down.

“She’s fine Chris.”

“I asked her, not you.”

Matt gets up from beside you, stepping to Chris. “Why are you here again?”

Chris scoffs. “Because she wants me to be.”

“What if I changed my mind?”

“Well, its not just about you, is it?”

“No, what if I changed my mind about everything.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“The fuck does that mean Matt?”

“She belongs to me, I need her… I love her.”

“She’s not a fucking object-“

“You know what I fucking mean Chris-“

“No. I actually don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about because last I checked, she doesn’t want just you. We had an agreement- “ “Fuck the agreement- “ “Please, stop.” You whine from the bed, unable to take any more of their bickering. Your voice is hoarse and tired, your head lolling against the mattress.

Chris immediately comes over to you, lifting you up gently so he can hold you against him, your back against his chest as you lay between his legs.

“You feel okay baby? Do you want to go to sleep? You need some rest.” he asks softly, stroking your shoulders and running his hands down your arms.

“I’m okay.” You respond. You place a hand on his knee and lean your head back against him. You were tired but you had some time to calm down and felt a little clearer headed now.

And then you see Matt near your feet, crawling up to you slowly, his eyes all apologetic and doey. He gently places his hands on your legs, touching you like you might break. “Will you let me make you feel better angel?” He asks, his voice like honey and you melt in the sound.

“Yes.” You breathe and the way he’s looking at you has butterflies forming in your stomach and another feeling of want and lust blooming in your core, softer this time. A lot of emotions have been surfacing tonight, making the air thick and energy intense, almost overwhelming.

But it seems most of the cards have been laid on the table, and now all that’s left is the three of you, wrapped up in the simple language of wanting and the desire to be wanted back. The constant competing, the angst, the struggle for power… none of that matters right now except for their goal of wanting to please you and take care of you.

Matt’s mission is to caress your body, run his hands over every inch of your skin, kneading gently into the muscles of your thighs, legs and hips, massaging you. He molds his palms and fingertips into you like he’s sculpting an art piece and he’s careful to touch you, like you might break like glass.

You sigh, the soothing motions of his hands calming you, making you incredibly relaxed. And wet. With each brush of his hands on your inner thighs, his fingertips graze your creases, inching closer and closer to your aching cunt.

Then he starts to press kisses to your skin, tingles running through you from his soft lips. It’s maddening but also has your head in the clouds again, and you want nothing more than to feel his tongue against you.

Chris still holds you, his face buried into your neck, also using his mouth to leave more small marks next to the ones he placed before.

He brushes all your hair to the back of your neck, his hands moving to your breasts and you gasp lightly as he kneads them, flicking his thumbs across your sensitive nipples.

Matt continues to touch every part of your lower body except that place you need the most. You whine impatiently, now ready for him to go further. He looks up at you, his face hovering over your pelvis. “Want my mouth baby?” He says and you moan, nodding your head. “Please, Matt.” He smirks and he leans his head down, kissing the spot right above your clit. “So good for me.” He mumbles.

You reach down to tuck your fingers into his soft hair when Chris grabs your arms, gently pulling them back and holding them behind you. He places his lips by your ear, his breath puffing against your neck. “Gotta stay still baby.”

Matt then spreads your fold with his fingers and slides his tongue down your wetness, flicking it up and then back down to your hole. You moan loudly, as Chris continues to fondle your breasts, and smooths his hands down your stomach. He’s touching you as lovingly as he can in all the spots he can reach. All while Matt buries his face between your legs.

You lean your head back against Chris, cries of pleasure escaping your mouth.

“Does it feel good baby?” Chris whispers in your ear and you nod, unable to speak as Matt devours you, tasting you like he can’t get enough.

“Not better than my tongue though.” He adds and sticks two fingers in your mouth, resting them against your tongue and you suck lightly, your moans vibrating around them.

“Such a dirty fucking girl…” He groans and slips them out of your mouth with a pop, leaning down further to kiss you, his tongue circling yours.

Matt coaxes you closer and closer to that peak again, his mouth sucking and lapping at you like it’s his last meal. This time, the build up is sweeter, and it has you seeing stars as he encourages you to cum, his face coated with your juices, your whimpers and moans of his name sounding through the room.

“So beautiful angel, you did so well for me.” He praises.

✰✿

Exhaustion has officially taken over the three of you, the night finally ending in the early hours of the morning. You all lay in Matt’s bed, with you in the middle. Sleep took over your body once Chris helped you get a clean pair of pajamas on and laid you down. You looked so peaceful he just couldn’t leave you.

Matt let him stay. Begrudgingly. He didn’t have the energy to argue anymore tonight. Chris holds you from behind and you rest your hand as Matt’s chest, drawing soothing circles on his skin.

You awake after a few hours, the sunlight filtering through the shades of the bedroom window. It isn’t noon yet and your eyes are still heavy with sleep as you stretch a little and feel Chris’s arms tighten around you. You see Matt with his back to you, towards the edge of the bed. He’s knocked out, his shoulders moving with slow, deep breaths.

Chris holds you close to him, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he splays his hand over your stomach. “Already awake princess?”

You smile lazily and yawn, putting your hand over his. Your legs tangle underneath the blanket you share, and he pulls it up higher, covering most of your body. “Just lay here with me for a while, yeah?” He mumbles and peppers soft kisses from the spot below your ear down the nape of your neck, leaving goosebumps in his trail.

You sigh happily and his hands escape underneath your t-shirt, smoothing over your hips and the curve of your side. He continues kissing every inch of skin his lips can touch. The dip of your neck, your jaw, the back of your shoulder.

“You look so beautiful when you sleep… I love you more than you know, sweet girl. You mean everything to me.” He whispers and your heart squeezes in your chest. His words reciprocate what you feel for him, and it makes his touch all the more pleasing.

Chris runs his hands down your thighs now, fingertips brushing the crease of your pelvis and it only takes a few seconds for you to feel wetness pool between your legs for him as he places an open-mouthed kiss on your neck, running his tongue along your skin.

You whimper ever so quietly, your breathing more shallow from his soft, sensual actions. “Shhh… don’t make a sound baby. We don’t want Matt to wake up now do we?”

You turn your head slightly to make eye contact with him and he smirks, his fingers sneaking into the side of your shorts and caressing your wet folds. You stay silent though, your teeth digging into your bottom lip and brows furrowing as he pushes one finger inside you slowly, still some soreness from the night before.

“Be good for me, mama. I’m gonna get you ready for me, okay? Does it hurt?” He asks and you nod, hissing as he pushes in further, some resistance against him as he strokes your spongy walls.

He hums in empathy, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” You kiss him back as he continues small thrusts into you with his middle finger, growing wetter by the second. The burn disappears as he’s gentle with you, and you crave more.

He takes notice of the way your body relaxes now, the tenseness gone and your hips wiggle with need, so he adds another finger and you almost let a moan escape. He strokes your walls with care, pushing them all the way in to the base of his knuckles. Sounds of wetness come from under the blanket and he molds his lips against yours sweetly.

Your hips are moving back towards him, helping you slide down his fingers and he chuckles lightly. “Look at you… practically getting yourself off on my hand. Who knew my sweet girl was so needy, hm?” Chris taunts and you whimper quietly. “So needy for you, Chris… please.” You breathe and he removes his fingers from your hole, shoving them into your mouth.

Matt shuffles in his sleep in front of you and your heart races, a jolt of fear running through you. He doesn’t wake though, and Chris pulls his cock out of his boxers, pressing his tip into your hole, your arousal already coating him.

You make a muffled sound against his fingers as he groans into your ear. “You gonna be quiet like I said?” You nod and he pushes himself all the way into you, a grunt of pleasure emitting from him as he buries his face into your neck. He removes his fingers from your mouth and wraps his arm around your chest, cradling you against him as he rocks into you from behind, slow and deep.

“Such a good girl for me… always.” He praises and your mouth hangs open at the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, his shaky breath on your neck.

It feels so fucking good, you never want him to stop, wanting to have the feeling of him inside you always so you’re never empty.

It’s not long at all before you’re clenching around him, your orgasm spilling out and he’s whimpering into your skin, teeth biting softly into your flesh from the way you squeeze him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so full baby, I want- shit… want you to have all of it.” He moans and releases into you, warm spurts of his cum painting your insides.

He stays inside you for a while, and holds you, your breaths slowing down eventually.

“I love you, Chris. Both of you. Please don’t make me choose.” You whisper, fatigue making your eyes slip close again as you drift to sleep in his arms.

He doesn’t say anything, his eyes looking over to Matt who seems to have been asleep the whole time. He sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and gently pulls away from you once you’re sound asleep, getting up from the bed to leave with you Matt and return to his room. He wants you to get rest. The hard discussion can be left for another day.

Matt turns over once Chris leaves, wrapping his arms around you. He makes a mental note to take extra good care of you for the next few days after the events of this weekend. He’ll run you a warm bath, massage your achy and sore limbs, and put on your favorite movies later.

And he definitely won’t forget to get Chris back for his sneaky acts that morning, something he was very, very good at.

taglist <3

[if you would like to be added/taken off, please reply to this post or comment on my masterlist. if u weren’t tagged, it wouldn’t let me add u :/]

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @sturnsjtop @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @mattslolita @certifiednatelover @glassesmattsbae @eryismum @sturncakez @sturnioloco @wh0resstuff @ribread03 @sturniololoco @75sturn @st7rnioioss @mattscoquette @h3arts4harry @jnkvivi @chrizznmetswife @sturnsluverr @mattsbiggestfan0283 @bambi-slxt @angelic-sturniolos111 @sofie-1

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #versus fic

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big-snack · 2 months ago

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Ghostface and The Captured Hunk

It was well past midnight. Mark lay sprawled out in his king sized bed. He had always been athletic, his blonde hair cropped short, his physique was nothing short of sculpted perfection. Tall and imposing, his muscular frame seemed to have been carved from stone. His broad shoulders and powerful arms bulged with thick, defined muscles, the kind that only came from years of relentless training. His chest was broad and solid, tapering down to a set of chiseled abs that rippled with every subtle movement. Covered in a light dusting of hair, his body exuded a primal strength, accentuated by the way his veins stood out under his skin, pulsing with raw power.

Mark woke to the sound of heavy footsteps creaking across the wooden floor of his secluded cabin.

His body was tense beneath the covers as he listened to the unnatural silence that followed.

He sat up slowly, his heart racing. The soft glow from the moon barely lit up the room, casting pale shadows across his face. His jaw was clenched, and his deep blue eyes scanned the room, searching for any sign of what had disturbed him.

A loud crash echoed from the kitchen.

Mark's stomach dropped. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he checked for a signal—nothing. Typical. Out here in the middle of the woods, he’d always told himself it was peaceful, an escape from the noise of life. But right now, it felt like isolation, pure and simple.

Mark only slept in his underwear. He swung his tree trunk legs out of bed, feet hitting the cold floor. Moving as quietly as he could, he grabbed the wrench from his toolbox by the door. His hands, rough and calloused, wrapped around it tightly as he crept into the hallway, the wood creaking under his weight.

The cabin was small, barely more than a few rooms, but it suddenly felt like a labyrinth. Each step he took felt louder than the last, his ears straining for any sound. His mind raced, replaying the crash in the kitchen, imagining what could be waiting for him.

Then, he saw him.

At the end of the hallway, just barely illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows, stood a figure in black robe. The familiar white mask stared back at him, the empty, soulless eyes of Ghostface. Mark could tell this Ghostface was strong, tall, and burley. This man's stature was incredibly intimidating. He could've easily been a lineman on a football team.

Mark’s chest tightened. He froze, gripping the wrench so hard his knuckles turned white. The masked figure didn’t move—just tilted his head, slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey.

Mark took a step back, but Ghostface didn’t give him a chance to think. In a flash, he charged down the hallway.

Instinct took over. Mark swung the wrench, but Ghostface dodged, sending Mark stumbling against the wall. Before he could catch his breath, Ghostface was on him, pressing him into the wall, a gloved hand gripping his throat, but it was more seductive than threatening.

Mark struggled, using every bit of his strength, but Ghostface was fast and relentless. The masked man raised his knife, gleaming in the low light, and brought it down.

With a burst of adrenaline, Mark twisted, the blade barely missing his chest and cutting into his shoulder instead. Pain shot through him, but he shoved Ghostface off and ran, not looking back as he bolted out the door into the freezing night air.

Behind him, the door slammed open again.

Ghostface was coming.

Mark sprinted through the woods, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his heart pounded in his chest. The icy air stung his skin, but the pain in his shoulder kept him focused, adrenaline surging through his veins. He darted between trees, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and Ghostface.

But he could hear him. The heavy footsteps behind him deliberate and unhurried like the killer knew exactly where Mark was headed There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Panic clawed at him, but he couldn't stop

Just when he thought he was gaining ground, Mark's foot caught on a hidden root. He went down hard, his body slamming into the cold earth. Dazed, he tried to

scramble back to his feet

but it was too late.

Ghostface was on him

A gloved hand grabbed him by the back of the neck,

yanking him up with brutal force. Mark struggled

throwing wild punches, but Ghostface easily dodged

them, slamming him against a nearby tree. His vision blurred, pain radiating through his body as Ghostface pinned him in place.

Mark kicked out, landing a blow to the killer's knee, but it barely slowed him down. The last thing Mark saw was the glint man straddling on top of him. His world went black.

When Mark woke, his head throbbed like a drum, the dull ache spreading through his entire body. He tried to move, but his arms were bound tightly behind him the rough rope biting into his wrists. He was slumped on a bed, his legs aching from being in the same position for too long. He blinked, disoriented, his surroundings coming into focus. The room was dark and warm, the smell of cookies filling the air. Which was very odd for Mark. A single flickering bulb hung from the ceiling, casting dim, uneven light across the space. It looked like a

basement--bare walls, no windows, and no way out. His chest tightened with fear.

Mark's muscles strained as he tried to loosen the ropes around his wrists, but they wouldn't budge. He was trapped. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rising panic. He had to think. had to figure out a way out of here.

Then he heard it--the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

His heart stopped

The slow, deliberate creak of each step echoed through the room. The door at the top of the stairs groaned open, and there he was. Ghostface standing at the entrance to the basement, his dark hulking figure looming in the faint light, he stepped down slow and purposeful, the His belly was so big it was jiggling with each step.

Mark's breath caught in his throat. He pulled harder at the ropes, his muscles burning with effort, but it was no use. He was completely helpless. As Ghostface descended the final step, he paused, tilting his head just as he had in the hallway, as if savoring the fear.

Mark's mind raced. This was it. He was trapped, no way out, and Ghostface was going to finish what he'd started

The masked figure approached him, silent and

methodical. Mark's pulse roared in his ears as Ghostface crouched down in front of him, bringing the mask inches from his face. The dark eyes behind the mask stared into Mark's, and in that moment, Mark realized something-this wasn't just about killing him Ghostface was playing withhim.

"You're mine, now" Ghostface uttered through the voice modulator.

A gloved hand reached out, slowly tracing his hand along Mark's cheek the cold rubber sending a shiver down his spine. The killer was taking his time, dragging out the terror.

Mark swallowed, trying to keep the fear from swallowing him whole, but it was no use. He was trapped, and Ghostface had all the time in the world,

Ghostface pulled out a long black tube with a funnel attached.

"I hope you're hungry, stud. You're about to get filled" whispered Ghostface.

Part 2 Coming Soon 🎃

#exjock #belly #bhm belly #fatboy #fat boy #gay gainer #male gainer #male weight gain #bhm #getting fatter #gainer stories #gainer fiction

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coff33notforme · 1 year ago

Text

Atsv characters reaction to you calling them baby girl

A/n: Just silly little headcannons because this prompt has been living in my head rent free, also I’m adding Atsv to my writing list so feel to request headcannons. Pairing: Pavtri, Gwen, Hobie, and Miguel and Gn reader (Separately, Platonic or Romantic, just random bullshit I don’t know, headcannons )

Gwen: You’d just returned from an incredibly draining mission, your body ached with each tense step you took

But as soon as you saw Gwen leaned over one counter tops in dining hall you couldn’t help but feel a childish joy bubble up from in your chest

Wrapping your arms around her waist as you embraced her with a smile you whispered

“How’s my baby girl doing today?”

And she fucking freezes, your what?

You had never called her anything like that before, she can’t help but feel a smile of confusion creep it’s way onto her face

“What, what did you just call me?”

She asks with a smile

She’s not mad at all, just confused as to what brought this on, but after you repeat it she shakes her head with a breathy laugh as she turns to hug you

She doesn’t really mind the nickname, I mean it’s not like she’s in love with it, but she finds your strange nature oddly endearing

Whenever you use it In front of others though, lord have mercy, she’ll do that thing where she freezes up and her eyes go wide as she tries to cover up what you were saying to her

Hobie and Pav tease the shit out of her

One time just to test the waters you used the name In front of Miguel, when I tell you she froze, I mean like a deer in headlights as she turned to you with the biggest glare she could offer

Miguel only scowls at the two of you as he rubbed his temple with a frustrated sigh

“Y/n, Gwen, at least try to keep this professional.”

She wouldn’t talk to you for two weeks after that

But once her anger had subsided she found herself getting used it too it

Pavtri:

You were in the kitchen, bent cookie recipe with furrowed brows as your eyes scanned the paragraph of instructions your eyes fell upon one particular ingredient

Sugar

How could you have forgotten to buy some? With a groan you shifted your body to face Pavtri who had been laid out on the couch watching you work for the past hour of so, he looked over to you confused as to way you seemed so distressed

“Hey, Baby girl?”

You called out to him in only the sweetest tone, he couldn’t fight the smile that managed it’s way onto his now brightly grinning face

“Yes? My prissy pissy poo poo bear?”

At his ridiculous nickname, you couldn’t help but to burst out with a loud fit of laughter, as you clutched your stomach you turned back to Pav

“What, did you just call me?”

“What did you call me?”

He shot back with a lopsided smile

From then on anytime you used the nickname he only racked his brain for something ten times as ridiculous as what you had called him

You’ve compiled a list of all the weird shit he’s said

Anytime he does this you let out a soft snort and a quiet fit of giggles following this, and this only encourages Pav to keep going, he’s addicted to the sound of your laughter

But honestly he loves the nickname, the idea of him being yours and yours only, makes his heart flutter

Hobie:

The idea had come to you a long time ago, you had to admit, that you found the idea of calling Hobie baby girl, was at least a little funny to you if not incredibly tempting

With a shit eating grin crawling up onto your face, you’d found Hobie in his room, tweaking his electric guitar as he sat on his bed

His head shot up at he noticed your frimillar figure slinking through his door, he offered you a lazy smirk as he placed his guitar to his right as he opened his arms for you

“How ya been doin’ love?”

He drew out, you felt your smile only widened as you returned his embrace

“Not too well without my baby girl.”

You teased as you placed yourself onto his lap, kissing his cheek with a hum

“Damn Right.”

Just accepts it, baby, he’s whatever you want him to be

Malewife, babygirl, you name it he’s yours

He just loves you call him yours, and if you want he’ll call you the same

Miguel:

It was a dare, it was a dare, fucking Peter B Parker would be the death of you

Miguel was right there, this was all you had to do before you could leave, this was it, it was only for a moment and then you were gone

Miguel sat alone in his office, his head propped up in one arm as his eyes tiredly drifted through the monitor screens, with signature pout plastered to his face

With a deep breath, you turned and shot Peter one last glare as he smiled to you offering you a encouraging thumbs up as you stepped into

Miguel’s office, Miguel slowly turned his office chair as he looked to you with a bored look on his face

“Do you want something, Y/n.”

