#i got my licence at last too

[crowleyaj]

am I seriously considering learning how to drive after years of not wanting to? guess I am,,

[imdayyydreaming]

One thing I haven't seen people talk about is that we actually do get a direct parallel to "You go too fast for me" in Season 2. It completely went over my head the first time I watched it, but it's the entire scene with Aziraphale driving the Bentley. The more I watch it, the more it seems like a metaphor.

We literally get to see Aziraphale picking up the pace, driving faster at Crowley's instruction- and the comment that he can feel when the Bentley isn't going fast enough just adds a whole new layer.

There's more to go into here- Aziraphale getting his drivers licence when Crowley got the Bentley, him actually being in the drivers seat for once, referring to the car as "our car", attempting to change the car before Crowley insists he change it back.

The last on that list is a big one, I think, if we do take the Bentley in this scene as a metaphor for their relationship. I mean, it quite literally foreshadows the end of the season with Aziraphale attempting to change their relationship to suit him and Crowley flat out refusing that change.

We all thought a title like 'I Know Where I'm Going' seemed to be a continuation of sorts (YGTFFM, but...) and it really did hide That in plain sight.

I would also just like to add, for no particular reason, that Crowley drives away from the bookshop slowly at the end of the season. Something something about the pace, huh?

[reiderwriter]

You'd Be Like Heaven To Touch♣️

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Female Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: After a whirlwind weekend, you're finally ready to go home and deal with the mess you created in Vegas. But you just cannot get your new Husband out of your head.

Warnings: Oral sex (F receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, no mention of birth control, and you're going to hate me by the end of this sex scene bye

A/N: They're officially out of Vegas! I'm so excited to share the next few parts with you guys, and we finally got our first taste of smut!! Also, the Reid in the gif is the exact one I'm picturing in this scene so yeah 🤡 smirk and all 😏

Here's the series masterlist, and my general masterlist!~

Prev. Chapter // Next Chapter

The race back to the hotel was easy compared to the ensuing rush to pack up an entire hotel room's worth of mess in the time between their arrival and their check-out time. Sure, they’d had to pack light as travelling FBI agents, but with the added mess you’d created in Spencer’s room, and the additional luggage of their marriage licence, the packing was needlessly more frantic than usual. 

When you finally did make it down to the lobby, you froze up a little, realising that you were the final one to exit your room. You watched as seven pairs of eyes shifted to you as soon as the elevator door opened, hauling your go-bag further up your arm from where it was slipping down. You thanked your past self for having the foresight to put some makeup into the bag, having used up a copious amount of your concealer to cover up any evidence of your night with Reid. You still kept a small distance from the others, just in case.

“Sorry, were you all waiting for me?” you smiled at them as you got closer, hoping that they’d not ask questions at what had taken you so long. Your eyes caught Reid’s and you could see that he was looking down at your neck. 

After an entire day morning and night in your company, you knew he’d seen the results of his handiwork. You wondered if the look that raked over you now was that of the dominant Reid from the night before, who you presumed marked you in such prominent places so people would know you were his, or that of the concerned team mate, who didn’t want to be caught and questioned by the others. You tried to shake both images from your head, not sure which would please you more. 

“It’s okay, you’re not late, the cars are being bought around now and the jet leaves in 30,” Hotch greeted you when you finally got close enough. 

“Late night, mama?” Morgan laughed at you as soon as he turned to you. “How did all that drinking last night go for you?” 

You were so wrapped up in Reid and what he may or may not be thinking that you had to pull yourself back to reality for a second to realise that Morgan had been talking to you. 

“What? Oh yeah, I guess. I don’t think I drank too much, but I did sleep like a baby, so who knows.” You laughed a little to punctuate the point, and then watched Morgan’s reaction closely. You were still looking for the two “agents” who had been witness to your marriage, after all. 

“Ooh, you didn’t sample the local goods last night then? I’ve heard that Downtown Las Vegas is the best place to meet single men, and you were just complaining that you hadn’t been out in a while,” Penelope said from beside the man. 

“No, no, the place Reid took me to was more library than bar, and as far from Downtown as you could get, so it was a nice and easy night for me.” 

“And if the local men are anything like our resident Las Vegan,” Emily jumped in, looking at Reid. “Then I’m sure they’re not really what Y/N is looking for.” She laughed and they all start making their way out of the lobby. 

You try to avoid meeting Reid’s eyes after that last comment, sure that you wouldn’t be able to stop the grimace of apology from coming to your lips. But you couldn’t help yourself, and you forced your eyes up into a small peak at his face, only to see his downturned eyes and the small smirk that was crossing his lips. 

You hung back for a second, needing to clue this out, and nudged him with your elbow. 

“What’s that look for?” you whisper at him in a harsh tone, hoping that no one was watching the two of you. 

“It’s nothing.” He says, but the smile stays on his lips. You give him another look, silently communicating that you’re not taking that first answer and he nods a little as he walks beside you. 

“If they could see the marks on your neck, they wouldn’t be thinking that I’m not what you’re looking for, right?” You could feel the heat in your cheeks, and you playfully whacked him in the arm a bit, before pushing through the doors of the hotel and feeling the sun on your cheeks once again. 

You watched him climb into the car you took earlier and stop yourself from following him. You were going to need some time to think about how you should take that last comment, and a half an hour drive outside of his presence would probably do you good. Climbing up into the other SUV, you take a deep breath, feeling all the restlessness of the night before creep up on you.

–X–

You don’t know where you are, but you know that you’re burning up under his touch. His lips are on your skin, working their way down from your neck to the valley between your breasts and all you can hear is the sound of your own lustful moans as his hands trail further still. 

You don’t know who it is on top of you, but you know that you’re dying for him to be there, to push his tongue into your mouth and make you submit to his will. His fingers wrap around the waistband of your panties and roughly pull them down, opening you up to him. You feel his lips ghost down further still, until he’s there between your legs. 

“Is this where you wanted me, baby? So desperate to have me, my little slut.” His words send another shiver down your spine as you roll your hips up into his face again. 

He lets out a small chuckle and gives you what you want, finally lowering his tongue again and letting it meet your desperate cunt. He sets his attention on your clit, and your eyes roll back in bliss, not caring who it is between your legs giving you this much pleasure, just desperate for them to keep going. 