He spat, he didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but as he saw you wince slightly at his tone he couldn’t help but sigh, as he ran his hand through his messy hair

“What is it?”

He asked slightly softer than before, you drew in a deep breath as you approached him cupping his face with one hand as you kissed his other cheek

“Nothing much, just wanted to see my baby girl.”

You muttered against his skin

Miguel tensed up as soon as those words left your lips

“What the fuck did you just call me.”

At first you froze, you didn’t know if he was going to blow up, but much to your surprise

Miguel pushed you away as he quickly turned away letting out a string of irritated groans and growls as he held his face in his hands

He was so fucking glad you couldn’t see what an effect your words had on him, his face had glown bright red

There was no way, he actually fucking liked that, this only caused him to growl louder which had you flinching

“Get out!”

He barked which had you scampering out of his office as fast as possible, he needed to cool of now, but he was definitely going to make it up to you later

————————————————————

Requests are open teehee

#astv #spiderverse x reader #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman x reader #spider punk #gwen x reader #hobie x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #spiderverse pavitr #across the spiderverse

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theres-a-body-here · 1 year ago

Note

Yikes I am about to expose myself with this…

Could I get a prompt with an absolutely touch starved (but also incredibly horny) reader and König?

Basically reader is super touch starved and all shy, but is absolutely ready to burst within minutes, but also can’t get enough of this feeling and wants more, eventually getting overstimulated? And König is all shy but obliges? Not self projecting onto reader I promise <3

-Pillow Prince anon (I have more unhinged ones, but let’s start off light…)

König x Male!reader

As you lay naked on the bed, your hard cock throbbing with desire, you couldn't help but feel amused by your predicament. König stood above you, completely clothed in his military gear, looking like he wanted nothing more than to disappear into thin air. His anxiety was palpable as he fidgeted awkwardly, unsure how to proceed.

You decided that it was time for you to take charge since poor König seemed too scared to make any moves. With a nervous smile of your own, you grabbed hold of his wrist and slowly guided his hand towards your twitching member.

As König's trembling hand wrapped around your cock, you let out a soft moan. The sensation sent waves of heat coursing through your body, making every nerve ending tingle with anticipation. Encouraged by your reaction, König slowly began stroking you, his fingers gliding along your length with growing confidence.

You could see the determination in König's eyes now; he wanted to please you, even if it meant stepping outside of his comfort zone.

It was both endearing and incredibly hot to watch him try so hard to give you pleasure.

"Ich.. I don't know if ich am doing zis right," König stammered, his accent thickening under pressure. "Fühlt sich das gut an?"

"Mmmm, yes…" you panted, arching your hips off the mattress as König continued to stroke you. "You're doing great, just keep going."

"Oh Gott, danke," König breathed, visibly relieved by your reassurance. With renewed vigour, he sped up his movements, running his thumb across the sensitive head of your cock.

Unable to contain yourself any longer, you brought your own hand to your mouth, biting down on your knuckles to stifle a loud cry of ecstasy. König seemed taken aback by your reaction but didn't stop.

Using one hand to tease the slit of your throbbing erection, he used the other to maintain a steady rhythm along your length.

The stimulation had you reduced to a whiny mess beneath him, unable to control the needy sounds escaping your lips. It was clear that König enjoyed watching you lose control, his breath coming faster as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

"Oh God, König! Please...please, please!" you cried out, your words muddled with lust.

In a low, husky voice, he replied, "Schh, alles wird gut sein. Sei still und genieße es."

As if on cue, König picked up speed once again, using his free hand to massage your balls. The combination of sensations proved too much for you to bear, and suddenly, you were arching off the bed as you came violently all over König's.

Panting heavily from exertion, you collapsed onto the bed, feeling spent. König followed suit, lying beside you and using his sticky fingers to rub your chest, spreading your cum across your skin. The coolness of your seed contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from your flushed body, causing you to shiver involuntarily.

Without saying a word, König reached for a nearby towel and gently cleaned up the mess.

Once cleaned up, he moved closer, resting his heavy head on your shoulder and wrapping an arm around your waist. Despite his initial nervousness, it seemed that König craved you just as much as you craved him.

#cod x male reader #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #male reader #male!reader #cod mw2 #könig cod #könig x reader #könig x male reader #konig x reader #konig cod #konig mw2

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czenzo · 3 months ago

Text

Secrets

[ao3] [Maekyart's art] [dreamoo's art]

summary:

Lucy is hiding something. Potty is certain it’s a sinister secret, while Placid isn’t so sure. Either way, Alfendi is determined to get to the bottom of it… but with repressed feelings and fears clouding his vision, will he be able to solve Lucy’s complex puzzle in time?

words: 9,856 rating: T

notes: this was written for @proflaytonbigbang 2024! I had so much fun participating and it was an honour to be teamed up with such incredible artists, @dreamooarts and @maekyart—their art for this fic is amazing, please go check them out and give them so much love! :)

Lucy was hiding something from him.

It became apparent to Alfendi first thing that morning. He favoured arriving at the office early and settling in while everything was still quiet and calm; it gave him ample time to prepare for the day before his colleagues burst in with a barrage of questions, unsolved cases, and a mishmash of other responsibilities that somehow fell under Alfendi’s authority.

The Mystery Room was tucked into a far corner of Scotland Yard, rendering the route to the dingy office long and convoluted, but Alfendi knew it like the back of his hand. Humming a tune under his breath, he relished the calm atmosphere as he made his way through the winding corridors.

Taking a quick detour into the staff kitchen along the way, he popped the kettle on and retrieved two mugs. A teabag in each; a teaspoon of honey in his, two sugars in Lucy’s. He poured the boiling water into his mug and left the other for Lucy to fill and pick up when she was due to arrive in—Alfendi checked his tattered wristwatch—forty minutes.

He fished for his keys in his coat pocket as he turned the corner and approached the door to the Mystery Room, but stopped short of sliding the key into the lock upon hearing voices on the other side.

“No, he can’t find out. Gotta keep it all nice n’ hush-hush.” It was Lucy’s voice, clear as day—Alfendi would recognise it anywhere. She kept it a low murmur, which was just as unusual as her being in the office right then… if Alfendi knew anything about Lucy Baker, it was that she was loud, proud, and almost always running at least ten minutes late.

He checked his watch again and gently smacked it. Had he forgotten about daylight savings? Was he, in fact, the late one? No, no, that couldn’t be it; he hadn’t encountered anyone else on his way here.

“Good luck pulling that off.” The second person was even quieter and hard to make out, but the whopping sneeze they followed up their reply with tipped him off: Florence. “Al’s impossible to sneak anything by.”

Alfendi startled, grip tightening on his mug to prevent it from shattering at his feet.

‘They’re hiding something from us? What in the hell are those two going on about?’

He shook his head; it was both an answer and an attempt to deter his rousing alternate self. The other Al—or as Lucy liked to call him, Potty Prof—had begun to stir, and he brought along with him the beginnings of a headache. Alfendi scrunched his brow and pressed his ear closer to the door.

“Oh aye, but I bet we can give it a good go. I know it’s normally dead hard to hide stuff from Prof, but he’d never suspect summat like this.”

“I suppose if anyone can do it…” Florence paused to blow her nose; Alfendi waited for her to continue with bated breath. “It’s you. Al’s always been quite fond of you. He’d let you get away with murder.”

‘Fond? Hah! What a load of codswallop.’

No, he had to admit he’d become rather close with his assistant since her appointment. They were approaching one year since Lucy joined him in the Mystery Room, and now Alfendi couldn’t imagine working without her. Fond, however, was a word he would have struggled to come up with by himself.

Lucy let out a laugh. It was a sudden jump in volume from her secretive whispers and sounded much more like the Lucy he knew. “Ee, bit extreme, Flo.”

“I’m right and you know it. Anyway, he’ll be here soon. You’re never here to see it, but Al runs like clockwork in the morning. Always gets here at the same time. I’ll make myself scarce, and you ought to have a good reason for being here so early or he’ll be on your case in seconds.”

“Right you are, Florence. See you in a bit.”

Florence’s wheels creaked as she approached the door.

Alfendi’s head whipped around in a calculating panic. With his long legs, there was a 74.3% chance he could make it around the nearest corner and be out of sight when she emerged into the hallway. If he stayed put, there was only a 47.8% chance he could provide a convincing reason as to why he was lingering by the door. Florence’s gaze had a way of unnerving him at the worst of times, making her remarkably hard to lie to.

‘Christ, you’re making this difficult. Move over.’

Lucy once asked him what it felt like to switch between Placid and Potty. It was hard to articulate, but after a long moment of thought and a few sips of tea (good for the mind, according to his father), he described their control over the body as driving a car. While one was driving, the other sat in the passenger seat, watching passively. Upon heightened emotion or stimulus, the passenger would switch their seats and take control of the car. A more recent development was the discovery they could take the wheel through sheer will and force, which led to Alfendi taking a rare week off work on account of the constant switches and never-ending migraines. In the end, Lucy was the one who helped pull them out of their cerebral war.

It felt like a dagger through his brain as Potty hauled Placid out of the driver’s seat and stomped on the accelerator. In a matter of seconds, he threw himself down the hallway and around the corner, then pressed flat against the wall as he tried to steady his shallow breath and racing heart.

Al listened to Florence roll out of the Mystery Room, close the door behind her, and head off in the opposite direction.

He heaved a sigh and gave himself a well-deserved gulp of tea. Those sneaky pests had been talking about him. About hiding something from him.

‘It’s alarming, but I’m sure it’s nothing a bit of communication won’t fix.’

Al stared at the ceiling, listened to his calmer counterpart’s reasoning, and immediately brushed it off as the words of a hypocrite. Neither of them were capable of clear communication, it’s what got them into most of their messes.

‘You’d think we would learn a lesson from that.’

Not today. Al steeled himself, took another swig from his mug, and strode back over to the door.

‘No, no. Let me handle this.’

He rolled his eyes but grudgingly complied, handing over the reins to their shared body.

Alfendi gently opened the door.

Lucy was nowhere to be seen. He reminded himself to act naturally despite her unexpected absence—after all, he wasn’t supposed to know she was there. Still, he moved with caution as he went through the motions of settling in for the day.

He leisurely sipped at his tea as he booted up the crime scene reconstruction device and wondered just how long Lucy planned on staying hidden. Was she going to try and sneak out and waltz in through the door at her actual start time? Or—

Lucy sprang up from beneath her desk and Alfendi choked so hard on his tea he feared for his life. Placid was once again flung to the passenger seat.

“Morning, Prof!”

“Lucy!” Al spluttered. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Eh-up, Potty! Good morning to you, too.” She smiled from ear to ear and adjusted her wonky cap. “I got you right good there, didn’t I?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he hissed as he made a futile effort at wiping the tea from his clothes (maybe now, he thought, he’d have a good excuse to change out of Placid’s awful attire). “Wasting company time surprising your superiors is not a good look, DC Baker.”

“Ooh, don’t DC Baker me. Besides, it’s not my working hours yet, int’ it?” Lucy gently took the mug from his hands with a grimace. “I didn’t expect you to be drinking summat, though. I’m dead sorry, Prof.”

“You’d better be.” He yanked it from her hands, drained its measly dregs, and dropped it back on his desk. “Why are you early? What are you up to?”

“Gonna interrogate me like some crook?”

He stood up, leaning forward to emphasise the extra height he had on her. “Maybe I will, Baker.”

‘Stop antagonising her.’

Al knew Lucy could take it. She looked up at him with a defiant grin. “Do your worst.”

A twinge of pain in the back of his head signalled a switch, and Alfendi gently shook away the pain. “Enough of this. Good morning, Lucy. Could you help me wipe all this tea from my desk?”

“‘Course, Prof. I really am sorry about that.”

“Water under the bridge, Luce. Though I am curious as to why you’re here early in the first place.”

“My desk’s been all wobbly these past few days, but I’ve had no time to get round to fixing it, you see? Thought I’d pop in a bit earlier to sort it out before getting stuck in our work.”

“Then I arrived, and you thought it a fantastic opportunity to practise the art of surprise?”

“Exactly!” Then came another one of Lucy’s big toothy grins, and Alfendi almost completely forgot about her strange, secretive behaviour.

‘I’ve taught her well. She delivered that lie with a terrifying amount of confidence.’

Of course, he couldn’t let the blatant lie slide. Despite Lucy’s charm and swift conversational skills, Alfendi was still determined to get to the bottom of her hushed exchange with Florence. He simply needed subtlety and patience—both of which Potty lacked, so it was vital to keep him chained to the passenger seat for as long as possible.

—

“Christ, Prof, this one’s hard to crack.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Alfendi reluctantly peeled himself away from the crime scene reconstruction and out of the horribly hunched position he’d been stuck in for far too long. He held back a groan as he stretched his aching back, which let out a series of satisfying pops.

‘You’re making us look like an old man. Fix your damn posture.’

Much easier said than done. When engrossed in the intricacies of methods, motives, and murder, sitting straight was hardly high up on Alfendi’s list of priorities.

Staying put in his wheeled office chair, he pushed himself back over to his desk. Just a few feet away, Lucy perched on the edge of her desk with several papers in hand, teeth worrying the chapped skin of her lips as she concentrated. While Alfendi inspected the nooks and crannies of the crime scene, she had been tasked with analysing the many disturbing letters supposedly written by one of their culprits. Alfendi knew where he currently stood with them—there were too many inconsistencies for them to be genuine, though he was yet to determine who the true writer was—but he valued Lucy’s insight, so kept quiet about his suspicions to see if she arrived at the same conclusion, or was able to point out something he’d missed.

“We’ll find a weak spot in this case somewhere, I’m sure of it. We’re a rather formidable team, if I may say so myself.”

Lucy grinned. “Right you are, Prof. Though if I go on any longer without another cuppa, I might not survive the day.” She hopped off her desk. “Want one?”

“That would be lovely, Luce. Thanks.”

The door shut behind her, rendering the room oddly quiet. He’d worked here for years before Lucy’s arrival, not just in the Mystery Room, but out on the field, across various departments, with the burning determination to make something of himself—just like his father—helping him gain experience and succeed in (almost) everything he attempted. Lucy had only been by his side for a fraction of his career, but she’d crash-landed into it and made such an impact on his entire life that her absences were now painfully noticeable.

Alfendi filled the sudden Lucy-shaped hole with paperwork, as it was rare for the office to be quiet enough for him to concentrate on it.

The minutes ticked by, and Potty became increasingly agitated. ‘Get back to the crime scene.’

Alfendi pointedly ignored the demand.

‘This is my body, and I refuse to let its time on this Earth be wasted looking at reports and stupid official documents. Get back to the murder—I want to take a closer look at the body’s surroundings.’

“You sound like a child on the verge of a tantrum,” Alfendi murmured, absently tapping the tip of his pen against his lower lip.

‘And you sound like a condescending knob.’

Charming.

‘At least get up to see where Baker’s gone off to. It doesn’t take fifteen minutes to make tea unless you’re brewing up for a whole bloody army. She’s up to something.’

Alfendi double-checked his watch. He made a good point. She had been gone for a while, but fifteen minutes wasn’t the end of the world.

‘It is when she’s hiding something from us, you moron. Go and find her, or I will.’

He grudgingly gave in to curiosity and obliged.

As he headed for the door, his eye caught on the papers Lucy left on her desk. They were photocopies of the letters—the real ones were stored away somewhere, safe from the threats of spilt tea and other miscellaneous stains—with red pen scribblings in the margins.

Where words written by Alfendi were small, spiky, and appeared to be running away from something, Lucy’s were large, rounded, and demanded attention. Admittedly, her notes were always much easier to read. He skimmed her annotations and was pleased with what he found; she’d already taken notice of the inconsistencies, and though she was yet to work out what it all meant, Alfendi was confident she wasn’t far from it. A small smile graced his face as he continued towards the door.

As Alfendi approached the kitchen and heard two distinct voices having a hushed conversation—or at least, a poor attempt at keeping it hushed—he was struck by a wave of deja vu. He pressed himself to the wall beside the doorway and caught the tail end of Lucy delivering the same rundown she’d given to Florence that morning. “…and you’ve gotta keep your lips sealed tight, yeah? Don’t want him to catch wind of what we’re doing.”

“Mum’s the word! You can count on me, Lucy.” A stomp and a whoosh of air followed—it didn’t take much to work out it was Sniffer, giving a mock salute. “The Inspector will be none the wiser.”

‘What the fuck.’

Indeed. Alfendi narrowed his eyes.

“Aye, that’s what I like to hear. While you’re here, d’you want a cuppa?”

“No thanks, caffeine sends me a tad haywire. Detective Lawson never let me— ah. Oh.” He took a deep, shaky breath, and sniffed away tears.

Potty mentally rolled his eyes so hard it almost physically hurt. ‘Not this again.’

A spoon clattered in a mug. “Ee, Sniffer, you know he’s not worth all this.”

“I know, I know, but he was my old gaffer for years. Crook or not, it’s no easy feat adjusting to working without him. You’d be the same if it happened to Inspector Layton.”

“I suppose, but… I’ve already proven Prof’s no criminal. If he left this place, it’d be on his own terms.”

“And you’d crash and burn without him.”

“Absolutely not,” Lucy scoffed. “I’d do just fine without him. This gal could thrive anywhere, with anyone, thank you very much!”

It was undeniably true, but that made it no less hard to hear. Alfendi resisted the urge to put a stop to the conversation.

“Ouch! Salt straight in the wound! We don’t all have that ability, Lucy.”

Sniffer was moving back towards the subject of Lawson. Since the incident, Alfendi had learned the best tactic for dealing with Sniffer and his strong feelings towards his ex-boss was to keep him distracted. If he were in Lucy’s shoes, he would gently swerve the conversation in a different direction, wrap it up quickly, and retreat back into the office ASAP.

“Maybe not, but you do have the ability to help me with that project I mentioned.”

The execution was flawless, but the new—or rather, rehashed—choice of topic was questionable.

“Aye aye, cap’n! Just send the deets on over and it’ll be smooth sailing from here. Hopefully. Potentially.” A long, uncertain pause followed, interrupted only by the sound of Lucy stirring mugs of tea. “His shenanigan radar is hyper-sensitive. It’ll be hard to sneak all this under his nose— oh, that was a dodgy turn of phrase. I wasn’t taking the mickey, honest!”

Alfendi slowly raised a hand to the centre of his face as he heard Lucy stifle a laugh. He felt Potty reach for a snarky insult to direct at Sniffer before faltering as the pang of self-consciousness hit him too.

He found one eventually. ‘Dickhead.’

“Don’t fret, I know you meant nowt by it.”

“Oh, it’s all quite thrilling, isn’t it? Our own little espionage mission! Keeping secrets from an Inspector!”

“Eh-up, Sniffer, keep your voice down,” Lucy hissed.

“I’m sorry, Lucy, but I’m all riled up now! This’ll be one of the highlights of our career!”

‘I’m not listening to this any longer.’

Placid was shoved aside. Al waltzed into the kitchen.

Sniffer had his back to Al as he gesticulated wildly; he was none the wiser to the sudden extra company. Lucy’s eyes widened as she caught sight of Al over his shoulder.

He loomed over Detective Sergeant Hague. “Highlight of your career, you say?”

Sniffer yelped and practically shot ten feet into the air. “Inspector Layton! I didn’t hear you come in, you’re sneakier than a—”

“What were you talking about?”

‘Go easy on him, please. Whatever they’re hiding, I’m sure it’s nothing serious.’

Placid could shove his optimism. Al was—in Sniffer-speak—going to squeeze the lad until he squeaked like a mouse on helium and spewed his guts all over the floor.

‘Christ.’

“Tea’s almost ready, Prof! I’ll be back with you in a sec. Just got caught up telling Sniffer all about our tough case.”

“Oh, really?” Al cocked his head. “What does he think about the letters?”

Sniffer’s gaze darted nervously between the two of them. “The… letters?”

“Yes, the letters. A crucial piece of evidence our dear Lucy’s been poring over the past few hours. Surely she must have mentioned them? It would be difficult to thoroughly discuss the case without doing so.”

“Er, yes! Of course, the letters, the letters… They were very… suspicious?”

“Much like the man stood in front of me. What were you really talking about, Detective Sergeant?”

Sniffer blanched, and for a moment it looked like he was going to take the gut-spewing metaphor and make it disgustingly literal.

“Lucy’s the ringleader! She’s in charge, I’m merely a lackey! Have mercy, Inspector!”

Lucy guffawed. “By ‘eck, Sniffer, you made that well too easy.” Before Alfendi could rain hellfire upon the suspect, Lucy shoved a mug into his hands and steered him out of the kitchen.

The press of her hand on his back and the warmth of the mug seeping into his palms calmed him, and soon Placid had the reins again. They walked side-by-side back to the office.

“I’m terribly sorry, Lucy. I didn’t mean to pry. You were gone for quite some time, so I…”

“Thought you’d have a grand ol’ time earwigging instead of working?”

“I didn’t come looking for you with the sole intent of eavesdropping, but if you heard your name in a hushed conversation, you’d be tempted to listen in, too.”

Lucy paused. “Er— yeah, alright. I’ll let you have that one.”

Alfendi gently scoffed and sipped his tea—she’d brewed it perfectly. “Am I allowed to be privy to whatever you’re masterminding?”

“I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, Prof. Me, a mastermind? Give over!”

“Sniffer distinctly referred to you as a ringleader—”

Lucy opened the office door with a flourish and bounded over to her desk. “Oh, Prof, I realised something while I were in the kitchen!” She waved the photocopied letters in the air and stabbed a finger at her scribblings. “These bits, they’re inconsistent with what we know about the victim’s death, and the handwriting doesn’t match our other samples at all. It’s a fake! A forgery! If we find out who really wrote it, I reckon this case’ll come flooding open!”

Shit. He couldn’t resist the pull of being so close to cracking a case.

‘Don’t let her gaslight us. We know now she’s definitely hiding something. It could be sinister.’

Alfendi would figure it out; he just had to play his cards wisely.

—

While most people would rather gouge out their own eyes than continue toiling away in the office after hours, Alfendi didn’t really mind it. Late evenings in the Mystery Room weren’t dissimilar to the early mornings—quiet, peaceful, and subsequently a prime time to be productive.

Their previous case, as Lucy predicted, was relatively simple to crack once they’d figured out the person behind the forged letters. The next one to be dropped on their desks, however, was proving to be much more frustrating. They had scoured over every detail in the paperwork, every nook and cranny of the crime scene, and between them had consumed at least fourteen cups of tea, but come five p.m. their leads were close to non-existent.

It was a Friday, which meant that any work left unfinished would plague the back of Alfendi’s mind through the whole weekend, and as such he was determined to finish the working week on, at the very least, a slightly satisfying note.

Just one lead was all they needed, then they’d be set to kick off the next week refreshed, well-rested, and with a clear thread to follow.

Finding one, however, was much, much easier said than done.

“How d’you feel about pizza, Prof?”

Alfendi looked up at her over the soft glow of the reconstructed crime scene. “In general?”

Lucy gently scoffed. “No, I mean for tonight. Can’t keep slaving away without a bit of grub for energy, eh?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually. Would you mind placing the order? My card is…” He faltered. “Er, I’m actually not sure.”

“I’ll hunt it down, don’t you worry! How’re things with the crime scene?”

“So far, uneventful. Every time I think I’ve found something of interest, it either leads to nothing or something entirely unhelpful. It’s frustrating; no killer is perfect. They must have left something.”

‘It’d be easier to solve if you’d stop gawking at this screen and view the actual crime scene. Your aversion to fieldwork is downright embarrassing.’

Alfendi wasn’t fond of acknowledging Potty as his ‘true’ self; but it was common knowledge among the veteran staff of Scotland Yard that prior to the incident, Al was a real go-getter. He had been allergic to being cooped up in an office, with an insatiable hunger to get out there and see crime scenes and victims in person. Now, with Placid in control most often… he was the complete opposite. Alfendi wasn’t sure where it came from, but he knew he now enjoyed the comfort of the Mystery Room far too much to frequently leave it.

‘It’s pathetic, really.’

Alfendi rolled his eyes; it wasn’t unusual for Potty to get rather snappy after a long bout of staying inside.

As he zoomed in on the suspiciously warped floorboard beside the body, he was hit by a sweet scent and a sudden weight at his side. Startled, he spun in his chair, only to find Lucy pressed close to him as she dug around in his lab coat pocket.

“Card’s not in your bag, or your proper coat, so…” She rummaged around some more, before moving onto the other side. “By ‘eck, Prof, you keep a right load of tat in here. It must weigh you down a ton!”

Alfendi purposefully kept his line of sight locked off to the side; Lucy was deep into his personal space, and the angle at which she leant forward screamed unprofessionalism. “Lucy,” he said slowly, “you could’ve asked me to check my pockets myself.”

“Yeah, but you were busy,” she countered. “Besides, I’ve always been curious to know what you actually keep in them— eh-up, is that a mini stapler?”

He thought her incredulity was misplaced. “It’s handy to have when dealing with paperwork.”

The office door swung open and crashed against the adjoining wall. Dustin Scowers backed into the office, rear end protruding into the room accompanied by a jaunty whistle. Along with the rest of Dustin came a cleaning cart decked with the standard supplies that allowed Scotland Yard to keep a pretence of being organised and in order.

Alfendi caught his eye. Dustin cursed and practically shot into the air.

“Jesus, I thought everyone’d gone home! Sorry to barge in on yous—” Dustin paused. His gaze darted to where Lucy was practically bent over Alfendi’s lap, digging deep into his pockets. Alfendi became painfully aware of how awful the scene looked from Dustin’s line of sight and felt heat flood his face.

Dustin grimaced. “Er… is it a bad time?”

Lucy shot up straight, the prized debit card held aloft with pride. “Found it! Oh, hiya, Dustin.”

Dustin’s eyes narrowed. He spoke with a hint of uncertainty. “Hiya, Lucy. Al.”

“Dustin.” Alfendi plastered on a polite smile. “Will we be in your way if we stay?”

“Nah, you’re alright. Don’t mind me.”

Lucy retreated back to her desk to order food and resume work; Alfendi missed her warmth at his side more than he cared to admit.

It was considerably harder to concentrate with the cleaner’s incessant whistling coming from the other side of the room. The promise of impending pizza, however, was helping keep Alfendi’s mood (and Potty in general) in check.

Clearly, he appeared far more engrossed in his work than he actually was; Dustin began to talk to Lucy as if Alfendi couldn’t hear him at all.

“Everything still going to plan with the— the thing?” he said conspiratorially as he wrestled an overflowing bin bag out of its container. Alfendi kept his head down and pretended to be unaware of the conversation unfolding a few feet away.

“Er…” Lucy swivelled in her chair to check that Alfendi wasn’t looking, then turned back to Dustin with a whisper. “Yeah. Keep your voice down, though.”

“Gotcha. You’re dead good at all this, Lucy. Proper little mastermind, you are.”

“Ee, don’t, it’ll go straight to my head. D’you need a hand with that?”

Dustin grunted and strained, and eventually, the bin bag came free. He tied it with practised ease. “Pro bin-emptier, me. Don’t need no help. But if you need any more help with… you know what, I’m your guy, yeah?”

“Aye. Glad I can count on you, Dusty.”

Dustin beamed. “‘Course.”

‘What the fuck.’

Indeed. Alfendi continued staring at the crime scene but was taking in none of the details; his brain had gone blank, aside from repeating the conversation he’d just overheard.

‘Do they think we’re dense? Do they genuinely think we couldn’t hear that?’

With anyone else, the notion would’ve been absurd, but with Alfendi… he’d gained his workaholic reputation long ago. If anyone were able to be so engrossed in their work to become completely deaf and blind to the obvious goings-on around them, it would be him.

Alfendi stole a glance up at Dustin, only to find that he was looking right back at him. The cleaner startled, grip tightening on his duster, and attempted a casual lean against the wall that was, by a long shot, not casual whatsoever.

Right by Dustin was the Mystery Room’s calendar, full of notes scribbled in three distinct colours: green for Lucy, blue for Placid, and red for Potty. It was the epitome of organised chaos.

Dustin nodded towards it. “Big day coming up, eh, Al?”

Lucy visibly tensed and shot him a deadly look. All that time spent working with her meant Alfendi knew she was holding back the urge to, in her words, “completely wallop the lad”, though he couldn’t ascertain what exactly had elicited that reaction from her.

Alfendi frowned. “Big day?”

Dustin gave him an incredulous look and pointed to a square in next week’s row, filled with a crudely drawn gift, balloons, and cake. It was entirely green, with not a fleck of blue or red to be found. Scribbled at the top was ‘PROF BDAY!!!!!!’.

‘Since when was that so close?’

Alfendi truly wasn’t sure.

“How’s it feel to be almost thirty?” Dustin grinned.

“Er…” He faltered, then glanced over to Lucy, who was still glaring daggers at Dustin. She must have felt his gaze on her, however, and quickly turned to grace him with a smile.

“Thirty int’ that old, Prof, don’t worry.”

‘Liar.’

“You got any plans?” Dustin asked, before giving Lucy a ridiculously conspicuous wink. With the pressure of their current case already weighing him down, Alfendi couldn’t work out what was going on between these two for the life of him. Maybe, he thought nonsensically, Dustin had inhaled one too many dust particles.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he admitted. “I’ve never been one for celebrations. Birthdays are just like any other day.”

“Oh.” Lucy’s shoulders slumped. “That’s dead sad.”

“Right?” Dustin said. “Someone oughtta do something about that.”

Something snapped within Lucy. In a split second, she crumpled the nearest piece of paper into a ball (please don’t let that be an important document, Alfendi silently pleaded) and lobbed it at Dustin’s head.

“The office looks spick n’ span now, don’t you think? You should get a move on to the rest of the building,” Lucy said to him, a not-so-innocent smile plastered on her face.

‘Oh, that was a fantastic shot. Do you see that deadly look on her face? She’s incredible.’

Lucy Baker was incredible, Alfendi had to agree, but she was also downright puzzling. What on Earth was she getting up to?

—

“A field case! Prof! We get to go outside!”

Alfendi grimaced at Lucy’s high-pitched squealing. “You were outside just ten minutes ago before you entered the building.”

“That int’ the same thing and you know it,” Lucy insisted, shoving the case-info papers into his hands. They had been hand-delivered that morning and detailed a case that was far too complex to recreate from the comfort of their office, requiring them to go and visit the crime scene in person.

“Oh, this is well exciting! It’s in a dead lovely part of the city, too—oh, we could grab lunch while we’re out! Or a coffee and fancy little pastries… Maybe we could even shop and jazz your wardrobe up a bit!”

‘Couldn’t agree more with that last part,’ Potty mentally chimed in. ‘If you wear this god-awful striped jumper one more time, I’m offing us both.’

“Lucy,” Alfendi said slowly. “A whole family was brutally murdered in their sleep.”

“Ee, yeah, my heart goes out to them. Proper sad stuff, that is. Which is why we should make sure to do some fun things while we’re out, so we don’t make ourselves dead depressed!” Lucy grinned, clearly pleased with her line of reasoning.

A half-hearted protest began to leave Alfendi’s mouth before he realised she made a good point. He skimmed the case information again, and caught a glimpse of a photo of one of the victim’s stuffed animals, covered in…

“On second thought, a pastry sounds quite nice.”

Lucy’s celebratory cheer could be heard throughout all of Scotland Yard.

After far too long a journey on the humid, overcrowded tube, followed by hours of poring over the nauseatingly disturbing crime scene, Alfendi’s brain was well and truly fried. The tragedy visibly took its toll on Lucy, too—as they left the building and stepped back out into the bustling London streets, she was uncharacteristically quiet.

“You did well in there.” He spoke softly. “You noticed some crucial details I’d completely overlooked. I’m glad to have you by my side.”

Lucy looked up at him, wide-eyed. Her mouth wobbled for a split second before it stretched into a smile. “You flatter me, Prof.”

“I mean it, Lucy. Now, shall we find a cafe?”

Seeing her face light up was the highlight of his day—no, week.

They struck gold with the first cafe they came across. Though London’s dreary weather stopped them from picking an outside table, the inside was a sight to behold. Soft instrumentals danced through the air while people stirred steaming mugs and chatted to one another surrounded by plants adorning the walls and windowsills. Normally, so many people, noises, and generally being in public would be something Alfendi avoided at all costs, but with Lucy by his side, he found he didn’t mind it one bit. She deeply inhaled the scent of baked goods and brewing tea before grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the counter.

The cashier smiled at their arrival. “My, you two certainly make a cute couple! What can I get for you both?”

‘What?!’

Alfendi blanched, subconsciously tightening his grip on her hand and praying his weren’t too clammy. Any attempts at protesting or explaining their situation were futile, because his mouth refused to work.

Lucy simply laughed. “I’ll have a breakfast tea and, ooh… there’s so much to choose from! I think I’ll go with some of that lemon drizzle, please. What about you, Prof?”

‘Why didn’t she correct the cashier? Why are we still holding her hand?’

There were too many things to think about at once, so Alfendi tried focusing on the most prominent one: placing his order. “Er, an Earl Grey and… an almond slice, please.”

‘Boring.’

While Alfendi retreated in on himself, Lucy struck up a full conversation with the cashier, who seemed more than happy to reciprocate her cheer. It suited Alfendi, who had never been one for socialising.

‘Speak for yourself.’

Soon enough, they were seated. Lucy had picked out a table tucked away in the corner, furthest away from most people. Whether she purposefully did it to suit Alfendi’s preferences, he wasn’t sure, but he appreciated it either way.

“Oh, that lemon drizzle looked so nice. I can’t wait to demolish it.”

She was back to her usual spirits, which was a comforting sight. However, Alfendi was soon distracted by the thing that had been plaguing his mind since they stepped up to the counter. “Lucy,” he said slowly. “Why didn’t you correct the—”

“Breakfast tea and an Earl Grey?” A waitress materialised beside them, carefully placing their mugs and saucers on the table. “The rest of your order will be with you shortly.”

Lucy took a sip of her scalding drink straight after thanking her. The regret was immediately visible on her face; she fanned her mouth as her eyes widened.

‘It’s incredible how someone so good at her job can have no common sense outside of it.’

Once her panic died down and she forcefully gulped down the boiling hot tea in her mouth, Alfendi tried again. “So, Lucy. About what the cashier said—”

A jaunty jingle emitted from Lucy’s pocket. She started and, upon checking the caller ID, looked puzzled. “It’s the Commissioner...?”

Alfendi frowned. If he was calling about their current case, it would make sense for him to call Alfendi first, as he was Lucy’s superior. So why was he—?

‘Unless he’s not calling about the case, you idiot. Have you already forgotten all about Baker’s secret little escapades? What if Barton’s in on it, too?’

Now that was highly unlikely. He could easily imagine Florence, Sniffer, and Dustin following Lucy like sheep, but the Commissioner? Alfendi held back a scoff. No way in hell would he—

“Hello? Ah, yes! Er—it’s not the best time… is it urgent? Oh. Oh! Okay, one sec.” Lucy lowered the phone and muffled the speaker with her hand. “Prof, I need to take this. Be back in a jiffy, alright?”

‘She wouldn’t need to be secretive if this was a case-related call.’

Alfendi internally thanked Potty for stating the painfully obvious.

He watched her through the cafe’s front window as she took the call. Nothing else seemed amiss, until he saw her mouth distinctly move in the shape of his name.

‘They’re talking about us. Why the hell are they talking about us?’

His unique name meant when her mouth moved the same way again, there was no denying it. She was talking about him to Commissioner Barton.

Alfendi narrowed his eyes and ignored the strange look given to him by the waiter who stopped by to put their cakes on the table. Lucy became more animated as the conversation went on, saying Alfendi’s name a few more times, until—

No.

It couldn’t be.

Lucy grinned, then said it once more. Again, there truly was no denying it.

Hershel.

Not only were they talking about him, they were also talking about his father.

By the time Lucy had returned, Alfendi’s tea was untouched and lukewarm. Lucy was still jovial as ever, chatting on as if nothing was wrong.

Along with his almond slice, the odd exchange with the cashier was forgotten in favour of once again dwelling on what on earth Lucy Baker could be hiding from him.

‘We need to get to the bloody bottom of this, or I swear—’

Alfendi cleared his throat to cut off Potty’s passionate ranting before plastering a smile on his face for Lucy—she couldn’t discover his suspicions, or it would hinder everything.

—

Lucy failed to stifle a yawn while tugging on her coat. As she wormed an arm into a sleeve she almost knocked over her empty, forgotten mug on her desk—after this particularly long day, neither she nor Alfendi could be particularly bothered to go and do the washing up, so that duty was delegated to their tomorrow-morning selves.

“Took us a while, but we’re starting to get somewhere with this case, eh, Prof?”

Alfendi stood and stretched his aching back. “Indeed. I’m sure everything will be smooth sailing from here on.”

Lucy unhooked Alfendi’s coat from the wall and threw it at him; he only just managed to catch it in time. He slowly put it on and made a show of powering down the crime scene reconstruction device before switching off the office lights and following Lucy out the door.

The cool evening breeze greeted them as they left Scotland Yard together.

“Have a nice evening, Prof.” Backlit by a nearby street lamp, Lucy turned to him with a smile. Alfendi found he couldn’t look away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“You too, Lucy. You did well today.”

Her smile grew into a bold grin before she set off down the street, waving goodbye. Alfendi waved back as he headed in the opposite direction.

As soon as he saw Lucy turn a corner, Alfendi spun on his heels and hightailed it back to Scotland Yard. His day was far from over; he still had a case to crack.

He sped through the winding corridors, frantically unlocked the door to the Mystery Room, then rushed inside, throwing it shut behind him as he wrestled off his coat. He got going immediately, shoving off all official work-related papers from his desk, stripping their shared pinboard bare, and hauling out an obscene amount of flashcards and red string from the depths of a drawer. Lucy had once bought it for him as a joke—“All the best detectives use this in the films, Prof, I swear!”—assuming it would never seriously get used, but Alfendi was not about to let it go to waste.

‘Red string. Red fucking string. This is so painfully cliché. Are you aware I despise you?’

Alfendi ignored Potty’s whinging and began to set everything up.

Florence. Sniffer. Dustin. Barton. Even Hilda. Alfendi had caught her in cahoots with Lucy earlier that day, which had well and truly tipped him over the edge. Each associated party received their own card containing everything Alfendi knew about their involvement, with red string connecting those he’d seen conspiring together. At the centre of it all: Lucy Baker.

His colleagues were up to no good. They could exclude him all they wanted, but Alfendi was going to get to the damn bottom of it.

‘I can’t remember the last time you were this riled up, actually. It’s almost exciting.’