“Don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” you beg, fisting a handful of your mystery man’s hair. It’s soft to the touch, a little curly at the ends and it feels familiar, but you’re unable to think about it for more than a second before he’s pushing a finger into you. 

“That’s it baby. Look at you, so fucking tight around my finger. You want me to push my cock into you, you’re going to have to relax for me baby, okay?” You still don’t know who it is, but you nod for him, knowing you want nothing except everything he’s telling you that you want. 

He’s thrusting his fingers into you at a relentless pace now, adding one digit every few thrusts, until he’s up to three. His face is still buried in your pussy, tongue still flicking against your clit, his other hand pushing you down by the hips as he forces you closer and closer to the edge. 

His hand drops down to your thigh, pushing your legs further apart, and it stays there feeling overly warm, almost burning you up from just that simple touch. 

“You’re so wet for me baby, going to take my cock now?” You whimper and nod your head as fervently as you can, begging him with your eyes to push into you. He finally pulls his head up to your own, and you’re finally face-to-face with your mystery man. 

“So wet for me, right baby? So wet for your husband?” Spencer questions you as he pushes into your wet, dripping hole, and you’re so surprised that all you can do in response is moan. 

With each thrust, he drops a moan into your ears, and you feel your climax building quickly. 

“Ah fuck yes, Y/N,” you claw at his back, desperate to pull him closer. 

“Spencer, don’t stop, fuck.” Your name begins dropping from his lips like a prayer as his thrusts get sloppier, wetter, deeper. 

“Y/N… Y/N……… Y/N….” 

–X– 

“Y/N, are you finally awake? We’ve been calling your name for a minute now.” Your eyes snap open and you come face to face with Emily and JJ from the seats opposite you on the jet. 

“We thought you might be having a nightmare. Want to talk about it?” JJ asks, her voice in a hushed tone as a look of sympathy crosses over her face. 

Whatever that was, it certainly was not a nightmare. But the scenario you were in now certainly was. 

“What? Oh, yeah. I don’t know, maybe it was a nightmare.” You desperately hope you sound convincing enough for them to drop the subject. The last time you’d mentioned a lack of sleep, half of the team had approached you with different home remedies and tips for getting your full 8 hours. The last thing you needed right now was the constant reminder that you’d just had a sex dream about Spencer Reid on the jet whilst surrounded by all your close friends and colleagues. 

Including the man himself, you realised, as you stretched your neck out from its awkward sleep position, and caught the sight of him there next to you. Your car had reached the jet first earlier that day, and it had taken all of two minutes after boarding before you’d been claimed by sleep, so you hadn’t realised he’d positioned himself next to you. 

A quick glance down had told you he’d done more than that. Wrapped around your legs, and so big that it stretched over his too, was a large blanket, the one that he usually used on your longer trips home. He was asleep in the seat next to you, you noticed after an embarrassing amount of time, head resting in one of his hands, lips slightly open, looking the image of tranquillity. 

His other hand was beneath the blanket, somewhere you couldn’t see, but as you shifted slightly in your chair trying to get comfortable again, you realised it was definitely somewhere you could feel. His hand had somehow fallen into your lap, and he had a firm but sleepy grip on your left thigh, the one closest to him. Now that you had moved, so did his hand, rubbing gentle strokes into your skin every few minutes. Slow enough that you were sure he was still asleep, but still enough to have am effect.

His hand was hot against your leg, and his touch burned. You remembered the sensation from your dream and immediately did your best to temper your facial expressions, not wanting to gather any more concern from the two women opposite you at the table than you already had. 

“Y/N? If you want to talk about it, we’re always here you know? This job can be overwhelming at the best of times, and we just worked a hard case. No one would blame you for needing to take some time for yourself.” Emily looked at you in concern now, and it was taking all of your will to keep your eyes on her, and nod at the appropriate time, your brain short-circuiting now that you realised Reid was so close. 

Where did this sudden infatuation with him come from? You’d always appreciated that he was a good looking guy, but you’d never thought about him so thoroughly before, and certainly not enough to lose yourself on the jet to inappropriate thoughts. 

It was the insanity of the weekend, you told yourself, it had to be. You’d learnt more about him and accidentally, possibly, maybe slept together, and now your body was just getting it out of your system. Either that or you’d just learnt too much about his preferences and your brain was just trying to come to terms with each revelation. 

You settled back into comfortable conversation with Emily and JJ, trying your best to convince yourself that your dream had meant nothing, blocking out any noise in your head that was suggesting otherwise. 

Especially the little thought at the back of your brain that was reminding you that you hadn’t removed his hand from your thigh, and that you really didn’t want to. 

🏷️@w-windyy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @bluecandycake @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @lover-of-books-and-tea @star0055 @daddy-dotcom @zaapsite @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @kat453 @ferrjulie @scoobydoopoo @kapeyama @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @jamiemuscatosslut @sharkcat1928 @dysphoricsanity @alyssaxstan @ghostheartbeat @beguiling3lavender @Casss2111 @zada-quinn @zatannas-wand @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @kspencer34 @academiacoffeelover

@softservepunk @andiebeaword @r-3dlips @cow-parsley @wakaladjarin @itsyagrillkat @ratbastardchild @crazyforreid @mcira @danika1994 @stargurl99 @whovianwholikesgirls @myinnerwonderlandmind @axionn @bastard-chicken-3 @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @doriantomybasil @shqwqrma @shits8gigs @rosiehale23 @sadroses97 @destielshipper88

[singularattitudeofasafetypin]

Safe With Me

Masterlist

Summary: Reader gets anxious when Eddie drives fast but is afraid to tell him in case he thinks she's boring.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: insecurity, descriptions of anxiety, reference to a parent driving dangerously when mad

Please don't steal my work

Eddie always drives like a maniac.

His rickety old van was infamous around town, careening down quiet roads and scaring the life out of their residents. Hopper had issued more tickets than he could count but nothing seemed to deter him. Maybe it was the rush it gave him? The thrill of breaking the rules or maybe he was just reckless?

Whatever it was, it just wasn’t the same for you.