Next to each individual were as many important quotes Alfendi was able to recall them saying recently. He scanned each and every one of them for possible common threads.

“Al’s always been quite fond of you. He’d let you get away with murder,” Florence had said, while Sniffer had declared it an “espionage mission”, a “highlight” of their careers for which Lucy was the “ringleader”—or, in Dustin’s terms, the “mastermind”. The conversation with Barton had brought up Alfendi’s father, while what he overheard with Hilda that morning involved discussions of Forbodium and Alfendi’s old self—stumbling upon that conversation had struck him with overwhelming nausea as the memories, mistakes, and regrets all flooded back. When Lucy found him later, he was lying bleary-eyed on their office couch.

Alfendi took a step back and squinted at his red-stringed concoction. Time was ticking. He’d noticed Lucy becoming more restless by the day, and he needed to solve this before whatever she was planning unfolded and caused a disaster.

‘For all we know, she could be plotting a murder.’

Hah! The thought was laughable. Lucy Baker, masterminding a murder? That was about as likely as—

Hold on.

He scanned all the information laid out in front of him once more. Her disposition screamed nothing but innocence, but surely that made her the perfect criminal. Undetectable, unsuspectable—

‘That isn’t even a word, you utter ninny—’

With her knowledge and experience stemming from her time working alongside him in the Mystery Room, she was a flawless culprit.

Almost.

Her decision to employ their colleagues was her greatest shortcoming; whilst Lucy was more than capable of sneaking something like this under Alfendi’s nose (‘Stop using that fucking turn of phrase,’ cried Potty) on her own, the rest of Scotland Yard’s staff weren’t so capable. Florence was restless, Sniffer was obnoxiously oblivious, and Dustin was the complete opposite of inconspicuous. Barton was still far too awkward and uncertain around Alfendi, terrified to accidentally push the wrong button, and Hilda still clung to resentment for what Forbodium cost her—all of them, flawed and imperfect, had let slip far too much information around Alfendi. Individually, each detail was useless, but when pieced together they painted a bigger, more sinister picture. As of now, he was still missing many pieces, but from what he already had he could still garner something…

Slowly, Alfendi added another card to the pinboard.

‘MURDER?’

Potty was uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. ‘We need a victim, method, motive, location, time. Treat this like any other case.’

Was he truly suspecting his colleagues of plotting something so dire? Was there no better explanation for their conspiratorial whispers, sneaking around, discussing his family and dark past, distancing themselves from and avoiding him, Lucy insisting she’d be perfectly fine without him…

Alfendi huffed a small, disbelieving laugh.

He had been so terribly, utterly blind.

He pulled the MURDER? card from its pin, wrote on its other side, and stuck it back up by Lucy’s card.

LEAVING?

Potty wrestled Placid out of the driver’s seat. Al yanked the new card back off the pinboard, brows scrunched so tightly it almost hurt, before crumpling it and throwing it across the room in the general direction of the waste bin.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Al hissed to his calmer counterpart, who had already thrown the towel in and accepted miserable defeat. “Why would she be leaving? Why would that spark a mass conspiracy among all our colleagues behind our back?”

‘Look in the mirror. See how you just reacted at the prospect of her leaving? So volatile. There is your answer.’

Al faltered.

‘You—we—are often unpredictable. As much as both of us hate to admit it, we’ve become rather attached to Lucy Baker. If she announced her genuine departure, neither of us would handle it in the best manner. Hence the secrecy. I’m 98.6% certain this is the true explanation for everyone’s recent strange behaviour.’

“But—” Al ran a hand through his hair, beginning to pace. “Why would she—”

‘Similar reasons. Look at us; I can’t imagine it’s particularly pleasant, working with someone who switches so rapidly from one extreme to the other. We become far too engrossed in our work, avoid socialising or venturing outside—‘

“That is entirely your fault—”

‘—but my point still stands. You are me as much as I am you. For someone like Lucy, so amicable, sociable, lively and full of unbridled passion, our presence must be a terrible damper on her spirits. If she wanted to leave the suffocating confines of the Mystery Room—of us—I would not blame her one bit. Even if it well and truly devastated me.’

Al silently stood in the middle of the office, surrounded by red string, discarded cards, and the shattered pieces of his heart.

After what felt like a lifetime, he took a breath, steeled himself, and did what his father would do: he made a cup of tea.

Going through the motions of putting the kettle on, prepping the mug, and letting the tea brew was quite meditational; he’d done it so many times in his almost-thirty years he could do it upside-down and blindfolded.

Scotland Yard was dead. This late at night, Al was the only living soul wandering its corridors. The silence was both comforting and disconcerting—it gave him time alone with his thoughts, something which, after Lucy’s departure, he would have in excess.

“Would Barton find a replacement?” Al murmured before taking a sip. He recalled how Lucy had flailed at the cafe after gulping scalding tea and laughed into his mug.

‘A genuine smile. I was unaware you were capable of those.’

“Oh, sod off.”

‘It’s hard to discern how Barton would handle it. On one hand, though we used to be capable of working on our own, we’ve become so accustomed to Lucy’s help we may drown without some kind of assistance, but on the other…’

“He’d have a damned hard time finding someone willing to squeeze into a tiny box office with a psychopath.”

‘Not the word I’d have personally chosen, but yes, that was my gist.’

Al eyed up Lucy’s mug by the sink; he’d brought it to the kitchen to give his hands something else to do. Once his tea was drained he busied himself with scrubbing away the tea stains, wrists caked in suds. As he caught a glimpse of the writing on Lucy’s mug—WORLD’S BEST DC—the reality began to truly sink in, and Placid sombrely took the reins once more.

“Wherever she ends up will be lucky to have her. It’s the right thing to do—it would be selfish to keep her cooped up forever.”

‘And if I want to be selfish?’

“We’d be delegating her to a life of misery. We want her to be happy, yes?”

‘You talk about her in such a sappy way. At this rate, anyone would think you’re in l—’ Potty stopped short, startled into silence for a long moment before simply saying, ‘Oh.’

Alfendi gently placed Lucy’s mug on the draining board, gripped the edge of the counter, and murmured, “Oh.”

‘What kind of inspector are we? It took us far too bloody long to figure that out.’

“It did indeed,” Alfendi said softly. “I can’t decide whether to be relieved or remorseful that this revelation changes absolutely nothing.”

In the dim kitchen, Alfendi came to terms with this realisation in the state he had been for so long, and after Lucy’s departure, he would return to: completely and utterly alone.

—

Friday had finally rolled around again. For the last hour or so of the working day, Alfendi hunched over his desk, burying his head in paperwork to distract himself from the Mystery Room’s silence. Lucy had left early with a terribly flimsy excuse. Alfendi saw right through it, knowing she wanted to get away from him and the office and start her weekend early, and simply let her go. After all, the last thing he wanted to do was to hold her back or push her further away.

‘Has that watch always ticked so loudly? It’s driving me mad.’

Alfendi ignored Potty’s whinging and continued with his work.

‘Stop bouncing your leg. It’s irritating as hell.’

A sharp exhale left Alfendi’s lips as he tightened his grip on the pen.

‘She left her coat.’

That startled Alfendi enough to make him look away from his paperwork. “What?”

‘Lucy’s coat,’ Potty said, ‘it’s still on the back of her chair.’

“So it is,” Alfendi replied slowly, eyes narrowing.

Off to the side was their shared pinboard, painstakingly put back together after his late-night crisis. The red string and cards had been shamefully hidden away, shoved to the back of one of his drawers. He shook away the thought of them, checked his watch, and found it was almost the end of the working day. Lucy would be long gone. But why on earth would she have forgotten her—

The door burst open and slammed against the adjacent wall. “Prof!”

Alfendi didn’t need to see her to know who it was. He was on his feet in an instant. “Lucy?”

“There’s an emergency!” she cried, hands gripping her knees as her chest heaved.

Alfendi’s eyes widened as he left his desk. “What? What’s happened?”

Lucy shook her head. “I can’t— You need to come and see. Please.”

In the blink of an eye, Lucy grabbed his hand and tugged with alarming force, sending Alfendi stumbling behind her as she sped out of the office and darted down the winding corridors. Her other hand held steadfast to her cap, stopping it from flying off behind them. It all happened so fast that Alfendi barely had any time to process it, but—

‘She’s holding our hand again. She needs us for something.’

—there were a few small details he was able to make note of.

Countless times he almost flew straight into a wall as Lucy rounded a corner with more dexterity than he could muster, but eventually, she screeched to a halt outside a door. It took a moment for Alfendi to work out where in the building they were relative to the Mystery Room, but once he did he deduced this was the door to an old meeting room; Lawson had used it most, but since his departure, most employees had forgotten about its existence.

Until now, apparently.

“Lucy,” Alfendi panted. “What’s going on?”

Not saying a word, Lucy dropped his hand (noticing the devastating loss of her warmth in his palm, Alfendi desperately ignored the urge to grab it again) and reached for the handle. It creaked as she slowly pressed down, before squealing as she pushed it open, and…

“I can’t see anything, Lucy. It’s pitch black in there.”

Glancing back at him(‘Wait,’ Potty cried out, ‘is she smiling?!’), Lucy reached for the light switch, and—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” yelled a crowd, followed by a much quieter, “for tomorrow!”

Alfendi’s head almost hit the ceiling; he startled so violently he was sure he’d pulled half the muscles in his body.

“Surprise!” Lucy turned to him with the brightest grin. “You didn’t think we’d forget it’s your thirtieth tomorrow, did you?”

With Placid scared into the passenger seat, Potty had taken the wheel. “What the hell is this?”

As he recalled tomorrow’s green-covered square on their shared calendar, Al realised every single one of his colleagues was present. Florence, Sniffer, Dustin, Barton, even Hilda, and many other familiar faces were crammed into the meeting room, which had been spruced up with banners and bunting. Alfendi’s favourite music played in the background, while a table positioned against the furthest wall contained a large array of food, all clearly homemade with care.

And standing amongst it all was— ‘No,’ Placid said softly. ‘It can’t be.’

“Alfendi, my boy,” Hershel Layton said with a smile. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“We brought gifts!” cried Flora, who, with the help of Luke and Kat, held a teetering tower of presents.

“What—? How—?” Al blinked, slack-jawed, as a sea of faces he knew and cared for smiled back at him.

“Took quite a bit of planning, it did,” Lucy said, somewhat sheepishly. “You’re well hard to keep a secret from, Prof. But if anyone deserves a birthday celebration, it’s you! This place’d crumble without your help.”

“This is what you’ve been hiding from me?” Al said, incredulous.

“Aye! Had a few close calls”—she cast sharp glances at a certain few people—“but you didn’t suspect a thing, eh?” She gently nudged him with a wink.

‘Not quite.’

Once the initial shock and confusion subsided, the meeting room truly transformed into a social hub as food was passed around, music was sung along to, and everyone who had left a mark on Alfendi’s life over the years mingled and had fun.

After Potty subsided and Placid returned, Alfendi did the rounds greeting and thanking everyone before retreating to a corner to observe from a safe distance. He eyed his father, who was engaged in an intense discussion with Barton, and made a mental note to properly talk with him later when there were fewer people around.

Gently shaking his head, he internally chastised himself. He still couldn’t quite believe this was Lucy’s secret plan, and, despite the overwhelming amount of obvious clues before him, he had failed to figure it out. How had he gotten so caught up in ridiculous theories, when the truth was right in front of him? What could possibly have clouded his thinking enough to hinder him at what was practically his job?

Lucy meandered over to him with a plate of cake and icing in the corner of her mouth. As she grinned, the pieces suddenly fell into place. Lucy Baker. If anyone was capable of masterminding a secret plan right underneath his nose (‘Ha, ha.’), it was her. It was always her. Perhaps he’d even let her get away with murder.

An easy smile spread across his lips as she approached, pressing the plate into his hands.

“Sniffer made it,” she said, gesturing to the red velvet slice. “He made everything, actually. Who knew he had as good a nose for food as he does clues? And Flo’s in charge of the music, of course, she’s the only one who shares your weird music taste. Dustin did all the deccies, too. Maybe we should quit all this crime-solving malarkey n’ set up a party business, eh?”

“If anyone can do it, you can,” Alfendi said. He took a bite of the cake and had to suppress an obscene noise upon realising how good it tasted.

“You know it!” Lucy puffed her chest out with pride.

‘That icing looks ridiculous.’

“You have a little—” Alfendi gestured to the corner of her mouth, where the icing still sat.

“Oh, do I?” She wiped a hand on the wrong corner, missing it completely.

“No, the other side.”

Another complete miss.

“No, er— Sorry. May I?”

Lucy nodded, and Alfendi carefully brushed away the icing with the pad of his thumb. She went visibly still.

“Oh!” She quickly snapped out of it, leaving Alfendi to wonder whether he’d completely imagined that odd moment. “I almost forgot, I have one last surprise for you, Prof.”

Alfendi’s eyebrows shot up. “Another? You’ve already outdone yourself, Lucy.”

“Oh aye, I know. But an extra little something can’t hurt, eh? Come on, follow me.”

His weak protest died in his throat as she grabbed his hand once again (she’d been doing that a lot lately, though Alfendi wasn’t going to complain), leading him back out into the corridor and away from the hubbub of the packed room. Once the door shut behind them the noise was muffled incredibly well—Lawson had always been a fan of good soundproofing—giving the illusion they were completely alone.

“You know, I did actually attempt to uncover what you were hiding,” Alfendi admitted.

Lucy nodded slowly. “That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, Prof. What was your top theory?”

“Well—” Alfendi coughed, suddenly feeling awkward. “I may have entertained the thought of you plotting a murder.”

“What?!” Lucy cried out, before bursting into laughter. “A killer? Me? As if I’d rope all our colleagues into seeing someone off!”

“Yes, yes, I know. It was rather ridiculous, in retrospect. But I soon moved on to a more sensible theory.”

“Go on,” Lucy said, eyes wide with curiosity.

‘Don’t say a word. Don’t—!’

“Ah, well. I… I thought you might be leaving. The Mystery Room. …Me.”

Lucy’s silence made his stomach feel nauseatingly heavy.

“I presumed you wouldn’t want to tell me due to how I may react, so everyone was keeping quiet about it. A rather silly theory, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, Prof…” Lucy sighed. “You really thought that?”

Alfendi looked away.

‘Stop that. This is bloody embarrassing.’

“How would you react?” Lucy cocked her head. “Hypothetically.”

He steeled himself and caught her eye. If there was ever a time to be honest, it was now. “Truth be told, Lucy, I’d be devastated. You claimed this place would crumble without me, but it would implode without you. I’m unsure how I ever managed before you arrived.”

The fondness in her smile made his heart stutter. “You flatter me, Prof, though I’d sooner keel over than leave this place. You’re stuck with me for a good while, I swear!”

Alfendi attempted a nonchalant shrug, as though the relief of that statement didn’t make him want to sink to his knees. “Anyway, what was this extra surprise you mentioned?”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “What, you haven’t figured it out yet?”

“I trust you. I decided to not treat this one like a puzzle. So, go on. What have you got left up your sleeve?”

‘Is she moving closer?’

“Oh, just this.” Lucy firmly gripped the collar of his white overcoat and pulled until their faces were level. She kissed him the same way she did everything: with unwavering energy and passion. After an initial moment of shock, Alfendi sunk into the kiss, cupping her face and matching her feverish pace.

When they broke apart to catch their breath and slow their spinning, woozy heads, Lucy pressed her forehead against his.

“Happy birthday, Alfendi,” she murmured.

The smile on his face made his cheeks ache.

Perhaps his thirties wouldn’t be so bad after all.

end note: a huge thank you to the Layton Big Bang team for organising this wonderful event, and another massive thanks to @maekyart and @dreamooarts for choosing to create such beautiful art to accompany this fic—we make a good team!! <3

#lmbr #alfendi layton #lucy baker #lucifendi #professor layton big bang 2024 #layton brothers mystery room #lmbr fic #professor layton #professor layton fic #czenzo.fic

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darl-ingfics · 3 months ago

Text

Sicktember Day 25: Summer Flu

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: Dino (flu)

Caregiver(s): Seventeen (mainly Seungkwan and Vernon, but also a handful of others)

Word Count: 1,715

“STOOOP!”

Chan jolted awake at the sudden shout, instantly moaning in pain. He touched his fingers to his forehead, body recoiling with achy pain from the sudden movement. He collapsed back onto one of his elbows, still massaging at his head as he desperately tried to find his bearings. The only thing Chan was fully aware of was that an incredibly loud noise had woken him (and something quite loud was still occurring just outside his bedroom door,) and that he was unbearably hot.

And congested. No, sniffly. No, itchy. Shit…

“Huh’AHtuu! ITcshuu! HA’CHuu!”

Chan moaned again as he reached for the box of tissues on his nightstand with an all-too-familiar intimacy. He just barely registered the door of his room bursting open as he blew his nose, which prompted two more sneezes.

“Oh shoot, yeah, we woke him.” That was Seokmin’s voice, whispered non-too-quietly.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Jihoon that time.

“This is the exact reason I told you all to stop fooling around.” Seungcheol.

Chan finally looked up, squinting in the light of the doorway. He could see the three members he’d heard, as well as Soonyoung, Joshua, and Jeonghan. Great. A whole party. Just what he wanted right now.

“I’m right here,” Chan whined, sick of being talked about like an inanimate object.

“Hi Channie.” Jeonghan waved gently. “How you feeling, love bug?”

Right. He had the flu. In August. That’s why he felt like absolute shit. Yippee.

“Awful,” Chan rasped in reply. He followed that statement with a round of phlegmy coughs that even made him wince from how horrific they sounded.

“Sorry for waking you.” Seokmin frowned apologetically. “Someone was being… cruel this morning.” He slowly turned to look at Hoshi.

“Since when has offering a good morning hug been deemed ‘cruel?’” the dance leader shot back defensively.

“Since you decided that said hug should also include tickling!” Seokmin replied. He was immediately shushed by Seungcheol, who had seen Chan wince at the volume of his retort. Seokmin’s hands covered his mouth in apology, and he mimed zipping his lips closed for good measure.

“We’d hoped you would sleep through us all leaving for the day,” Seungcheol said with a sympathetic smile as he moved closer to the maknae. Chan frowned as the leader’s cold hand met his clammy forehead, as the sudden cool contact flipped his body’s switch from fever heat to chills. The younger man shivered, arms automatically wrapping around himself. Seungcheol watched the shift happen, and swiftly snagged a blanket from the end of Chan’s bed, draping it carefully around his youngest brother’s quivering frame. (Chan mentally sighed in relief that Seungcheol had chosen the blanket from the end of the bed, cause he hadn’t used that one yet, which meant this one wasn’t absolutely drenched in sweat. Small victories.)

“I wish I had,” Chan muttered, his voice so congested and husky and miserable that everyone in the room felt their heart break just a bit.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Soonyoung said apologetically. “Kyeomie and I shouldn’t have been messing around. I’m so sorry we woke you.”

“I’d still be left out, though…” Soonyoung whined at Chan’s soft admission, dramatically falling against Seokmin’s shoulder. The vocalist melted too, unable to handle the sudden rush of guilt he felt. He had no real reason to feel guilty; it wasn’t his fault Chan was sick. But that didn’t make it easier to see their hard working maknae forced to stay behind. “Are you sure I can’t come to the studio? Even just to watch?”

“Sorry, love, you know the rules: fever above 39.5 means no studio.” Seungcheol shook his head sadly.

“And, no offense, babe, but you literally look contagious right now. Sound it too,” Soonyoung added. Chan’s pout intensified. Joshua elbowed Soonyoung’s side. “Ouch! What? It’s true! I said no offense.”