Driving always made you anxious. You could count on one hand the number of times you’d driven since getting your licence. Every time you tried your mind was flooded with all the things that could go horribly wrong. Panic set in your chest. Thoughts rushing so loud you couldn’t focus on the road in front of you. You didn’t even own your own car.

But it ran deeper than that.

When you were younger, you could always tell if your dad was mad by the way he drove. Always pushing the speed limit after an argument, getting just a little too close to the car in front and yelling out the window when someone got in his way. Your heart would race, breath hitch when he broke sharply, and your foot tap on an imaginary break when he didn’t slow ‘til the last minute. Thankfully, nothing bad had ever happened to you, but it frightened you all the same.

When you and Eddie got together a few months back, the thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. You’d had a crush on him forever! All it took was a push from Nancy and a shove from Dustin to find out he felt the same way.

Eddie was wonderful! The perfect boyfriend really. You couldn’t be happier.

But then he’d offered to drive you home.

You’d happily climbed into the passenger seat, smiling as he shut the door behind you. He kissed your cheek, flicked on the radio, and turned the key in the ignition.

It was all you could do not to gasp when he pulled out of the parking lot.

From the first lurch, your heart began fluttering like a bird straining against your ribs, desperate to be free of its cage. Eddie kept talking like nothing was wrong. You could barely make out his words over the noise of the radio and the rushing panic in your ears. You tried to smile and nod at what you hoped were appropriate times but adrenaline was coursing through your body, breath coming in sharp, shallow gulps.

He skidded to a halt outside your house and immediately hopped out to get the door for you.

‘Your palace, my lady!’ he grinned, helping you down by the hand with his usual theatrical flair. You smiled weakly.

‘Thanks Eddie.’

He kissed you goodbye and you did your best to smile and wave as he went tearing down the street and around the corner before letting a shaky breath out. Residual nausea beginning to dissipate as you stepped inside.

In hindsight, maybe you should have just talked to him. Told him how you felt, been honest. You know, the sort of thing you’re supposed to do in relationships but it was all still so new! You rehearsed the conversation in your mind a thousand times but it just sounded pathetic. Like you were making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe you were? ‘Just leave it!’ you thought, ‘He’ll think you’re so boring!’

So instead, you made excuses.

‘Sorry Eds, I can’t. My mum’s picking me up today!’

‘I want to bike home today. It’s so sunny!’

‘I’m going to Nancy’s, she said she’d take me.’

It was all going so well until the universe turned against you. Or rather, the weather did.

You stood under the bike shelter, staring up at the charcoal sky as fat raindrops fell hard against the roof. They spattered over the school parking lot, sloshing in puddles and trickling along the gutters while a bitter wind waxed and waned. Icy drips hit your knuckles, white as they gripped your bike’s handlebars. You sighed. Ten minutes since school ended and the sky had only gotten darker. The rain wasn’t stopping any time soon.

Tugging the yellow hood of your raincoat over your head, you ventured out into the deluge. You were busy dreading every second of the freezing ride home when your attention was caught by a familiar voice hollering your name. You couldn’t help but smile when you turned. Eddie was sprinting toward you, his own dark raincoat held over his head rather than around his shoulders while his scuffed-up trainers splashed along the ground.

‘No way am I letting you bike home in this!’ he scolded good-naturedly when he reached you, ‘Let me give you a ride home!’

Your smile faltered.

‘It’s okay Eddie…’ you searched frantically for a reason to refuse him, ‘I was just gonna call my mum!’

Sure, you were! Halfway across the parking lot, clearly heading away from school. The lie was so obvious, Eddie nearly laughed. ‘Don’t you remember? You said she was at work today!’

‘Oh yeah,’ Idiot! You cursed yourself, ‘Nancy then! We’ve actually been meaning to meet up and study.’

Eddie frowned a little, ‘She’s got that thing after school, doesn’t she? I saw her unlocking the darkroom on the way out.’

Strike two!

‘Yeah, I uh…’ your confidence crumbled, ‘I can just wait for her or something…’ The ruse was becoming thinner by the second. Eddie folded his arms.

‘What’s this actually about?’ he asked, ‘Why won’t you just let me take you home?’ His words weren’t angry or accusing, just confused, but a flicker of panic began to rise in your chest. ‘You haven’t let me drive you anywhere for weeks,’ he went on, ‘Have I done something to upset you?’

‘No!’

‘Then what is it?’ his dark brown eyes filled with worry as thunder rolled in the distance. Eddie’s arms ached from holding his coat, his fingers bitterly cold. The rain had seeped into his shoes and through his socks but he didn’t care. All that mattered was figuring out what he’d done wrong!

It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t remember anything he’d said or done that could make you pull away. You were just as content and affectionate most of the time but at the end of the school day, you couldn’t seem to lose him fast enough.

You wouldn’t look him in the eye now, your hands gripping your bike so tight he was afraid you might hurt yourself. How had he managed to screw up the best thing that had happened to him so soon?

‘Please?’ he was begging, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his fear as you bit your lip nervously, ‘Just tell me!’

‘I don’t like it when you drive fast!’

You just sort of blurted it out. No ceremony, no elegance. The words fell clumsily from your mouth, tugged almost involuntarily. Eddie didn’t say anything.

Now the words wouldn’t stop, tumbling out too fast, trying to justify. ‘I know, it’s stupid! Childish, I know!’ Despite the cold, you felt your cheeks turn warm. ‘But it just makes me really anxious and I-!’

‘Is that all?’

You stopped abruptly, looking up as an elated smile began to pull at the corner of his mouth. This wasn’t what you’d expected. His eyes held a mixture of gratitude, guilt, and hope.

‘Yeah?’ your voice came out uncertain but the smile only spread wider.

It was as though a weight had been lifted. Of course, Eddie felt awful that he’d scared you, even more so that he hadn’t even noticed. But this, this was something he could fix! He laughed a little, almost giddy with relief. ‘So then, I just won’t drive fast baby!’

You blinked in surprise, rendered speechless. Eddie shrugged his coat on at lightning speed, his hair already sodden by the time he was easing your bike from your grip. ‘Really?’ You hadn’t expected it to be that simple. He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as though it was obvious.

‘Really! Now come on, you’re getting soaked!’ and without waiting for an answer, he turned and started wheeling your bike across the parking lot. You hurried after him, puddles splashing under your feet and wetting your socks.

‘You mean it?’ you asked when you reached the van. Eddie was pulling open the doors and stowing your bike safely in the back. He just nodded, opening the passenger side door next and helping you in.

He climbed in the other side, wriggling his coat off and tossing it behind him before turning the key in the ignition. You fiddled anxiously with your fingers. ‘You don’t think I’m being annoying?’ insecurity gnawed away at your stomach, ‘Or boring? Or silly? Or-? ‘

‘Sweetheart,’ Eddie interrupted, taking your hand and pressing a reassuring kiss to your fingertips. He looked up at you with those kind, warm eyes and melted your concern with his soft, tender voice, ‘I want you to feel safe with me.’

You sighed out. There was no deception, no hidden irritation or passive aggression. Eddie really meant it. He wanted you to be happy. Your peace was his priority.

‘Okay?’ he asked, still watching your face for confirmation.

You smiled shyly and nodded, ‘Okay.’

Eddie grinned back, pressing another kiss to your hand before dropping it and returning his own to the steering wheel.

True to his word, the ride home was as gentle as you could have wished for. You doubted Eddie had even driven this responsibly on his test… if he’d ever taken one. After five or ten minutes, you found the usual anxious knot that twisted in your chest had unwound. The tension in your muscles evaporated and soon you were laughing and joking with Eddie and singing along to the radio.

Before you knew it, he was pulling up outside your house. Funny, you thought, he’d been so cautious and yet the journey seemed to take half the time. You kissed his cheek and hopped down from the van.

The rain had stopped. Tarmac still dark and damp and small puddles were left here and there but blue sky and sunshine were breaking through the clouds, warming the sidewalk and glittering gold in the dew drops.

‘Can I pick you up tomorrow?’ Eddie asked, opening up the back to lift your bike out. He was tentative, worried he was pushing too far but you smiled and nodded.

‘Yes, thanks Eddie!’

You took the bike from him and turned to wheel it toward the porch when an indignant ‘Hey!’ sounded behind you. Eddie clutched at his heart, collapsing onto the side of the van gasping dramatically, ‘No goodbye kiss? Oh, cruel temptress! Is there no compassion? No mercy?’

With peals of laughter, you ran back to oblige him. He squeezed his arms around you, smiling so hard it was hardly a real kiss. This time, there was no barrier between you. No shadow, no secrets. Only the sweetness that honesty in love brings.

You walked your bike back down the garden path, waving to Eddie as the van pulled away. You watched him draw further and further down the street until he disappeared around the corner.

You smiled and rummaged for your keys. The weight on your shoulders had dissolved to nothing and somehow, you were even lighter than before.

Eddie Munson always drove like a maniac.

Until he didn’t.

Until you.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I really enjoyed writing this. If you liked it, please reblog and comment! I love hearing what people thought of my writing! Check out my masterlist for more!

Taglist: @sadbitchfangirl, @neewtmas, @ladymunson

[dannyphantom-zero]

Doctor Danny Chapter 6

Danny was surprised to say the least. The last time he even step foot in a place this fancy was at Vlad's dairy palace.

"Master Bruce is this way Master Todd"

Danny waited for Jason in the sitting room.

"Would you like tea Mr. Fenton"

Danny jolted, he had been so deep in his own thoughts.

"Yes, thank you-"

"Alfred is fine"

"Thank you Alfred"

"Pardon me for asking but what is your connection to the master?"

Danny squinted thinking about it as if it was the first time he was contemplating this. Well, it was the first time.

"The way I met him was a little... strange, but after that day he wouldn't leave me alone. Like a stalker"

Alfred chuckled.

Danny blushed, "I didn't mean that his is a stalker or anything! He's been a big help to me, I think. We're friends I guess you would say"

Jason walked up to the office. There was an air of tension and Jason wondered briefly if Bruce was fuming with anger on the other side.

Jason stepped in, closing the door behind him.

Bruce was sitting behind his desk with an unpleasant look on his face.

Jason wanted to make a wise crack but the air was too suffocating. You would think someone had died.

Bruce motioned for Jason to sit down, he came out from behind his desk and sat down across from Jason.

Bruce sighed before looking straight into Jason's eyes.

"Jason"

Jason didn't like his tone of voice.

"Are you gay?"

Jason paused and replayed the tape in his head. Did Bruce really just ask him that?

"W-why? Are you asking me that?" He had never been more confused.

"So you are gay?"

Jason suddenly felt hot.

"Maybe, in my defense some men just hit different"

Bruce made a face.

"Not literally, stop looking at me like that!"

"Some men, like that Doctor?"

Jason sighed and looked at the window nonchalantly.

"Yeah I guess."

Bruce nodded.

"So now that it's confirmed, there are some things you should know-"

"You are not giving me the talk in gay edition! I am an adult Bruce!"

"Does he like you back?"

Jason groaned.

"I really don't know. I don't even know if he's into men."

"Have you tried asking him"

"I'm not doing that"

Bruce wanted to scream. Why did his children always take the hard way.

Jason glanced at the clock on Bruce's wall and jumped up.

"Crap! I have to take Danny to the hospital!"

"This conversation-" before Bruce could finish Jason was already gone.

He sighed, "why do I even try?" He muttered into his hands.

He had even gotten to the important part yet, which would be Jason's vigilante identity.

"Do you like Master Todd?" Alfred asked as he sipped his tea.

"He's a great friend, he really is helpful when he wants to be"

Alfred shook his head elegantly.

"Forgive me, I meant romantically"

Danny almost dropped his tea. "Uh, I-I don't know. I've never considered"

Jason burst in at that exact moment and Danny's face went red.

"Your gonna be late if we don't go right now!" Jason almost shouted.

Danny jumped up, very flustered.

"Bye Alfred" Danny said as Jason grabbed Danny's hand and pulled him to the car.

Alfred smiled over his tea.

Jason hopped in the car and noticed that something was wrong with Danny. He was stiffer than a wooden board.

"Danny?"

A high pitched "what?" Came out that just made Danny even more embarrassed.

"Are you ok?"

Danny managed to breathe again

"Yea, just nervous about going to work I guess"

Jason nodded.

"Just be careful"

When Danny got into the hospital he noticed something strange. Everyone seemed to be staring at him and whispering to each other.