“Nah, I get it,” Chan replied, rubbing his hands through his hair. “But I hate it.’

“You know, only the performance unit has to leave early,” Jeonghan added from the doorway. “The rest of us can keep you company for a bit! We could even wash your bedding for you, if you want, love.”

Chan shook his head. “You don’t have to…”

“What if we want to?”

Chan’s brow furrowed. “Hyung, you never want to do laundry.”

Jeonghan’s face fell into an unamused glare as the rest of the members in the room laughed.

“Come on, Channie-bug. Let’s get you out of bed and into some fresh clothes.” Joshua extended his hands towards the youngest, and Chan obliged as if in a trance, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He tried not to feel too embarrassed as he saw Jeonghan and Seungcheol stripping his bed, tried not to cry as the soft, gentle hands of Joshua and Soonyoung guided him out of his current clothes and into new ones. Sure, he’d actually been the one taking his clothes off and on, but something about being cared for like this made him feel helpless.

But he did as he was told, including being ushered out to the living room. Chan felt ridiculous as he shuffled towards the living room. He was wearing a long sleeve t-shirt, a hoodie, sweatpants, and Halloween fuzzy socks with a blanket thrown over his shoulders like a cape. In the hottest month of the year. And he was still shivering. How humiliating.

With a huff of annoyance at the universe, Chan slumped onto the couch. He vaguely remembered Jihoon asking what he wanted to watch on TV, the producer turning on whatever program he’d suggested. He vaguely remembered Seokmin mentioning making tea. He vaguely remembered all of the members who had been in his room reappearing before him on the couch, saying things right out of the playbook for caring for a sick person. But none of it really stuck. Sure, Chan appreciated his members more than anything, and he’d be thanking them profusely for all of this in a few days time. But right now, when he was so miserable and forced to stay home from practicing with his best friends in the whole world, he wanted nothing more than to be left alone to sulk and sweat the rest of this bug out.

“H’etkCHee!” And sneeze. That too.

As Chan sat back after being thrown forward three more sneezes caught in his hands, he felt something light fall into his lap, and opened his eyes to a new box of tissues and a Hansol.

“Bless you,” the older man cooed, folding smoothly onto the couch next to him, one ;eg tucked underneath him.

“What are you doing here?” Chan asked, pressing a bundle of tissues to his nose.

Hansol shrugged, completely unfazed by his friend’s ill temper. “Making sure you don’t drown in your own snot?”

“Gross.”

“You’re gross.” Chan kicked Hansol’s knee, prompting the rapper to laugh. “No really. I haven’t properly seen you in two days. I wanted to just exist with you for a bit.”

��Don’t you have practice?”

“Well, Nonie and I don’t have to leave for another hour or so.” Seungkwan checked his watch just to make sure as he fell into the seat to Chan’s right. He held a mug of the tea Seokmin had mentioned earlier, set the steaming beverage on the coffee table for the moment. “We thought we’d chill with you, if you’re okay with that.”

“Sure, if you’re not worried about catching this.”

“Pretty sure that ship has sailed,” Hansol replied. “I’m personally not too worried about it.” Seungkwan nodded his agreement. “We can mask up if that’ll make you feel better, though?” Chan bit his lip, ultimately shook his head. Hansol smirked. “Too touch starved to let us leave, huh?”

“Don’t make fun of meeee,” Chan whined, burrowing into Seungkwan’s side, much to the amusement of his friends.

“Hey, Dino!” The trio looked up, (Chan extracting himself from Seungkwan), to see Junhei in the doorway, miming a throwing motion, a blister pack of pills in his hand. Chan held up his hands, and Jun tossed the packet to him, aim effortlessly accurate as Chan caught the medicine between his palms.

“Thanks, hyung,” Chan replied.

Jun blew him a kiss. “Feel better, bud.” Minghao’s head appeared from behind Jun’s shoulder, a sympathetic smile stretching on his lips as he waved. The faint sound of their manager yelling from outside had both of them running out the door.

As soon as the door slammed behind them, Chan’s whole body collapsed inward in disappointment. Hansol chuckled. “Pouting isn’t going to fix anything, Chan-ah.”

“This is just unfair.” Chan hated that he was whining, but was too tired to stop his mouth. “I just wanna go to dance.”

“I know, hon, but you have to let your body rest.” Seungkwan’s fingers pet Chan’s hair soothingly.

“This is all Jeonghan’s fault! If he hadn’t locked the door during the last GOSE episode…”

“Oh, trust me, he knows,” Seungkwan said, Hansol nodding along enthusiastically. “He had no idea you weren’t feeling well before that whole incident, so when he found out that he’d locked you in the rain and then made you sit in the A/C for all those hours? It wasn’t pretty, let me tell you.”

“But Wonwoo and Seokmin were outside with me! Why aren’t they sick? Why just me?”

“Well, again, you told us you were feeling off before the rain thing,” Seungkwan pointed out.

Chan shrugged. “So? Wonwoo-hyung’s immune system is shit. He should be suffering with me.”

“True as that may be, the honest answer is that life isn’t fair.” Hansol lolled his head to the side, staring directly at Chan. “And I know that’s not what you want to hear right now.” The younger man whined in reply, falling forward so his face smushed against Hansol’s chest. The rapper laughed, patting Chan’s back affectionately. “You’re so cute!”

“Stop saying I’m cute. I’m so fucking gross right now. You said if yourself.”

“Chan-ah! Language!” Seungkwan chided, his eyes teasing. Chan lifted his head just enough to stick his tongue out at Seungkwan before melting back into Hansol’s embrace. Seungkwan and Hansol shared a look of adoration over Chan’s head. Yeah, this was exactly how they wanted to spend their next hour.

#sicktember 2024 #sicktember #seventeen sickfic #seventeen sick #kpop sickfic #kpop sick #svt sickfic #svt sick #sickie dino #caretaker seungkwan #caretaker vernon #darlingfics

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neteyamslovrr · 2 years ago

Note

29, fluff with Tsu’tey??

GIFT OF SONG

i love my tsu'tey <33 it was nice to write smthn abt him that wasn't complete angst LOL, hope you enjoy bby

You were told that being blessed with the gift of song was a true blessing from Eywa. To sing like harmonies themselves were created within you, it was truly a gift.

Your weakness however was your inability to show it off to anyone. You were reserved, tending to opt for silent foraging rather than large hunts. Or quiet fishing with your bow rather than communal festivities.

Some looked at you poorly for this choice in your activities. But it wasn’t as if you didn’t want to be around your people, you simply enjoyed the solitude of yourself more.

Though recently, the fierce, proud, and strong warrior Tsu’tey was confused but your odd behaviours. As children he never took notice of you, and that habit expanded into his adolescence. But as he grew older he started to take note of the women in the clan. Well, the prettier women.

You were beauty itself to Tsu’tey, truly a blessing to the eyes and to his home. So he was naturally curious to see what you spent your days doing rather than spending it with the clan.

So he followed you down to the river, hoping to spark a conversation with you, get to know you more. You were sat on your knees, picking herbs off the ground into a weathered basket, that had obviously been used many times. He must make you a new one he thought.

He was caught up in his own fantasies as he stared at you, trying to think of all possible scenarios that would occur if he were to approach you. He was obsessing with the thought that you would immediately take interest in him as well. Eywa, he prayed you took interest.

It wasn’t until a divine sound resounded within his now perked up ears. Focusing he realised that the sound was coming from you. Singing as if you were the creator of the first songs. You were magical to listen to.

Tsu’tey wishes he kept his usual composure up for longer, so he could listen to your harmonious voice just a tad longer. He cursed himself for being so impulsive with his actions, it was out of character for him.

“I did not know you could sing Y/N” You let out a loud gasp. Grasping onto your chest in shock, staring wide eyed up at the man towering above you.

Was the Tsu’tey talking to you? Y’know the tall, strong, lean, handsome, fierce warrior that protects your clan day and night. And he caught you singing. You might die of embarrassment. Right here, crumble into the floor and become one with the soil.

“That was purposeful.” You spoke back to him, turning away from his merciless stare, cheeks burning up as he shuffled to get a better view of your face.

“You sing well.” He said it so nonchalantly it made your heart burst, stomach churning as you tried to calm down your nerves.

“Thankyou Tsu’tey.” You were collecting your stuff now, ready to escape this interaction with such an attractive man.

“Why have I never heard you sing before?” You halted in your spot, grip on the basket in your hand tight as you tried desperately to conjure a response that didn’t make you look incredibly odd to the curious warrior in front of you.

“I am not one for performing.” It was easier then explaining your dread of interaction just like this one.

“Hiding such a gift is cruel. You have been truly blessed by the great mother.” Tsu’tey was spilling his thought as if he was the pouring rain, flooding you with compliments. Something about you made his tough composure, you melted it away.

“Thankyou again, but I don’t believe my gift is for the public eye.”

“Can it be for the private eye?” Your eyes widened, shocked at his confidence. To ask such a question. It wasn’t taboo but it was showing a sense of attraction. Was the man you were insanely attracted to feeling the same?

“What do you mean?” An innocent question. Totally not one that lingers for an answer towards courtship, towards the acts of wanting another clan member.

“I’d love to hear your voice again. May I take you on a flight, show you the spots of the forest that have enticed me. Like your voice has. Like you have.” Tsu’tey was courageous, he was charming and his charms did not faulter. Your cheeks were a dark purple, skin hot as your stomach whirled.

“Yes you may.”

#tsu'tey #tsu'tey x reader #tsu'tey imagine #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar oneshot #tsu'tey avatar #tsu'tey fic #tsu'tey x y/n #tsu'tey fluff #tsu'tey drabble

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blackcatnip · 2 months ago

Text

You don’t have to be sad alone.

Soukoku Dazai has bad days, isolation seems to be his solution. Luckily Chuuya don’t accept that.

Normally when you wake up you tend to leave bed.

Dazai did not.

He stayed in. Ignored the knocks of the too polite coworkers. Turned off his phone with a bunch of ‘mindful’ and ‘worried’ messages. And pulled his blankets over his head. It was warm, the weight on top of him was comforting, and the silence surrounding him was suffocating.

But at the same time that the silence was unbearable, so was the thought of getting up. So he just stayed there.

That is until a knock not so polite banged on the door. When shouts not so mindful started to ricochet throughout his apartment. And a really pissed Chuuya stormed into his place.

“The fuck are you doing?” Chuuya yelled, his movements followed by the sound of plastic bags shuffling. “Don’t ignore me.”

Dazai took a peek from inside his blankets and just stared at the redhead.

“Sleeping.” A pause. “You can go now.”

“Oh right, sleeping for three days straight.” The sound in the kitchen started to increase and Dazai just growled with irritation.

“I’m not hungry, you can go.”

“Who said I was making it for you?” He started to take all sorts of food from the bags and hummed happily as he opened a bottle of whine.

Dazai chose to ignore him and pulled the blankets back up. Not that he did much sleeping these past days, but Chuuya didn’t have to know that.

The slug started to trash over his house basically begging to be kicked out. — In what world would he need an exhauster to cook rice?! — He knew what Chuuya was doing, so he just pressed his pillow over his ears and tried to ignore the nuisance. But at every bang of metal, or unnecessary loud slams of the cabinet door, he tensed up. The last drop was when Chuuya dared to put on some crappy metal song bursting into his ears.

“Do you mind?!” He yelled. “Someone here is trying to sleep!” He got a small chuckle in response.

“Yeah, sure you are.”

The noise just kept getting louder and louder until it stopped, and Dazai sighed in relief. He probably finally went away.

He ignored the weight he felt on his chest at that thought.

But then the weight started to feel real. Until it became hard to breathe. He sat up and tried to push Chuuya away.

“Are you a child? Seriously?” Dazai shifted uncomfortably under the weight. “Cause sitting on people is incredibly childish, I know you are small, but you don’t have to act up to your appearances.”

The guy had the audacity to just grab the remote controller and turn on the tv.

“You can’t be serious.” Dazai deadpanned.

“What? You seemed to be comfy here, so I joined.”

“And your food?”

“Waiting for us.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Are you ever?”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Slug.”

“Mackerel.”

“Hatrack.”

“Dead weight.”

“That’s the dream, don’t you think?”

Chuuya hummed and came closer.

“My dreams normally have you burning hot rather than going corpse cold.”

“Not very accurate dreams. Since my body temperature is always low.”

“Maybe I could change that.”

“I doubt it.”

“Is that a challenge?” Chuuya comes even closer. Their noses inches apart.

“Maybe.”

“Wonderful.” Chuuya stands up and brushes some non-existent dust off his clothes.

“What are you do-- ah!” Chuuya grabs his arms and pulls him out of bed and basically drags him to the kitchen. “Didn’t know you had this sort of kink…” Dazai says, looking around.

“You know what is often a cause of cold body temperature?” He asks, filling two plates of food. “Low iron.” He drops them in front of them at the table. “And you know how that usually is resolved? Eating.”

“You are so not fun.”

“Come on now, eat up.” He picks a glass of wine. “Maybe we can try your theory later too.”

Dazai humpfs and takes a bite. And then another. And another. Was he that hungry?

“How did you know I was here anyway?”

“I have a sixth sense for when I’m needed.” He ignores how Dazai scorns at that. “It makes me a really good executive at the mafia.”

The subject drops at that. And Chuuya is pleased. He doesn’t need nor want to explain to Dazai the thirty calls he got from the agency asking for help. And he certainly would like to avoid thinking about why they concluded he was the best one to call for this.

“Next time you don’t feel like getting out of bed, call me and we can lay low together.”

#soukoku #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd fanfic #writing #skk #fanfic

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sequinsmile-x · 4 months ago

Text

I Knew You'd Linger Like a Tattoo Kiss - Thigh Kisses

-x-

A series of unrelated one-shots and mini fics about the many types of kisses Aaron and Emily share.

-x-

Hi friends,

Here's another one of these prompts! This is another prompt from the lovely @sometimesitswho <3

Thank you to everyone who has sent prompts from the list - I will absolutely get around to them all. My aim with this is to write all of the ones from the list eventually.

Please see the masterlist for a full list of tags, and the list of prompts for this series.

-x-

Words: 2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron smiles as Jack presses his face against the window of Jess’s car and he returns his son’s enthusiastic wave as the car pulls off the drive and disappears from sight. He sighs contentedly and closes the front door, cursing himself under his breath when he checks the time on his watch. He was running late.

It was date night, the last before Emily gave birth to their daughter, and Aaron was looking forward to some already rare, about to be even rarer, alone time with his wife. She was exhausted and incredibly uncomfortable, and despite his offer that he would go and get her favourite food for dinner and bring it home, Emily was insistent on going out, her smile wry as she explained that she wanted to dress up and go to a restaurant before she became their daughter’s own personal restaurant.

He walks upstairs and into the bedroom, smiling at the sound of Emily’s humming, the nameless tune only slightly muffled by the closed bathroom door. He steps towards the closet with the aim of picking out what to wear that evening but he’s stopped in his tracks by the sound of a pained yelp replacing the humming followed by a loud curse.

“Fuck.”

He’s moving before he can think about it, bursting through the bathroom, entirely prepared to find his wife in labour, “Em, is it time…” he trails off at the sight of her sitting on the edge of the bath, one of her feet propped up next to her. She’s wearing one of her maternity bras and he can see a flash of her matching underwear, the majority of it hidden by her bump. His eyes drop to her hand, her razor glinting in the bathroom light, and the small smear of blood on her ankle.

“Damn it,” she grumbles, not looking up at him, “I can’t get a good angle on this,” she huffs, her bangs briefly flying upwards, pushed around by her irritation, “She’s in the way.”

He smiles at her and opens the medicine cabinet, grabbing the small first aid kit before he offers her a hand and encourages her over to the toilet, quickly pushing the seat closed so she can sit down, “You don’t have to shave sweetheart,” he says, kneeling on the bathroom floor and tugging her injured ankle into his lap, dabbing at the small cut that had already stopped bleeding, “You’re 9 months pregnant.”

“I do know that,” she grumbles, grimacing at the slight sting of the antiseptic wipe he traces back and forth over her ankle, “But it’s date night.”

He can’t help but smile up at her, love threatening to burst out of his chest at the slight pout on her face, “I know it is, baby,” he says, squeezing her ankle, his smile getting wider when her eyes meet his, “But you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I wasn’t doing it for you,” she replies, furrowing her brows, her arms crossed over the top of her bump, her hand instinctively soothing the spot where she can feel their daughter’s heel pressing up from inside of her, “I was doing it for me,” she says, sighing when he frowns, closing her eyes so she’s not looking at him when she carries on, embarrassment burning in her cheeks, “I just wanted to feel good about myself.”

At first, she’d loved the changes to her body, a soft smile on her face every time he’d catch her looking at herself in the mirror, her shirt tucked up under her breasts as she ran her hand up and down the curve of her belly. As the months went by and she got more uncomfortable, as her body started to feel less and less like her own, she struggled. She was self-conscious in a way she didn’t remember being since she was a teenager, and no matter how much Aaron told her that she was beautiful, no matter how much he made it clear how much he still wanted her, it didn’t help. All she’d wanted this evening was to go on a date with her husband and feel attractive, and it felt like a battle she had already lost because of her inability to get a good angle around her bump to shave her damn legs.

“Em-”

“I know it’s silly,” she says, clenching her teeth, irritation building in her chest in tandem with the tears burning in her eyes.

“It isn’t silly,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to her knee, smiling up at her, “I was going to offer to shave them for you.”

She frowns at him, her eyebrows pinching together as she tilts her head, “What?”

“If it will make you feel better,” he offers, “I can shave your legs for you.”

She hums thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly, the offer as tempting as it was adorable, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

He beams at her, his dimples carved out deeply in his cheeks as he stands up and kisses her forehead, “I’ve been shaving my face for thirty years-”

“A true crime against humanity-”

“I think I can figure it out,” he says, carrying on as if she hadn’t interrupted him, her love for her beard well established. He smiles as he picks up her razor from where she’d abandoned it on the side of the bath and a towel that he lays on the floor at her feet, “I’ll even use my fancy warming shaving foam.”

She presses her lips together, her upset at being unable to do this herself gone in an instant, chased away by his love for her. “Okay fine,” she says, smiling as he starts to fill the basin next to the toilet, “But be careful of my ankles. And my knees.”

He’s as gentle as ever with her as he carefully wets her left leg and then rubs shaving foam into her skin. She watches as his face pinches together with concentration, an expression she only used to see when he was hunched over paperwork or case files as they worked, as he drags the razor up her leg and then swirls it in the basin next to them before he repeats the action again and again. He dries her skin carefully with the towel, and she sighs contentedly as he switches over to the other leg and she places her hands on her bump, rubbing a soothing circle over where the baby was moving.

“How are my girls doing?” Aaron asks, smiling up at her before he returns his attention to her right leg.

“We’re okay,” she smiles, “She’s kicking a lot. I think she’s excited for date night.” She feels insecurity flood through her again as she thinks about their date, “Although that’s because she doesn’t have to figure out what tarp of a dress she has to wear tonight.”

He squeezes her knee at the self-depreciation in her voice and presses his lips together, “Em, you look gorgeous no matter what.”

She chuckles humourlessly, “On our first date I wore a dress I think would get me arrested for indecent exposure in some countries,” she grumbles, a smile flickering across her face as he raises his eyebrow at her, “Now everything that fits me could be used to cover the Potomac…or to hold the trash of our entire neighbourhood.”