"Daniel! There you are my good friend " the hospitals general manager said clapping him on the back.

Danny made a face like he had just stepped on a fresh pile of dog shit. This guy hated him, and he called him Daniel.

If they were friends he would've to call him Danny. This was the guy who tried to suspend Danny licence and kept saying he was just going to be trouble for the hospital.

So why was he sucking up to him now?

"We have someone who needs to speak with you urgently"

Who could be so important, that even a dick like this guy would change his tune?

Well it didn't matter, Danny was pissed off now.

"Tell whoever it is to wait, my patients need me, make sure they don't bother me while I'm working"

"You don't have a choice brat, stop soaking up being the big hero and get your ass in that office."

Danny was about to stick up his middle finger and walk away when a voice rang out from down the hall.

"Doctor! I'm so glad I caught you!"

Danny looked past his disgruntled superior and his eyes instantly narrowed.

It was a prominent businessman with lots of rumors of having shady side businesses. Lex Luther.

"You have to excuse me sir but I'm working at the moment-"

"Of course, I don't mean to interrupt your work at all. If you can perhaps take the time to meet with me after your work hours have finished-"

Lex quickly waved off the thought his a graceful twist of his hand, "but you don't have too, you might be too exhausted. At least take my card. I have so much to talk about"

Danny took the card, resisting the urge to rip it up in front of the general manager out of spite.

Still, despite the rumors Lex Luther seemed fairly decent. Danny had no time to mull it over, he had patients to treat.

Danny carefully fixed a cast for little boy.

"There you go, all done"

The boy looked at Danny sadly, "can I be the first to sign it?" Danny asked.

The boy lit up, Danny was supposed to recommend that the cast stay clean and unsigned but hey, its an important tradition.

~Your incredibly strong, keep up that fighting spirit, love Doctor Danny~

The boy showed his mom who smiled and thanked the doctor. Danny just replied with, "it's my job"

Danny was half asleep by the time he walked out of the hospital.

"Hello" a smooth voice said in his ear. Danny whipped his head around his the person in the nose.

"Oh crap I'm sorry, are you ok?" Danny asked.

The person turned out to be Lex Luther.

"It's ok, it's my fault for being too close"

"Yeah but it could be bruised, I hope it's not broken" he said as he examined it.

After a few seconds Danny realized he asked for permission before touching him.

He quickly withdrew his hands.

"It's not broken, just bruised" Danny declared.

"Thank you, I see your off from work. Can I treat you to a meal?"

Danny smiled, "shouldn't I be saying that? I did bruise you"

Lex Luther shook his head, "no, I asked to meet with you. I should pay"

Danny caved.

"I'll follow you in my car-"

"No need, I'll have my assistant drove your car, we'll ride together in mine"

Together? Why?

"Okay, wait- is that your car?"

It was a shiny black Lamborghini.

"Wow, you drive this around Gotham? You so brave. If I had a car like this it would be locked up in storage" Danny said his hands hovering over, but not touching.

Lex pit his hand over Danny's and pushed it on the car.

"It won't break if you touch it"

Danny's face felt hot all of the sudden.

"Y-yeah you're probably right" Danny said nervously as he moved his hand and opened the door. After he slid in Lex shut the door for him.

The car looked brand new on the inside too.

"This is so clean"

"I made sure it was before I came to the hospital. Doctors like things clean"

Danny laughed, "not all doctors are clean freaks, you should see my car. It's a wreck"

"Forgive me, I spoke without thinking"

Danny shook his head. "It's fine, just a little funny"

Danny didn't want to admit it but this lex guy was easy to get along with.

Once they were in the restaurant and seated Danny got his business face on.

"So, did you ean to meet with me to talk about sponsoring the hospital?"

"Not at all, I already sponsor the hospital, you could say I'm their biggest sponsor"

No he wasn't, Bruce Wayne was Gotham Generals biggest sponsor. But he could be the second biggest sponsor.

"So what did you want to meet me about?"

Lex Luther gave Danny a soft smile, "you, I want to sponsor you specifically. More specifically I'm interested in you"

Danny raised an eyebrow, "I'm not sure I understand"

"I like you and I want to start a relationship with you"

Danny wasn't sure he heard him correctly.

"Like dating? Why?"

Lex chuckled, "I wondered that myself, why I was so attracted to you. In the end I still don't have a reason. I just like you"

"D- I- I don't know anything about you-"

"Could you give me a chance?"

Danny was confused, when he spoke it sounded genuine, but his eyes were silent.

"Can I have some time to think about it?"

"Yes, of course"

They ate and discussed little things, some things Lex Luther's business had been doing and Danny's hectic hospital work.

Jason arrived at the hospital ready to pick up Danny when he saw Danny's car drove away, so he followed it.

When someone other than Danny got out Jason's mood darkened.

The man was thrown against the car hard.

"Where is he!" Jason demanded.

"What! Get away from me!" The guy said.

Jason pulled out a knife, "I won't ask again"

And that's how Jason found himself checking surveillance cameras to find what place they went to eat at.

He arrived just as Danny was walking out with a man.

"Danny, where do you live, I'll drive you home and have my driver bring your car in the morning."

"DON'T TELL HIM SHIT!" a voice hollered from across the parking lot.

Danny looked startled towards the sound, he squinted to get a better look at the person stalking angrily towards them.

"Jason?!"

Lex put an arm around Danny's shoulder and pulled him next to him.

"Who are you?!"

Jason sneered, "none of your business, come on Danny I explain on the way"

Danny made a move to go but Lex held him firmly next to him.

"Danny this man seems to have anger issues, I don't think it's safe for you to go with him"

Danny couldn't move out of lex's grip. Jason glared murderously.

"I'll be fine Mr. Luther, he's really not a bad person" Danny said as he pried off the arm.

This lex guy was strong.

"Call me lex" lex whispered in his ear. Jason had enough, he pulled Danny away from lex Luther and put him on his motorcycle.

"I promise I'll explain when we get to my place" Jason said.

Lex Luther called his associate from his burner phone, "put plan B on standby, we might need it after all"

Danny sat completely confused on Jason's couch. Jason was kneeling in front of him.

"Are you okay Danny? Did he hurt you?"

"No, he was really nice, I don't get what's making you so anxious"

Jason sighed, "Bruce has dealt with Lex Luther before, he's into some pretty sketchy business"

"That's right, I had him on my cork board as suspicious. I was going to get closer and get more information, but if it bothers you that much I can table it for now"

Jason sighed, "your gonna be the death of me" he muttered.

[citrusses]

10 incredible fics by @oknowkiss 😘🎈

elaine's work was some of the first to grab hold of my arms and drag me headfirst into the full-on drarry hyperfixation. picking only ten fics I'm obsessed with was basically impossible--how dare someone be so talented??? if you've already read all these, go read the ones you haven't!!

9 to 5 (E, 2K)

Draco Malfoy hates Mondays.

e's microfic may is a genre in and of itself.

Hyacinth (M, 7K)

Draco receives a letter. Inside is a note from a lawyer and a single, purple petal, the same color as the hyacinths his mother used to grow. This is what happens after.

this fic broke my heart. it's so beautiful, you have to experience it to understand.

the long ways (M, 10K)

Five times Harry thought he was seeing Draco for the last time, and one time he didn’t. OR: what it’s like to fall in love, slowly and without realizing it, over the course of 20 years.

Falling in love over 20 years! Need I say more????

draco malfoy's substitute murder service (E, 10K)

When Harry joins the Curse Breakers shortly after his twenty-fifth birthday, he’s surprised to find himself assigned to the Department of Creatures, Cryptids, and Associated Calamities. OR: the one where Draco goes goblin mode, and Harry has a thing for monsters.

who else could come up with something this perfect, strange, apt, hilarious and tender?

a licence to kill (M, 11K)

Draco Malfoy has a licence to kill. Unfortunately, it expired last Tuesday. OR: how Draco Malfoy learned to stop worrying and love form AK-86-G

once again, the world-building this author is capable of in a fic of 11K is beyond comprehension.

any day now (E, 16K)

Draco supposes he should be grateful.  The rehabilitation centres were the Minister’s idea, or that’s what the Prophet said anyway. Their stated objective is simple: to provide a safe space for low-tier Death Eaters and high-tier sympathisers to reconsider the entirety of their life choices. All guests–because no one is a prisoner here, the literature brags–are to be provided with shelter, food, clothing, and the guided support of a Mind Healer via a programme they call “ideological restructuring,” which is, of course, mandatory. 

funny and clever and biting and sharp and a kick to the heart. one of my favorite fics.

Historians (E, 29K)

It’s the Dumbledore’s Army Reunion Holiday, and Harry’s found himself in hot water with his friends once again, after telling them he has a boyfriend he definitely does not have. In an attempt to fix things, he’s made it his colleague on Level Nine, Draco Malfoy’s problem too. Featuring a ski chalet in Switzerland, a pair of bunk beds, and an agreement that should’ve been simple, were it not for all the bloody feelings getting in the way.

I've made it this far into the list without mentioning that elaine writes the. hottest. sex. ever. see: how i raved about this fic when it was still anon.

À Bon Chat (E, 35K)

Draco Malfoy didn’t intend to lead a life of crime after the war. It’s just that being good had turned out so incomprehensibly boring. Now he's thirty-five, a fully redeemed member of society, the darling of the wizarding social pages, and a newly minted consultant for Gawain Robards' Investigative Research division. In his spare time, he enjoys good whisky, casual sex, and moonlighting as an art thief. His biggest score yet is fast approaching and he's got everything planned down to the minute. Everything, that is, until the unexpected appearance of a newly-divorced Harry Potter. Now that Potter's in the picture, Draco's no longer certain if he's the pursuer or the prize.

Cat and mouse Drarry! Art thieves! Such a true delight of a fic.

The Waiting (E, 43K)

It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love.

I can't do justice to this fic with my words (even though I, at one point, tried to). i stayed up all night to read it, crying silently into my pillow. it's an all-time favorite, it is a fandom classic, if you haven't read it i am begging you to (and dm me so we can scream)

The July Tree (E, 51K)

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail… nor well-meaning friends, nor questionable communication skills, nor seven years of hating each other’s guts can keep Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy from falling in love.

The rec post I wrote for this fic two years ago is as true as it ever was.

[fantomette22]

A little something about the students dress

Alright so I was looking at references (to draw a character) and ended up doing a bit of research on academic dresses & graduations uniforms! I only find a couple of things so if someone have more infos I will be very interest!

So in Bloodborne we got those dear uniforms :

The one with the robes is very classic of what people in old classic university still wear for big events and graduations such as in the U.S.A or UK. A decades/century ago they did wore those uniforms of course way more often. Now we wear mostly casual clothes.

(This image always made me think of Byrgenwerth. With the balcony and all. That remind me of a post I made a while ago I have still no clue what those balcony were use for!!!)

At first, I discovered that between a bachelor/licence degree, master degree and phd/doctorate you aren't going to get the same clothes. Plus, colours can differ depending of : the level of the degree, the school or the field you graduate in (can differ depending the countries as well).

Bachelor outfits are the most simple ones with not a lot of colours for most of them. Sometimes they don't have hoods but depends. Sometimes they seems to have very large selves like the Byrgenwerth one. The master ones have a bit more colours and I read generally long sleeves but that depends? Then the phd/doctorate ones are generally very colourful! And like the last sources below v They even had even more beautiful outfit for very important members (so I guess Willem pope outfit still make sense XD)

As for the colors it really depends the country etc but I read red is often associated with medicine and surgery (what a coincidence!). White / purple or even red is for theology and blue could be for sciences (Byrgenwerth/willem researches seems to be quite a mixt with theology/sciences so make sense).

(@katyspersonal we did talk a while back on colours on clothes meaning but hey it had have academic significations that fit well too! So in the end, drawing Laurence with white & red clothes is even more accurate now! XD) Oh I wanna draw him in an entire red academic dress now...Future drawing idea ).

Also I forgot to mentions that there's the hat/trencher that's part of it as well. It's not part of the set in the game but ennemies have it.

Also little side note: some dress have stripes or ermine bands on the clothes that represents their grades and also "academic curiosity, academic honesty, and academic courage."

So i suppose the garb Micolash, Damian & co have would look more similar to a master degree one? I guess?