He suppresses a laugh, knowing she’d be mad at him even though she’d been the one to make a joke, “You’d be beautiful in anything,” he says, repeating his earlier sentiment, a smile flickering across his face, “Even a trash bag.”

“If I’m pregnant much longer that might be my only option,” she replies dryly, tilting her head down to look at her bump, her skin shifting as her daughter moved beneath it, “You, Little Miss Hotchner, are being evicted in the next 7 days if you like it or not.” She was counting down the days to her scheduled induction but she hoped she’d go into labour naturally beforehand. She was as keen to no longer be pregnant as she was to meet her little girl, to see her face and smell her skin and feel the weight of her against her chest. It was something instinctual that she couldn’t fight if she wanted to, her impatience when it came to having her baby increasing with every passing day since she had hit full term. She looks at her husband, “It’s not just because I feel…not like myself. I wish she could just be here already. I want to hold her.”

“I know sweetheart,” he says, smiling at the explanation they both know is unnecessary. They often said that they could read each other's minds, something their friends often joked about too. So much between them didn’t need to be said, their understanding of each other primal, like something they’d both been born with. Something that had laid dormant until they met and got to know each other. Until they fell in love with each other. “You’ve made a good home for her,” he says, placing her razor down on the counter as he finishes his task, inspecting his work closely to make sure he hasn’t missed any areas, “She’s warm and cosy and safe,” he smiles as their eyes meet, “And that’s exactly what she’ll be when she’s in our arms too.”

He dries her right leg and he drops a kiss on her knee and then her thigh. He smiles against her skin when she gasps at the unexpected sensation, something she feels instead of sees. He switches over to her other thigh, leaving a trail of kisses until reaches the seam of her underwear, a small strip of it visible over her hip, his love a gentle tattoo against her skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he says again, kissing her bump, smiling when the baby kicks, “You too princess,” he stands up and kisses Emily soundly on the mouth, his hands on her cheeks as he holds her in place, “I love you.”

She hums, her hand tangling into his hair as she pulls him back in, fire catching in her blood, the first sparks of it flickering where the ghost of his kisses against her thighs still lingered. It never failed to amaze her that he could make her feel like this. That no matter what he could make her feel beautiful and sexy and desirable.

“I love you too,” she smiles and kisses him again, “Thank you for shaving my legs,” she says, her cheeks warm with embarrassment she doesn’t understand, “You did a good job. I might ask you to carry on doing it even after she’s here,” she jokes and he smiles before he leans in to kiss her.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he replies, barely pulling back far enough to speak, “You know that.”

She sinks her teeth into his lower lip, familiar desire licking at her insides again, “Maybe we should just stay here.”

He smiles and helps her up his hands in hers as she settles against him, their daughter pressed between them, “Let’s still go for dinner,” he says, kissing her, smirking when she pouts in disappointment again, “And then come back here for dessert.”

She beams at him and runs her fingers through his hair, “You’ve got a deal.”

She goes into labour at the restaurant, her waters breaking before they even get their appetizers. Aaron is grateful that he already had the hospital bag packed and ready in the trunk of the car, pleased that they didn’t have to go home to get it to then immediately leave for the hospital.

When their daughter is born in the early hours of the morning, bright pink and wailing as she’s passed into Emily’s shaking hands, her smile is wide as tears stream down her cheeks. Aaron tells her that she’s never been more beautiful and he takes a picture of them both the moment they are alone. Despite her exhaustion, and the remnants of the make-up she’d put on for their date night caught in her bottom lashes- the removal wipes the nurse had given her not quite catching all of it - and her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, when he shows her the picture she can’t help but agree with him.

#hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #emily prentiss #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron x emily #hotchniss

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tangerinesgirl · 2 months ago

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Kinktober 2024 - October 21st

Gun Play // Monsterfucking // Shower - Bath Sex

Adam 'Frank' Barrett x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+, explicit

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: gun play, Dark!Frank (but consensual don't worry), Sub!Reader, masturbation, firearms, somewhat public sex?, praise and degradation kink, hair pulling

Kinktober List || Masterlist || AO3

Frank bursts through your room, door nearly flying off its hinges. You were just about to settle down for the night, TV on to distract you while the others babysit Abigail. You were standing across the room trying to figure out which lightswitch was for main room, but none seemed to work. Stupid old house electrics.

Jumping out of your skin, you see Frank holding up his gun, pointing directly at you.

"What the fuck Frank?", you slowly raise your hands, glaring at him.

"Don't play dumb."

You're totally bewildered, "I don't know what you're talki-"

"You're Valdez."

You can't help but bark out a laugh, "You really think I have it in me to behead someone?"

"I don't- look, I don't know, but you've been acting...weird all evening."

Oh... oh dear. You didn't realise your playful banter with Frank would come back to bite you in the ass.

"It's called flirting, dickhead, look it up."

"I don't care what you call it, we're on a high stakes mission, I wouldn't call it professional."

"Well forgive me for shooting my shot with someone I found attractive and might not see again."

Frank suddenly lunges closer towards you, forcing you against the wall.

"Attractive?", he holds the gun against your temple.

Part of you quivers with terror, but you know he won't hurt you now he knows you're not Valdez. You're a vital part of the team to make sure you all get out alive. You also don't want to give Frank the satisfaction, clearly enjoying himself too much, so you give him your best poker face.

"You finding this attractive?", Frank continues.

You hate to say it, but you kind of are? Somehow Frank has become even hotter in your eyes. If you didn't need therapy before, you definitely do now. Your gaze shifts to the side, breaking his eyeline, saying more than you could have done with words.

Frank smirks before suddenly turning his body to shoot the television. The glass shatters dramatically, the sound cutting off mid dialogue. A few sparks fizzle out of the cables. Once done, Frank turns back towards you, pointing the gun at your forehead.

"Still attractive?"

You grapple with your emotions.

"... would it be bad if I said yes?"

Frank looks over his shoulders, you assume to make sure no one is following him or has been alerted to the gunshot, before whipping his head back to look at you. He motions his gun downwards briefly.

"Take them off."

You hesitate slightly before doing as you're told, removing your leggings. His gun still points between your eyes, following you when you bend down. You stand back up, hands at your side.

"And the rest."

You falter as your eyes dart towards the door, before looking back to Frank.

"What... everything?"

"Did I fucking stutter?"

You swallow harshly, before stripping in front of Frank. The sound of your clothes hitting the floor seems incredibly loud with the television turned off, and with your senses heightened by Frank's demeanour. You remain somewhat confident as you finish taking off your underwear, leaning against the wall when you're done. You decide not to cover your body up with your hands and feed Frank's ego, since he clearly wants to shame you.

Frank's poker face is better than yours as he remains calm and collected, his gun never wavering, still aimed dead centre towards you. He takes a step forward, before starting to lower the gun. You can feel the steel tickle your neck, still warm from the round he fired, as he swipes a stray strand of hair away from your chest. The weapon travels further down your body as Frank studies your face for a reaction.

Your body is shaking slightly, with terror? No. With arousal. You bite your lip, turning your head to one side, as if to say "that's all you've got?", giving him a silent signal to go all the way with you.

The firearm swipes at your nipples, turning them rock hard, before travelling further down your body. Goosebumps forming as he does so. Frank points it at the inside of your thigh, stopping.

"Open."

You spread your legs, and Frank moves the gun to your cunt, swiping the barell through your folds painfully slow. Your eyelids flutter shut as you sway your hips, riding it, increasing the pace. Your clit catches against the ridges. Wetness seeping out of you and coating the weapon.

"Fuck", Frank mumbles under his breath, watching the lewd act.

"You really meant it huh? So desperate for me, riding my gun wishing it was my dick?", he continues.

You mumble an agreement noise, but Frank stops moving the gun. Suddenly wrapping your hair around his knuckles and pulling it. You gasp out as you feel strands being yanked out of scalp, your head on fire.

"Use your words."

"Yes... I- I want you inside me."

"Well, tough shit. Greedy whores don't deserve to be fucked."

Frank lets go of you. His words should sting as much as his grip on your hair, but they only turn you on even more. He studies you once again, as he inserts the length of his pistol inside your cunt. Your fingernails claw against the wall for stability as it stretches you open. You stop moving, afraid it may go off. Frank notices.

"Did I say you could fucking stop? Keep fucking moving."

Your hips start to pick up motion, Frank's eyes darkening watching you intently. His gaze flickers between the gun, your breasts, and your face. You still look directly at him, cheeks flushing red from the effort as well as the embarrassment. Your head rolls back every so often, when the gun hits a particularly sensitive spot.

Frank's face gives nothing away, a blank slate, when you hear the hammer of the gun being pulled back. Your eyes widen realising your life lies with how steady his trigger finger is. He smiles seeing you like a rabbit in the headlights. But your feeling of orgasm soon drowns out the one of fear, the two becoming one in the same.

"Fuck Frank, I'm gonna cum."

"Mmmhmm... soak it."

That's all you needed to hear before coming undone underneath him, your walls pulsing out your release. You swear you even squirt, which you've only been able to do by yourself while masturbating. You struggle to remain standing as your orgasm hits you hard, your whole body shaking.

Frank, stoic as ever, removes his gun as soon as your climax ends. The wet sound as it does so is impressive, your chest can't help but grow with pride.

Frank lifts up the weapon again, and points it at your mouth.

"On your knees."

You kneel down in front of him, the old floor boards creaking, digging into your legs.

"Now... lick it clean."

The hammer is still pulled back, ready to go off at any second. You look up at Frank, apprehensive, before taking it into your mouth.

"Shit... that's it, like a good girl."

The praise hits just as good as the humiliation as you start to bob your head along the gun. Once satisfied, you release and start licking around the handle, being especially careful around the trigger.

Frank pulls the gun away from your mouth, and tucks it into his trouser waistband round the back. He promptly leaves the room, as you reflect on what the fuck just happened.

#abigail movie #abigail 2024 #frank abigail #frank abigail x reader #fem reader #adam barrett #dan stevens #fanfic #frank x reader #absurdthurst kinktober #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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reaper2187 · 7 months ago

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Nox x female sinner reader

In the gloomy corridors of DisCity, where darkness thrived and danger lurked at every corner, there existed an unlikely pair—a sinner and a knight. Nox, known for her cold and calculated demeanor, was a force to be reckoned with. Her prowess with her scythe was unparalleled, and her reputation as a merciless warrior was well-earned. But even amidst the chaos, there was one who brought light into her shadowed existence—Y/N, a fellow sinner whose gentleness contrasted starkly with Nox’s ferocity.

The rain pelted the windows of the abandoned building where the two had taken refuge. Nox sat by the window, her scythe resting against the wall, her eyes fixed on the storm outside. Her thoughts were a turbulent mess, much like the weather. She heard the soft footsteps behind her and turned to see Y/N approaching, a warm smile on her face despite the cold.

“Mind if I join you?” Y/N asked, her voice a soothing balm to Nox’s frayed nerves.

Nox merely nodded, her stoic expression giving away nothing of the turmoil inside. Y/N settled beside her, their shoulders brushing slightly. For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sounds being the rain and the distant thunder.

“Do you ever think about… what life could have been like if things were different?” Y/N’s question was tentative, almost hesitant, as if she feared shattering the fragile peace between them.

Nox sighed, her gaze never leaving the window. “I used to. But thoughts like that are dangerous here. They make you weak.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes filled with a gentle defiance. “I don’t believe that. I think they make us stronger. They remind us of what we’re fighting for, of what we want to protect.”

Nox turned to face Y/N, her expression unreadable. “And what do you want to protect, Y/N?”

“You,” came the immediate response. Y/N’s eyes were unwavering, filled with a determination that took Nox by surprise. “I want to protect you, Nox. You’ve been through so much, and yet you keep going, fighting for a cause you believe in. I admire that. And I want to be there for you, to support you, just as you’ve supported me.”

Nox was silent for a long moment, processing Y/N’s words. No one had ever spoken to her like this, with such raw honesty and emotion. She had always been seen as a weapon, a tool to be used and discarded. But here was Y/N, looking at her as if she were something precious, something worth protecting.

“You’re a fool,” Nox finally said, her voice lacking its usual bite. “Caring for me… it will only bring you pain.”

“Maybe,” Y/N conceded, her smile never faltering. “But some things are worth the risk. And you, Nox, are worth it.”

Nox felt a strange warmth spread through her chest at Y/N’s words. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one she wasn’t sure how to handle. She had always kept people at arm’s length, believing that attachments were a weakness. But with Y/N, she found herself wanting to lower her guard, to let someone in for the first time in her life.

Before she could say anything, a loud crash echoed through the building, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps. Nox and Y/N sprang to their feet, their weapons ready. The door burst open, and a group of enemies flooded in, their eyes filled with malice.

Nox’s scythe moved in a blur, cutting through the attackers with ruthless efficiency. Beside her, Y/N fought with equal ferocity, her movements graceful and precise. They were a formidable pair, their synergy in battle a testament to their bond.

As the last enemy fell, Nox turned to Y/N, her breathing heavy but her eyes shining with an emotion she had long suppressed. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

Y/N nodded, wiping sweat from her brow. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

Nox sheathed her scythe, stepping closer to Y/N. “You were incredible out there,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“So were you,” Y/N replied, her smile radiant despite the grim surroundings.

For a moment, they stood there, the world around them fading into the background. Nox reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she cupped Y/N’s cheek. “You make me feel… things I thought I’d forgotten,” she confessed, her voice breaking.

Y/N leaned into the touch, her eyes soft and filled with affection. “That’s because you’re not as broken as you think, Nox. There’s still so much good in you, so much worth fighting for. And I’ll be here, by your side, every step of the way.”

Nox pulled Y/N into a fierce embrace, holding her as if she were a lifeline in the storm. For the first time in a long while, Nox allowed herself to believe in a future, one where she wasn’t just a weapon but a person, someone who could be loved and cherished.

As the rain continued to fall outside, Nox and Y/N found solace in each other’s arms, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to consume them. Together, they were stronger, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that as long as they had each other, there was nothing they couldn’t overcome.

#lesbian #wlw #wlw post #ptn women x reader #path to nowhere x reader #path to nowhere #ptn #ptn nox #nox #nox x reader #ptn x reader

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axreliono · 1 month ago

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an island lost at sea

Chris Feistl x Daniel Van Ness

For the @narcosfandomdiscord's monthlong event, ft prompt #16 from Book of Locally Sourced:

Fanwork that mimics a bottle episode, so the entirety of it takes place in a relatively mundane setting

Warnings: Language, mild mortal peril, incredibly light angst, set during S3 (specifically ep2)

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: This feels so silly but I absolutely had to write something for these two. Vanfeistl you will never leave my brain. Posting this at almost 3am so if it's bad... no it's not.

AO3 link:

- fic under the cut -

MINUTE -1

“Hey.”

It was far beyond the point at which Chris found he could still focus on his work. With the announcement earlier that everything was fucked and over before it had even started, it was a miracle he’d not walked out the door right then and there. Instead, he’d sat at his desk, mulling over Peña’s words for hours, trying to find reasoning, some kind of way out, any loophole, until everyone around him had left and taken the last of his hope with them.

“Hey.”

Everyone, that was, apart from Dan. Chris hadn’t told him what had happened. He was sure Dan would be over the moon at the news, which would only leave Chris to suffer alone. That was a worse fate than the one he’d landed himself in already, and so he had decided to say nothing, just silently packing away his things as fast as humanly possible, throwing open files and unlidded pens into his bag like his life depended on it.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing up. Going home.” Maybe in more than one sense. The job was done; what else was there to do? The Cali team was dissolved permanently. The career criminals they claimed to fight had won with nothing more than a handshake. Some deal. He slung his bag over his shoulder and bolted for the elevator, ready to be out of here and away, somewhere he could actually think.

Footsteps followed him across the empty office floor. The space was lit only with the dim glow of computer screensavers and lamps carelessly left on here and there.

“Hey, man, talk to me. You’re acting weird.”

Weird didn’t begin to cover it, but Chris kept his lips sealed shut, pressing the button and watching the numbers go up.

“Seriously.”

Chris whirled around to stare at him. “Seriously, back off.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Chris stepped inside, expecting that to be the end, with Dan watching from the other side hesitantly. The doors started closing, peace almost in reach, only to be interrupted as Dan ducked in, the doors slamming shut behind him.

“What is your problem?” Chris hissed. He was too tired for this bullshit.

Before Dan could explain himself, the elevator juddered, leaving both of them stumbling. Then, it stopped dead. The two of them stood in silence, staring at each other, waiting for it to spring back to life and start moving again. Instead, the red light illuminating the buttons died.

Perfect.

MINUTE 1

Dan reached across and hit the bell button, and a piercingly loud alarm burst to life, filling the tiny metal box with its wailing.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Chris asked, plugging his fingers into his ears.

“I panicked, okay?” Dan said, hitting it again. The sound didn’t stop. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? To get someone to come and help us?”

“Okay, well, who in the office can save us?” Depending on the answer, they’d either be fine or utterly fucked.

Dan just stared at him, saying nothing. Chris mentally worked through the office, trying to remember who was actually around and only coming up with images of empty desks and logged out computers. Realization dawned on him slowly but surely, and his heart sank. Unless someone was in the toilets, or sitting in a side room with the lights off like some kind of freak, they were alone. Every other fucker had been sensible enough to leave on time, probably lured out by Duffy and Lopez’ promise of goodbye commiseration drinks. Which meant they were trapped in an elevator in an entirely empty office.

“Shit.”

Chris started banging on the doors, to no avail. Dan dug his fingers into the seam of the door, leaning back and straining as he tried to pull them open. They didn’t budge.

“Hey!” Chris yelled as loud as he could, but the sound was lost in the blaring of the alarm.

“I really don’t know if that’s the best solution to get us out of here,” Dan drawled, though the bite wasn’t as powerful as usual. He was hunched over the button pad, wincing as he scanned each one, as if there would be some magic opening code if he just looked closely enough.

“Like you’re doing better.”

Dan whirled around, looking incredulous. “This is your fault.”

“How is this my fault?! You must’ve fucked up the doors jumping in at the last second! Why are you even in here? You’ve never used this elevator in your life. Are you that desperate to piss me off?”

“Hey, fuck you, man.” Dan said, stepping away from the corner. “You’ve been in a bad mood for hours. Did you think I wouldn’t notice you spent three hours staring intensely at a blank document like you were trying to light it on fire with your mind? And tapping your pen like you were trying to bore a hole in the desk?”

“And so you follow me into an elevator?” Chris folded his arms.

Dan ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “Can we get the fuck out of here?”

Chris didn’t think so. They’d set off the alarm and nobody had come - not yet anyway. If there was anyone to come. Dan had tried the doors and stared at the instructions. Chris walked over, digging his nails into the gap on either side and pulling as hard as he could.

“I already tried that.”

Chris fell back, surprisingly out of breath. The doors didn’t even have a scratch mark, not a single sign that they’d been pried at, not moved at all from their original position, jammed solidly shut. Okay, so there was no way out of this shitbox metal cage they’d managed to trap themselves in. Fine. Surely there was another way out. Surely these elevators were designed for incidents like this. Maybe that panel on the roof…?

“I’m going to climb on your shoulders,” Chris said, rolling up his shirt sleeves. The hatch would likely have as little give as the doors, but it was better than wasting away in this stupid elevator until someone deigned to return to the office, likely tomorrow morning.

“The fuck you are.” Dan took a step back, looking at Chris like he’d grown an extra head.

“There might be a way out through the roof.”