But I won't throw any rocks at Fromsoftware even if the ones we got might not be too much detailed/ accurate because they sure did their homeworks to find and design those clothes. They aren't historians and they probably found a lot more things than I here (plus Japan don't have those dresses too). They're not going to design like 5 different outfits in the game too XD. (Yes I want more details for my story bc making things way more complicated is way more accurate I guess...) We don't know how exactly those types of institutions fonctions in Bloodborne universe too. And it's a fantasy world after all. So it's free real estate

I dunno if you guys @pyro-madder @karnaca78 @secteel or others could know more about it 🤔

But for now it's all!

Sources :

PS : I found this piece of medieval scholar dress and it really look like the same as the guy in the cainhurst painting and cut content Beltran!

They are probably wearing a "simarre". Some magistrate/ university professor / religious clothes people would wear. So pretty oblivious and what we thought @heraldofcrow

[catt-nuevenor]

The Future

Time to establish what's going to happen from this point forwards.

The vast majority of you have been exceptionally patient this last year, and for that you have my deepest thanks. You've given me the time to not only write a book, but edit it, and send it off to literary agents, something I would have long given up on doing without the continued support of those who enjoy my writing.

Now that the book is off doing the rounds independently, it's time I got back to Myrk Mire.

Originally Myrk Mire was built in ChoiceScript, a scripting language created by the Choice of Games company. Choice of Games control what is done with their script, understandably, they own it. This does pose some restrictions. I can't, for example, release any paid material built using ChoiceScript unless it is directly through their publishing label. If I do publish under their label, I maintain IP or Intellectual Property Rights, however I also grant them the exclusive rights under perpetual license to publish the multiple choice game 'electronically'.

Source: Choice of Games.com

As you can see from the outline above, they do make exceptions for stories published in non-competing formats, and for sequels, prequels, and spin-offs. However, traditional publishing houses might require stricter control over IP, distribution, and exclusivity. It will only become more and more complicated as things progress, and being locked into a perpetual license agreement of any nature is not a decision to make lightly.

As some of you may be sensing from the tone of all this so far, I'm going to be moving Myrk Mire away from Choice of Games and ChoiceScript, and into a new medium/format.

After tinkering, and trialling with a few alternatives, I've decided to go with Renpy. Renpy, while largely used for visual novel style games and stories, provides a very workable framework for interactive fiction, and is an Open Source script, it isn't beholden to publishing contracts, licence cost, or exclusivity.

I'm not going to be diving into transferring Myrk Mire right away, it's a huge piece of writing, in an entirely different scripting language, and as previously stated, there are a lot of changes I want to implement with the cast. Instead, I'm creating a trial story: One Háḟest Day. My Patrons have been aware of all this for about a month or so, and have already seen some previews.

One Háḟest Day takes place in Aldmirham before the events of Myrk Mire, around the time the Main Character and the Wanderers first arrived in town. The reader will have the choice to follow one of the romanceable characters through a single day, with opportunities to explore their lives and relationships before the Main Character and Child come along. I hope it will provide a proving ground for the changes that previously caused debate, and an opportunity for people to try out the new format and interface.

My plan is to distribute One Háḟest Day through Itch.io, working with their early access framework and voluntary payments for such as soon as one of the character routes is ready to play from beginning to end, updating regularly with the other characters as they too are completed, and with additional features as required. Once the full game is complete, I will release a separate full build with a set minimum price that can be discussed with the community as we move forwards.

At the second, I'm aiming for a web hosted format and a desktop/laptop downloadable format, with phone compatibility to come later down the line once things are stable.

I will post production updates and info when I can to tumblr, though a lot of what I'm doing now is very python coding heavy, so perhaps not that interesting?

I've included some screenshots below of very early development, featuring a Character Log and Word Log that I hope will allow readers to more easily navigate the story. I'm toying with the idea of having a Mysteries Log as well that will keep track of snippets of information gleaned from each character's route, but that can be a tinkering feature for now.

Let me know your thoughts, concerns, or excitement, though do keep all messages objective and polite.

[slowd1ving]

Hello, I could request a Jaegyeon Na x Male!reader who is androgynous and brother of James lee please

NO STRINGS ATTACHED ・゜゜JAEGYEON NA

"I got so much to lose, so please don't ruin my mood." Unfortunately, taking your brother's motorcycle for a spin does mean you now have idiots and prospective debt collectors looking to make the man pay for whatever havoc he's wreaked, including pretty boy Jaegyeon Na, who perhaps is not the smartest when it comes to tailing someone. yo this is actually the first request I got on here so thanks nonnie :3 I hope whoever requested it actually likes this scenario (I only remember bits and pieces of the scenes he's in so it might be a bit OOC) also sorry anon if you wanted it in drabble/headcanon form honestly idk how I wrote it this quickly but same day delivery is crazy... it must've been the urge to wife this guy pairing: jaegyeon na x male reader warnings: some violence? male reader, lowkey crack since I can't take this man seriously, he's got a nice face though, do misunderstandings need a warning wc: 2.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

On all accounts, it should be a good day. Wind tousles your clothes as you speed the forgotten roads on your younger brother’s motorbike, while the sun’s never beat down brighter. To some, the arid weather cloys and sticks uncomfortably to their skin—but for you, this day is nothing more than bountiful beach weather. Even the last lollipop you stole from the stash in his kitchen seems more saccharine than usual; evidently, your mood isn’t the only thing that’s sweet on this wondrous day. 

Or at least, it should be a good day—but it’s not, because some idiot’s been following you through Incheon in the ugliest car you’ve ever seen. It’s hideous: so much so that you’re troubled more by its primary-colour chromaticity than the fact that it’s been cruising past you as you wind your way through the quiet of Nambuk-dong. Seriously, which child lost their toy car because of this nitwit?

The cherry flavour grows distinctly more acerbic in your mouth as you make several turns experimentally—and yep, he’s still following you. 

Question is, why?

Well, Jaegyeon Na’s seething behind the wheel as though the answer is horribly obvious. It’s only been a week since Mr. James Lee himself wrecked his new ride, a week since he was forced to take a taxi back to Incheon, and a week since he sobbed his pitiful heart out in his garage. 

Mr. James Lee did not, in fact, pay for wrecking his car. 