“What, so we can scale the elevator cables like we’re spies in some action movie? We’ll still have to pry open a different set of jammed doors once we’re on the other side.” Dan looked Chris up and down in a way that suggested he did not believe they were getting up those cables. It would’ve been hurtful if it wasn’t true.

“We’re competent DEA agents. Surely we can work our way out of a trapped elevator.”

“Barely. And clearly not.”

Chris stared at him. His features were contorted into a hard, cold expression, not a single hint of hope mixed in with the despair he was trying so hard to conceal underneath. His hands had definitely started to shake, and despite his even tone, his words were getting harsher and more clipped with every minute that passed.

“You weren’t joking. You’re actually afraid of elevators.”

Dan didn’t meet his eyes this time.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Not only was he trapped in this elevator, he was trapped with someone potentially minutes away from a full-blown breakdown. The day just kept getting better and better.

“Are you fucking stupid? Why the fuck would you follow me in, then?” Chris snapped. He immediately felt guilty for how scathing his words sounded even to him, but everything felt like it was amplified ten times over in here, intensified by the fluorescent lights overhead and echoing off the mirrored walls. “You in love with me or something?”

A heavy silence fell over the two of them, punctuated only by the blaring of the alarm, persistent as ever.

“Actually fuck off,” Dan said, turning back to the keypad.

Chris watched as he pressed all the buttons in order, none of them reacting at all, nothing inside changing, and sunk to the floor. Maybe that was that. Maybe this was just his fate, the perfect cherry on top to an already shitty day. Dan eventually gave up, giving the keypad a final whack before joining him on the floor, curling in on himself in a ball.

“The elevator isn’t going to collapse in,” Chris said, though as soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he hadn’t said them. He had no real confirmation the universe wouldn’t immediately try to prove him wrong.

“And you know this how?”

Chris didn’t have an answer to that.

“You’re convincing yourself as much as you’re convincing me,” Dan said, a hint of smugness crossing his face, briefly extinguishing the fear.

“I am not,” Chris backed up. He wasn’t taking shit from a guy who chose to take stairs instead of the elevator every single day.

Dan just shrugged, shifting back into his corner. So he was perfectly able to cope when it came to jabbing at Chris, it seemed. “If we die in here, at least I’ll be able to say I told you so right before impact.”

Chris buried his head in his hands. This was going to be a long evening.

HOUR 1

The alarm died after an hour of assaulting both their ears, but with the near-deafening tinnitus that followed, it may as well have stayed on. All it meant was they were trapped in silence, and anybody who came into the office from this point forwards would never know they were in here. Chris had tried to think through every option, every possible outcome that could happen depending on what they decided to do from here, and came up with no better answers than to sit and wait. At the very worst, people would be in in the morning. Fucking with the mechanics anymore would only risk sending them to their deaths. So, with no feasible way out and his mind slowly dying off in the now silent, empty elevator, he started walking from end to end of the claustrophobically small box, bored out of his mind and succumbing to stress with every minute that passed. The elevator was exactly three and a half steps by five steps, he’d discovered. The numbers were now seared into his brain, not that they would help him at all.

“Please stop that.” Dan said quietly. He had his head resting against the wall of the elevator and his legs folded underneath him, as far as they’d go into the corner. It didn’t look anywhere approaching comfortable.

“Stop what?”

“Pacing.”

Chris stopped for a minute, and took a deep breath in, wooziness washing over him. He couldn’t be entirely sure he had been breathing properly at any point during the last hour. His reflection watched him from the mirror, already dishevelled and exhausted-looking. It could’ve been the harsh fluorescent lighting overhead, but Chris doubted it. He was wasting away in that office long before he walked in here. If he wanted to file reports and listen back to recordings all day, he may as well have been put on basement duty and locked away with all the evidence.

“Are you going to explain what the hell is up with you?” Dan said, pulling one of his knees up to his chest. “Or are you going to stand there all evening?”

“I’m quite enjoying standing,” Chris said, turning away from the mirror. “Getting my daily exercise in.”

“You could’ve got that easily if you’d taken the stairs,” Dan mumbled, furrowing his brows, but he no longer had the alarm to drown out his words and hide behind.

“Well, I didn’t, and for some reason, neither did you. So you better get used to the idea of sleeping here tonight.”

Dan was looking more and more weary with every second that passed. “You couldn’t pay me to fall asleep in here.”

Chris just sighed and turned back to pacing, unable to stop the nervous energy from rising up in him the second he gave it room to breathe. He didn’t like feeling helpless; his entire job was searching for answers and hunting them down until they came to fruition. In here, he had nowhere to go and nothing to work off. He wasn’t used to hearing his own thoughts. It had been a long time since he’d last let himself sit alone with them, and he was not about to start again now.

“Chris-”

The elevator suddenly let out a long, drawn-out creaking noise, almost a cry of pain. Both of them froze, eyes meeting each others’ in the split second before the elevator dropped suddenly, before jolting to a stop again. Chris let out an admittedly undignified scream, stumbling to grab onto the handrail as his stomach dropped from beneath him. He missed and tripped forwards, barrelling into Dan, both of them crashing into the wall and causing the entire box to shake. Chris looked up at Dan, their faces much closer than was comfortable. He’d gone white as a sheet, one arm grabbing onto the handrail as tightly as possible, the other curled protectively around Chris’ torso. Chris could feel his face heating up with every second that they were in contact, but he couldn’t bring himself to move in case the entire elevator collapsed under him.

“Oh fuck,” He whispered, heart jumping into his throat. Trust them to get themselves into this shit. “Oh shit.”

“I don’t want to die in this shitty evil metal box with you,” Dan said simply, voice quivering. “This is not what I had in mind.”

“Is my company that terrible?” Chris joked, but it fell flat in the silence between them and in the shaking of his own voice. There was only so much bravado could do to salvage a situation like this, after all.

“Can you be serious for one second? Just because you’re being pissy about this stupid Cali decision doesn’t mean we’re free to die in this elevator.” He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if the conversation was physically paining him. “Jesus christ.”

Chris stared at him. So he knew all along and said nothing? Acted like it was all fine and to be expected, and that this wasn’t the blow of a century, the humiliation of the entire department that hot on the heels of such a big success with Escobar, they were giving up on Cali over nothing?

“You might not get it because your biggest ambition in life is paperwork and your own comfort,” he snapped, tearing himself out from Dan’s hold and backing away, “but I don’t know how to stand back and watch as the biggest cartel in the world hands over the keys for nothing more than a slap on the wrist when everything I’ve worked towards for years now, trying to painstakingly take them down, gets burned to cinders in an instant.”

Dan didn’t say anything in response, staring him down with that slightly pained expression of his, which told Chris nothing more than he’d just let his stupid big mouth run away with itself. The elevator creaked in agreement.

“My life isn’t over,” Chris clarified, turning away to look back in the mirror, more so convincing himself than Dan at this point. “I care about more than just this stupid job.”

“Sit down before you bring the entire floor down with you,” Dan said quietly.

Chris had the sinking feeling he’d crossed a line somewhere along the way, but he didn’t know when or how to even begin to fix it, so he just sat down in the far corner in silence, resulting to tapping his hands against his knees instead of pacing, in case he really did bring about their untimely deaths.

“Do you have to do that?” Dan watched Chris’ hands, frowning deeply.

“You get to pick one; the pacing or this.”

Dan sighed, like maybe. “Fine.”

Not sure where he went wrong, and still waiting for the inevitable moment that the elevator came crashing down around them, he kept tapping like their fates depended on it.

HOUR 2

“Can you please stop announcing every hour that passes?” Dan gritted out, burying his head in his knees. “This situation is depressing enough as it is.”

Chris shrugged. “It’s like keeping tally marks in prison. Gotta keep my eyes on the prize.”

“There are no prizes for dragging out every godforsaken minute in this place.”

Chris turned to him. It had been almost a full hour since the elevator last made a noise, and they had yet to fall through the floor and splatter across the reception floor, but they had equally not got any further along in getting out of here. He was really starting to doubt that anyone was ever coming back to the office, and had now got to the stage of truly wondering if the universe was personally conspiring against them specifically.

“You never answered me earlier,” he started. Dan looked up with a quizzical expression. “The piss question.”

The other man’s face went suddenly slack with horror. “Please tell me you’re not about to piss right now.”

Chris tried and failed to stifle a laugh. “I’m not. You just never gave me your answer, and now it’s actually pertinent.”

Dan looked defeated. He shuffled forwards, bringing his knees away from his chest. “There is never a socially acceptable time to piss in a trapped elevator.”

“Even if you got in to go to a bathroom on another level? Even if we’re stuck in here for 6 hours?”

“This is why I don’t take the elevator,” Dan muttered to himself.

“To avoid philosophical conundrums?” Chris pulled a face. Dan tried to reach across the elevator to swat at him, but missed by a few centimeters, instead just throwing his arm across the room. “Look, what else is there to talk about in here?”

“I already tried asking you things,” Dan said simply, withdrawing back into his corner. “Instead, you choose to talk about this.”

Chris sighed. He still hadn’t worked his way up to any kind of apology, but the air between them had cleared a bit in the last hour, probably helped along by the knowledge that they weren’t seconds away from perishing in here.

“You knew why I’d been acting off,” Chris’ tapping got louder and more desperate, echoing off the metal walls. “One minor screw-up, not even close to the shit that went down with Escobar, and it’s over. Why even hang around here? We may as well pack up and go home if we’re going to let them pick their own punishment. I don’t get it. No matter how many times I’ve raked over it, I can’t understand why they’d pick this of all the options.”

Dan was watching him with one of those indecipherable looks of his again, somewhere between concern and pity. Chris wasn’t sure he liked it. It made his skin itch.

“They agreed a surrender deal with the Colombian government. There’s nothing we can do to interfere with that.”

“They’re some of the most powerful figures in Colombia. Don’t act like they don’t have all the connections needed to force their way out of this mess entirely unfairly but entirely unscathed.”

Dan ran a hand through his hair, some of the dark strands coming loose and hanging over his forehead. He looked so different in here, in the dim light, blazer abandoned and tie hanging loosely around his neck. More like the man he’d caught glimpses of in the corners of dark bars and rowdy office parties, more like the man he was always trying to provoke out of that impenetrable shell of his. The atmosphere between them was always shifting; it was hard to pinpoint where it would go next when the ground beneath their feet had never quite been steady. They never talked about it, of course, but “back to normal” felt less like the truth every time it happened. Everything managed to lead to something new with them. The prospect usually excited Chris, but here, trapped in this lift with no way out and no next step in sight, it terrified him.

“I’m not happy either,” Dan said simply. “I do give a shit, you know? This is just as much of a blow to me as it is to you. You know the last thing I want is to be sent home, let alone empty-handed. But what do we do? I’m not going to meddle with an entire government. We don’t have the same power as the CIA.”

Chris snorted. “The DEA always gets their slice of the pie, too, you know.”

“So maybe we will this time, too. But my point stands; that isn’t up to us two. We’re nobodies.”

Chris knew he was right. He wasn’t in any position to make decisions like that; he was barely more than an admin lackey at this point. He might’ve been a respected detective in Arizona, but here, he didn’t even have a partner, let alone enough power to oversee these kinds of decisions.

“They’re not even going to have their businesses confiscated,” Chris said quietly. “I can understand them not wanting a repeat situation of Escobar, but Cali pales in comparison to the shit he got up to. Why give them so much?”

“Quiet doesn’t mean dormant,” Dan warned. “They keep a lot under wraps, I’m sure. Doesn’t mean people don’t suffer, definitely doesn’t mean people wouldn’t suffer if they were provoked.”

Chris shifted around, turning to the wall and trying to picture the pinboard in the office splayed across the room. “Gilberto owns enough legitimate businesses to get into bed with politicians. That’s his entire social circle. One of them has got to be involved.”

“Do we know anyone specific? Anyone connected to higher government?”

Chris shook his head. He couldn’t visualize the whole board. “Not without the files.”

“Well, funnily enough, I don’t have them. So now what?”

Chris opened his bags. He’d just sort of thrown things into it in a huff. There were a few files, a few loose sheets that had slipped out of them, too. Mainly the financial stuff Eddie had faxed over after Cornerstone. But maybe, deep within encoded transactions and offshore accounts, there was something, one name or company or link that’d expose the entire thing. Fuck Peña and his instant dismissal. There was something here, Chris just knew it. He just had to find it. He spread the files across the floor, crawling between them on his hands and knees in case the entire thing came falling down.

“Some office,” Dan joked, watching but not making a move to get involved.

“It genuinely isn’t half bad. Get me some tape and some red string, and we’d be set. It’d be quieter than the main office.”

Dan quirked up a single eyebrow. “Not to mention how tiny it is in here, the lack of computers, the fact that we can’t get out and the ever-looming threat of falling two stories.”

Chris couldn’t say much in response to that. “Okay, fine. Fair point.”

It wasn’t the best setup, that much was true, but it was a distraction from his wandering mind, and a welcome one at that. Another hour in silence would kill him off, and he was already starting to feel the effects. Dan shuffled over to him, turning to try and read the files before sitting himself down next to Chris and reaching across to help him unpack the files. Just like that, the last of the tension in the air was gone, both of them wordlessly sorting through the paperwork he’d abandoned as useless earlier in the afternoon, positioning banks together into stacks, handing each other papers of interest, all with a silent agreement and occasional one-word clarifiers or accidental brushes of their hands, moving in perfect synchronicity. The files slowly emptied, dispersed across the floor, forming a mosaic of evidence, but it still didn’t add up. Without more information, without feet on the ground and eyes in the sky tracking when, where and how they were getting all this through, it was useless. No matter how they pieced this together on the elevator floor, no matter the order or the theories, it wouldn’t change the course of events, and the intel would sink to the bottom of a drawer somewhere to gather dust.

Chris bashed his fist into the side of the elevator. Dan only had time to shoot him a concerned look before the elevator juddered, making an ear-splitting creaking noise.

“Chris…” Dan warned, backing up very slowly.

Chris was immediately back in his own corner, hugging his body against the metal walls as tightly as he could. “…Sorry?”

Dan was clinging to the handrail so hard, his knuckles were turning white. “Please, please just sit back down.”

Chris mushed all the files into one big, messy pile, sheepishly shoving them back in his bag before carefully inching back down into a sitting position again. So much for that. They were no further ahead and only closer to an untimely death. What a waste of time.

“Look, you’re not wrong to be doing this,” Dan said. It was uncanny how much he seemed to be able to read Chris’ mind nowadays. Chris wasn’t sure how to feel about it yet. He wasn’t used to being an open book - most people saw him as a noisy but ultimately empty vessel, and that wasn’t such a bad thing as far as he saw it. “This data is useful. We can keep track of the accounts from the office just fine.”

“But what’s the use of that without people to pin actual crimes on? They’re just a bunch of numbers.” Chris buried his head in his hands. He was tired of this shit now. He just wanted to be home, where he could sleep off the terrible day and try again tomorrow.

“All we need to do is find one case. One example of laundering, drug money going through a legitimate business,” Dan explained. “Catching just one of the four leaders in breach of their deal could send the entire thing up in flames.”

Chris froze. He slowly lifted his head to meet Dan’s unwavering gaze. He didn’t seem at all rocked by this information.

“What?”

“They have to cease all illegal operations, right?” He gestured to the file poking out of Chris’ bag. “Maybe it’ll be harder to catch them doing that on the ground, what with their airtight security and eyes everywhere, but we find one dodgy transaction from the comfort of our computers, and we have all the ammunition we need to start the manhunt again.”

It took all of Chris’ energy not to jump up to his feet right there and then. “Laundering in Panama, undeclared offshores in Gibraltar…”

“Financial crimes are still crimes.”

Chris couldn’t stop himself from grinning. They’d found it. A key out of this clusterfuck. Sure, it relied on a lot of luck and good fortune that never seemed to be on their side, but it was something.

“See?” Dan flashed him a smug kind of half-grin. “Not worth throwing your shit around over, after all.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Chris felt a little breathless at the prospect. “We have to get the hell out of here.”

“Well, yes, hasn’t that been your aim from the start…?” Dan started, but Chris was already rising slowly to his feet and tiptoeing as gently as he could towards the door. “What are you doing?”

“Getting us out of here.”

Dan backed up into his corner again. “Absolutely not. You’ve got us into enough shit in this death box already. Get away from those!”

Chris was trying to pry open the doors again, with just as little success as the first time around. “Get up and help me.”

“And if you send us falling to the ground?”

Chris shrugged. “I’ll buy you a nice headstone.”

Dan looked at him for a second, face crinkled up in distaste, before he eventually pulled himself up using the handrail, looking far beyond disappointed. “You won’t be alive to buy me one, asshole.”

Chris rifled through his bag. Surely there was something in there that could pry these doors open. A particularly thin pen? A stray mouse mat? Anything? His search was cut short, though, as Dan brandished something shiny in front of his face. Chris backed up to take it in. A shoehorn, in all its metal glory.

“Why do you own a shoehorn?” Chris said, excitement causing him to immediately bypass the ‘thank you, I owe you my life’ or the ‘how did you know exactly what I needed?’ . Dan rolled his eyes.

“Do you want it or not?”

Chris took it, slotting it between the doors. “Grab the scissors from my bag. We’ll need some kind of counter action, right? Torsion or some shit?”

“Stop pretending you have any idea about physics.” Dan reached in. “These are going to snap instantly.”

Chris just waved him over. “You get the top of the door.”

Dan sighed, positioning himself on the other side of where Chris was crouched and reaching up to jam the scissor blades into the gap, his arm digging into Chris’. God, this elevator was far too small.

“On three.”

“This won’t work.”

“Two. One. Now.”

Both of them strained against the doors, the elevator rattling as they pulled at them. There was a non-zero chance this sent them both on a quick trip down to the first floor at full speed, but Chris was just about ready to lose it. It was about time they got the fuck out of here. The doors creaked and strained, small dents in the metal appearing but no real gap appearing between them. It looked like it wasn’t going to work. After all that, they might actually be stuck here overnight.

Suddenly, the shoehorn in his hand started bending, and the smallest gap, only a centimeter at maximum width, opened up. Chris reached into his bag with his free hand and jammed it with a fountain pen, then moved around to start prying it open with his fingers.

“It’s going to crush your hand, you fucking idiot,” Dan yelled, grabbing the shoehorn and placing it right under the scissors, pulling the other door away from Chris’ fingers until he was red in the face. The doors kept denting, not moving any further, until they suddenly flew open, throwing both of them into the walls at the side before the entire box shifted down again before jolting to a stop.

Chris stared at Dan, gasping for breath and dizzy. Dan looked no better off, eyes squeezed shut and sweat beading on his forehead. Chris dared to roll over and peer out of the newly opened door, waiting to be met with the dark inside of the elevator shaft, and instead staring out onto the reception. He looked down. They were maybe three inches above the ground at most.

“Dan…”

Dan slowly opened his eyes, then quickly darted forwards to take in the scene. “You’re fucking joking me.”

The day wasn’t done with them yet, though. Before either of them could say another word, none other than Stoddard walked right through the front door, humming to himself, only pausing when he saw them sprawled across the floor of the lift, both staring up at him.

“Hi?” He said, looking them up and down.

“Hello.” Dan said, as if everything was completely normal. Chris could barely bring himself to grunt a greeting.

“Are you guys… okay?”

Chris nodded, letting his head collapse to the floor. “Yeah, yeah man. So fine.”

Stoddard just stood there, still staring at them. Chris just wished he’d fuck off already, but he didn’t have the energy to say that. Instead, he forced himself to his feet, dusted himself off and stepped out onto solid ground. He’d never really valued fresh air quite as much as he did now, inhaling like it was his first breath in 26 years. Dan followed him out, looking about as frazzled as he felt.

“I… gotta go pick up some files.” Stoddard said slowly, still watching the two of them suspiciously.

“Party over?” Chris asked.

He shook his head. “I’m just going home.” He stared at the lift expectantly, then back at Chris and Dan where they stood in front of the doors. Chris could have explained what had happened over the last two or so hours to him, to warn him off the inevitable failure he was about to experience, but in his exhausted, elevator-fevered brain, he just stepped out of the way.

“After you.”

Stoddard shot him a final, poorly-concealed, concerned look before stepping around him and up into the lift, dented doors and all. Chris wasn’t sure whether he was just unobservant or if he truly did not care anymore. He couldn’t bring himself to care, either. He turned to Dan.

“So? Shall we get started?”

Dan was watching some unfixed spot on the horizon, clearly in a world of his own. Chris jabbed him in the ribs, and he jumped, finally making eye contact.

“Yeah, alright. But we are taking the stairs this time.”

Chris took one last look at the lift as the doors inched shut behind Stoddard, wobbling the whole time. “Obviously. I’m never getting in that piece of crap again.”

“I’ve been telling you this all along,” Dan said, lips quirking up at the corner.

“Well, I’m sorry, okay? Stairs stay on top. I’m sorry I ever doubted you. Is that what you want to hear?”

Dan’s mouth quivered as he clearly tried to repress a smile. He nudged Chris in the arm, though not with enough force to be convincing. “Ass. Come on, then.”

They headed towards the stairs, climbing up them like their entire futures depended on it - because maybe they did - as the distant sound of a familiar alarm ringing to life followed them up.

DAY 0

#narcovember #narcovember prompt roulette #narcos #chris feistl #daniel van ness #chris feistl x daniel van ness #vanfeistl if you will #chraniel if u hate me #narcos s3 #day 16 #book of locally sourced

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sisterspooky1013 · 1 year ago

Text

Gaslight, Chapter 26/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Washington, D.C.

He pushes his face into the crook of her neck and she giggles. It’s not a sound he’s ever heard her make before, and it feels like his heart might burst.

He’s sandwiched between her and the back of the couch, and his arms are wrapped around her waist, holding her steady against him. Her breath smells sour, like hops, and the heat of her back against his chest is just so—right. It just feels so fucking good to be close to her like this.

“Stop it,” she whines, but he can see by the way her cheek is puffed up that she’s grinning.

He does it again, but this time he presses his lips to the soft skin of her neck. She makes a little sound like a stifled gasp and her body goes rigid, and he immediately pulls away.

“Sorry,” he says, loosening his grip on her as his cheeks flame.

“No, it’s okay,” she insists, grabbing his hand to stop him. “You just surprised me. I’m not used to…”

“Old habits die hard,” he finishes for her, and she nods. “Take two?” he asks, lowering his mouth to her neck.

She tilts her head to the side in invitation, and when his lips brush across her skin she sighs.

“That feels good,” she says quietly, like she’s telling him a secret.

And it does. It feels so good. So incredibly good.

When he first opens his eyes, he’s momentarily confused by his surroundings. The room is dim and still, with none of the familiar sounds or smells of home. He turns his head to one side and sees an end table with a lamp and a digital clock on it that reads 6:35 am. He turns his head to the other side and sees the chestnut tangle of Diana’s hair on the pillow, and the curve of her waist. He’s still in D.C.

He swings his feet over the side of the bed and sits up, then stretches his back. Several loud pops sound off along his spine and Diana stirs and rolls over.

“Jeff?” she says groggily, and he grunts in response. “What time is it?”

“Early,” he says. “I think I’ll shower and head home.”

She sits up and turns on the bedside lamp, and he blinks against the blast of light on his dilated pupils.

“I’m going to go home with you,” she says in an uncharacteristically tender voice. “The rest of the firm can manage without me, and I think we could use some quality time together.”

He twists around to look at her. She’s sleep rumpled but alert, and the corners of her mouth quirk up a little in a sympathetic smile.

“What about your car?” he asks, and she opens her mouth, but then closes it.

“I can ask one of the records clerks to drive it back up,” she suggests.

“You don’t have to do that, Diana, we can just meet up at the house,” he objects.

“No, I want to,” she insists. “I’ve been gone so much lately, and I see now how that affected you. I want to drive you home, Jeff. We can stop by that NSA museum in Annapolis you were telling me about.”

“The National Cryptologic Museum?” he clarifies, and she nods. “Okay,” he says, returning her smile. “That sounds really nice.”

She joins him in the shower, and while he appreciates the extra attention she seems determined to bestow on him, he’s too unsettled from the day before to respond to her advances. He makes an excuse, telling her he’d rather wait until they’re in the comfort of their own bed, and she is disappointed but understanding. He steps out and towels off in the bedroom, and she joins him a few minutes later with dripping wet hair.

“I’m gonna go get us some breakfast,” he tells her as he dresses in jeans and a black T-shirt. “Take your time getting ready.”

“Thanks,” she replies, puckering her lips and waiting for him to cross the room and kiss her goodbye.

Outside the hotel, the rising sun has already warmed away the dew of night, and the only people out are locals and the occasional overzealous tourist trying to be first in line for the museums. He walks a few blocks until he smells the skunky aroma of coffee beans and follows it around the corner to a small cafe. There’s no line, just a few people waiting at the end of the bar for their drinks, and he steps up to the register as he peruses the menu.

“Good morning, let me know when you’re ready to order,” says a twenty-something barista with grown out pink hair.

He orders two large black coffees, one with room, and two blueberry muffins, and pays with his credit card. The barista directs him to wait at the end of the bar, and within a few minutes he has the coffee and pastries in hand. He pops the lid on the cup with room and goes about mixing in Sweet and Low and cream to Diana’s specifications, stashing a couple extra packets in his pocket in case it’s not sweet enough.

“Mulder,” someone says, and he snaps his head over to see a man with long blond hair and square black glasses staring at him. “I mean, um, Jeff. Jeff Spender?” the man corrects himself, taking one step closer.

Jeff looks around, though he couldn’t say what he’s looking for. The man seems to be debating what to say next, and he looks remarkably nervous.

“Who are you?” Jeff asks. “Why did you call me that?”

Now the man looks around, then beckons someone with a tilt of his head. Jeff follows his eye and sees a tall brown-haired man approaching, dressed sharply in a polo and slacks. The two men make eyes at one another, and the brown-haired man speaks.

“Mr. Spender,” he says smoothly, offering his hand. “My name is John Fitzgerald Byers, and this is my associate Richard Langly.”

Jeff takes his hand and shakes it, looking back and forth between the two men skeptically.

“Do I know you?” he asks, and the men exchange a look.

“No, you don’t,” the one called Byers says. “But we believe that we may have some information that will be of interest to you.”

Fear and curiosity war as he tries to get a read on the men. They don’t immediately strike him as nefarious, but neither did Nick. He looks at both their ears, trying to detect a wire.

“You called me Mulder. Why?” he asks the blond man, Langly.

Langly opens his mouth, but Byers speaks for him.

“Does that name mean something to you?”

“It might,” Jeff answers noncommittally.

The three of them stand there, and he has the distinct sense that they are each guarding their own hand, unsure what to show and what to hold. He knows that trusting them is risky, and at the same time this could be his last chance to get answers before Diana tightens his leash for good.

“Who is Mulder?” he asks, and the blond man’s head cocks back like he’s struck by the question. “What?” Jeff asks him pointedly, and the man looks over at his friend for help.

“You are Mulder,” Byers says simply, with a bob of his head.

The corners of Jeff’s mouth quirk and he narrows his eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asks, shaking his head.

“You used to go by the name Fox Mulder. That’s what we knew you as,” Byers says, indicating his friend.

There’s a long pause as Jeff tries to orient this information in his brain. He very quickly comes to the conclusion that it is at once impossible and ridiculous.

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” he says, somewhat angrily, “but I would really appreciate it if you could tell me who the hell Mulder is and why people keep calling me by his name.”

“We’d like to help you,” Byers says, lowering his voice in an attempt to encourage Jeff to do the same, which is a trick he’s leveraged with his clients. “But we only have limited information. We can put you in touch with someone who knows more, though, if you’d like.”

Jeff looks at the two coffees and muffins sitting on the bar. Diana is waiting for him.

“I need to make a phone call,” he says as he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Of course. We’ll be right outside,” Byers says, and the two men exit the shop.

He taps his foot against the floor as the phone rings and rings.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” he says, trying to sound casual.

“Hey, you, how’s the coffee coming?” Diana replies sweetly.

“Well, it was coming until I dropped it on the sidewalk two steps from the hotel door, if you can believe it.” He closes his eyes and cringes as he lies, like he can keep the guilt out if he doesn’t look right at it.

Diana chuckles. “I can, actually.”

“I’m going to run back and grab a new one, so I’ll be a little bit longer. They were pretty busy so it might take a while. Just didn’t want you to wonder where I was.”

He’s unpleasantly surprised by how easy it is. How smoothly it rolls off his tongue.

“I appreciate that. Good luck. Maybe ask for one of those drink cradle things this time.”

“Will do. Talk to you soon,” he says, and begins to pull the phone away from his ear.

“Jeff?” she says, stopping him.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

It’s a sucker punch in the gut, and he hunches over a little at the impact.

“I love you too, Diana. I’ll see you soon.”

He insists on driving his own car, and follows their Volkswagen bus just a few minutes before it pulls into the garage of a small white house. Jeff parks on the sidewalk and approaches the door, which opens before he reaches the front porch. The brown-haired man is there, smiling and inviting him to come inside.

The air smells warm and electric, like overheated plastic and lysol. Though the logical part of his brain tells him to be careful, he finds that he feels oddly comfortable as he passes into a living area that is lined with tables and computer equipment.

“What is this place?” he asks as he walks around, reading random documents and examining unfamiliar devices.

“Holy shit! Mulder!”

He turns to see a third man, shorter and older than the other two, looking at him as though he were an apparition.

“Mr. Spender, this is Melvin Frohike,” Byers introduces them. “We ran into Mr. Spender over at Burial Grounds,” he explains.

“Did you call Scully?” the man named Frohike asks, and Jeff’s heart leaps into his throat.

“Dana Scully?” he asks urgently, and both men’s jaws drop open.

“You know Dana Scully?” Byers asks him.

“No. I know of her,” he says. “We met once.”

“You met a helluva lot more than once,” Frohike murmurs, and Byers jabs him in the ribcage with an elbow.

“Langly just went to get her,” he says. “She’ll be here very soon.”

“Is that who…that’s the person you said will have more information about Mulder?” Jeff asks.

The men look at him for a beat.

“Yes,” Byers finally says. “You should be aware that there are still significant gaps in information that we’re actively trying to fill, but she knows more than anyone else.”

They offer him a seat and a beverage, and he accepts the former but declines the latter, slumping into an armchair.

“My wife is waiting for me,” he says with some irritation. “Will this take long?”

“I’m not really sure,” Byers says. “It doesn’t take long to explain the situation, however you may have some questions.”

“When you said that Mulder is me, what did you mean?”

Byers sits on one end of a couch that’s perpendicular to the chair and rests his elbows on his knees.

“I meant exactly what I said, but I know that probably doesn’t make much sense to you right now,” he says gently.

They hear the rumble of the garage door opening, and they all wait. A sick, nervous feeling churns in Jeff’s belly, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s due to the possibility that he’s about to get answers, or because he knows that any moment Diana will call and ask where he is.

“Where is he?” he hears an urgent, harried voice say from another part of the house.

“Right through here,” the voice of Langly answers, and suddenly she’s there, standing in the doorway to the living room.

She’s small, both in height and mass, maybe more so than he remembers. She’s wearing blue jeans and a white button-up blouse, and her hair is much neater than their first encounter. Her face, just as beautiful, is scrunched up in an expression of absolute agony, though there is relief there, too.

“Mulder,” she croaks, taking several quick steps towards him.

He sits up and stiffens, and she halts as she reads his body language.

“You’re Dana Scully,” he says, and she nods in confirmation. “Thank you for coming over,” he tells her. “I’m hoping you can help me understand who Mulder is and why people keep calling me by his name, yourself included.”

Her shoulders drop, and he watches the bit of relief on her face drain away as her eyes grow wet. She looks over at Byers, who is still seated on the couch near him.

“He doesn’t remember?” she asks, and Byers shakes his head with a sympathetic frown.

“Remember what?” Jeff asks, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on? My wife is expecting me back; I don’t have much time.”

“Your wife,” Dana repeats under her breath like it’s a dirty word.

“Why don’t you take my spot here, Agent Scully, and fill Mr. Spender in,” Byers says as he stands.

“You called me Agent Scully,” Dana says with what sounds like pleasant surprise, and Byers stops and looks at her for a beat.

“I did. That’s what I always call you,” he tells her, and a pained smile breaks out over her mouth. Even all tear-stained and twisted up, it’s a beautiful smile.

She sits down on the couch, stealing little glances at him as she gets comfortable. The way she looks at him is so familiar, the way someone who knows the story behind every scar might look at you, and it makes him a little uncomfortable.

“I have to preface this by saying that it will sound completely unbelievable, but I assure you that it’s all true,” she begins. She catches his eye and holds it, and a feeling of calm relaxes him just for a moment. “Two months ago, I woke up in the hospital and was told that I sustained a head injury. I had no memory of my accident, nor any events of my life since some point after 1992. I didn’t remember my husband, or my children, or the deaths of my father and sister. I tried to carry on with my life, but something didn’t seem right.”

She stops and looks at him again, gauging whether he is still with her. He nods, and she continues.

“I’ve since come to learn that I’m not married, and I don’t have children. I did not sustain a head injury. For reasons that I’m still working to understand, my memory was manipulated. Erased. I was not employed as a doctor, as I was led to believe, but rather I was a Special Agent with the FBI, and I was partnered with a man named Mulder. He and I witnessed something, or became aware of information that we weren’t supposed to see or know, and as a result, this was done to us.”

Again, she pauses and looks at him. He’s still trying to absorb what she’s saying. The fact that she worked for the FBI tracks with what his client said. Memory erasure is not something that is possible, to the best of his knowledge. But those parts feel less consequential. Mulder was her partner. Who is Mulder?

“That sounds like a difficult situation to be in,” he tells her. “You have my empathy, Ms. Scully, but what I’m still not understanding is what this has to do with me, and why I keep being mistaken for this man Mulder.”

Her chin trembles and she bites her lip, then pulls in a steadying breath.

“You are Mulder,” she says, looking right into his eyes. “He is you. You can’t remember because of what they’ve done to you.” She must see the disbelief on his face because she shakes her head and looks at the coffee table. “I wish I had a way to prove it to you.”

He isn’t sure what he was expecting the answer to the Mulder mystery to be, but it wasn’t this.

“My name is Jeffrey Spender,” he says plainly. “I’m a therapist. I’ve been married to my wife Diana for over ten years. I did join the FBI in the eighties, but I never graduated from the training academy at Quantico. Before we crossed paths in the coffee shop, I had never seen you before in my life. I’m sorry, but you have the wrong guy.”

“Come on, man,” Frohike interjects. “Think about it. Why would people keep calling you Mulder? You don’t think that’s a little bit weird?”

“I have no idea,” he admits, “but I’m relatively certain that it’s not because I had my memory erased. That’s not even medically possible, is it?”

“Is there medication you have to take every day?” Dana asks, and he looks at her sharply. “There is, isn’t there? Does your wife make sure you take it?”

He thinks about his blood pressure medication on top of the microwave back in Philly. He hasn’t taken it in days.

“Wives harassing their husbands about taking care of themselves isn’t exactly anomalous,” he says with a shrug. “It’s comic strip material.”

His phone rings, and he silences it.

“Do you have strange dreams about people and places you can’t remember, but they feel familiar?” she asks next, and he sighs.

“I think everyone does. So then are you saying my wife had her memory erased too? She doesn’t take any daily medication.”

Dana sits back in her seat.

“No. I’ve been told that she’s involved,” she says carefully, watching his reaction. “And she isn’t your wife.”

“Involved? In what way?” he asks, immediately defensive.

His phone rings again.

“Is that her?” she asks, and he silences the call. “Does she keep a close eye on you? Always needs to know where you are and with whom?”

“I don’t like what you’re suggesting, Ms. Scully,” he says sharply.

Dana sits up again, rubs her hands over her face, and leans in toward him.

“Please listen to me. Your Manatua Virus vaccine, the one that was administered at the base of your neck? It’s not a vaccine, it’s a computer chip. It interferes with your memory, and it also allows them to track your location. If you don’t answer that phone call, someone will likely be at the front door within the hour.”

The three men give each other fearful looks, clearly believing what this woman is saying. His phone rings again. He flips it open and holds one finger to his mouth.

“Hey, Diana,” he says as soon as he answers. “I’m sorry, something crazy happened at the coffee shop. I’m on my way back now.”

“Something crazy? What do you mean?” she asks in a voice that makes his balls draw up into his body.

“A domestic dispute of sorts. I’ll tell you all about it in five minutes, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting,” she says, and he hangs up, then stands.

“I have to go,” he tells them as he makes his way toward the door.

“Mulder, please,” Dana calls after him, following him into the foyer. “If you remove the chip from your neck, you’ll remember. Please, just let me remove it,” she begs. His hand is on the doorknob when she speaks again.

“Your parents are Teena and Bill. Your sister is Samantha.” He pauses and, taking his hesitance as doubt, she continues. “You hate black olives. You have a scar on your foot from stepping on a beer bottle when you were drunk at Oxford. That scar on your shoulder? I shot you, to keep you safe. You told me once that you—”

“I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is,” he barks as he spins to face her, and she recoils, backing up until she collides with Byers, who lays his hands on top of her shoulders to steady her, “but Diana and I have been together for over a decade. My father’s name is not Bill. My sister died when I was twelve. I never did any actual work for the FBI, and I don’t know who you are. If you could please stop sending people into my life to call me Mulder for whatever twisted reason that motivates you, I would greatly appreciate it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my wife.”

He slams the door behind him and stalks back to his car. He wanted answers, but he’s leaving this place even more confused than he was when he arrived. It doesn’t make any sense. Why would they say those things about Diana, about him? What would motivate someone to cook up such a completely implausible story and try to rope him into it? Money? He doesn’t have much of it.

He speeds back toward the hotel, actively working on the details of the story he’ll tell Diana about what waylaid him. Maybe he should punch himself in the face to garner sympathy. Maybe…

He passes by a gentlemen’s club called “Sly Fox” and slams on his brakes. He pulls off to the side of the road as two memories, one fresh and one faded, come together in his mind.

You used to go by the name Fox Mulder. That’s what we knew you as.

That’s it. Yes, Fox.

Diana had called him “fox”, but then lied about it. Why would she do that? Why would anyone do any of this?

His phone rings again. He ignores it.

None of it makes sense. None one bit. Not what that Scully woman said, not any of his theories about why people keep calling him Mulder. Diana would never do something like that to him, even if it were possible, which it’s not. But still, there’s this nagging feeling that there’s a kernel of truth in it. There are so many questions and so few answers. Would he have seen this situation differently years ago, when parapsychology and the mysteries of the universe called to him? When convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?

He doesn’t believe that any of it is true. But he also has to admit to himself that he doesn’t completely believe that it isn’t.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles #thexfiles

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