And Mr. James Lee probably never would, not unless the King of Incheon wanted to lose his hands to that monster. Perhaps his tongue, as well, for daring to ask for what he was owed in that freak’s presence. 

No, he festers with barely-bridled fury. He’s not a wimp—which is precisely why he’s tailing after the sleek bike. It’s not often his informants actually have useful scraps to report to him. It’s also not often (read: never) that the freak’s licence plate is spotted in his home turf. 

Naturally, Jaegyeon does the obvious: following the mysterious rider as he weaves through the streets like he actually knows this place. It strikes him as strange that James Lee knows where he’s going, but it seems the blond dye has seeped into his brain. Just a little, because common sense doesn’t seem so common for him anymore. For a moment, it seems like he’s making his way to the Incheon Airport, but then the route diverges onto the highway and he’s even more puzzled.

Where the hell is this bastard going?

What seems to be hours later (because he has been tailing you for about three hours) the motorcycle finally comes to a screeching halt. 

Where? 

At Wangsan Beach, because of course Mr. James fucking Lee came to sightsee after causing him immeasurable grief. In his own turf, too. He scrambles out of his car, fuming, as the man parks neatly on an isolated road just a minute or so away from the sand. 

“You’re pretty angry for someone stalking me.” The voice resounding from the helmet sounds muffled and disembodied, which is perhaps why it doesn’t carry the same mocking cadence James Lee’s does. Or perhaps, it’s not James fucking Lee behind the helmet. 

“Stalking you?” he sputters. His face is all twisted with rage, which is quite a shame since he’s so pretty. Like some foul-mouthed, wretched fairy, anyway. “You wrecked my car!”

“I did?” The confusion in the voice is so salient that Jaegyeon almost believes it. Almost, because everyone and anyone knows what a slippery, lying turd James Lee is. 

“Yes, you fucking did,” he hisses. He nearly stamps his foot, but he settles for petulantly jabbing at your chest instead. Once more, there’s a slight discrepancy—this time in your build, for he could’ve sworn James Lee was the same height as him. But the helmet looks down upon him, and he’s blind with rage at how condescending James Lee is. 

Maybe it’s your visor that’s clouding your own vision. You wipe the plastic with your sleeve obnoxiously—then peer at the car stalling only a couple of metres away. It looks… fine. Fine, if not egregiously, offensively repulsive. 

“I would’ve remembered such an ugly fucking car if I’d wrecked it,” you grimace. I wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten-foot pole. “I think I would’ve been awarded a medal of honour for it too. Real brave to approach that.” 

“You conniving, duplicitous bastard,” he grits his teeth, and he swears he can hear a molar crack in his pretty mouth. That’s it. “It wasn’t this car, but another one!”

And I didn’t touch it! But whoever did, did the world a service, you want to say—but the cretin looks catatonic with rage. Any further, and you think his poor face might spontaneously explode. 

“You are a scammer,” you conclude, but perhaps that, too, was the wrong thing to say. 

“How shameless can you get, you jackass?” he yells, practically trembling with his fury. Like those little blond dogs you see yapping, you fear he might lunge at you any minute now. “You know you trashed it! You laughed about it while you did so!"

“You’ve got the wrong guy!” you yell back. 

 “I’ll kill you today, James Lee.” 

Woah—your eyes widen at both his words and how his body spins into motion. He’s fast; practically phasing out of sight like a spectre as his hands reach for the lapels of your leathers to grapple them. But unfortunately for him, he did announce his vengeance before he committed to the deed. 

Thus, he, too, built his villainous end—cliché by cliché. 

Well, it’s not really the end. That little warning gave you ample time to twist out of the way—using his momentum to spin his own body and pin him to the ground with freakish strength. 

It also gave your eye ample time to twitch as the words hit home. Of course this was that snot-nosed brat’s fault—you almost felt bad for the blond beneath your heavy boot. 

But then you look at the car again. It’s still hideous. 

And just like that, you fully support that brat’s wrongs. 

“Um.” With that, you step off his designer shirt, awkwardly brushing the footprint left behind. “I’m not James Lee.”

This exchange took such a short time—three seconds, in fact—that these words don’t register until the grappler has already locked himself around your legs and pushes you flat into the dusty street. Your helmet hits the asphalt with a sharp crack, and you wince as you almost bite your tongue instead of the lollipop stick. Actually, it was a wonder you hadn’t already bit your tongue. 

But you digress.

This leaves you in a particularly awkward position. He’s wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, and as your words finally hit, he’s letting go in surprise—while you’re finally shucking off the helmet. 

Sure, the candy in your mouth is the same, but he’s currently sitting between the legs of someone who decidedly is not James Lee. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he blurts out, but his tongue feels especially dry as he stares up at your face. 

“That’s what I’d like to ask of you,” you fume, and though your expression simmers red-hot with irritation, your tone is cold now that it’s not muffled by your helmet. He can feel his cheeks prickle under your glare. “Get off me, you dumbass.”

God, he’s never felt like such a fool—sheepishly, he scrambles off you, while you mutter something that sounds suspiciously like ‘look at this fucking idiot who doesn’t fucking check to see who the fuck he’s tailing this is how movie serial killers find their prey because fucking hell what a witless worm.’

“Uh,” he starts, and can’t bring himself to finish. He’s never felt so intimidated: practically cowering before you as you corner him against the wall you slammed him against earlier. Even with the syrupy scent of cherries from the candy in your mouth, there’s nothing about the man before him that’s friendly. Not even his pretty face—those eyes are only glaring daggers at him. 

Of course, part of the intimidation is due to his anger dissipating instantly at his mistake. And the exhaustion of tailing the wrong person for upwards of three hours. And the embarrassment that, naturally, comes with tailing the wrong person in the first place. 

“Do I look like someone who cleans up after whatever my younger brother gets himself into?” The question practically trembles with rage, punctuated by a harsh crack as you bite into the sweet. He knows better than to ask who the younger brother is; it’s not like his brain is that damaged from the bleach. 

He swallows, then tentatively answers. “No?”

“That’s right,” you take a deep breath, as though you’re calming yourself back down—but he’s entranced by the way your hands massage your temples, soothing the tension headache he’s no doubt brought on. “That’s right.”

You don’t look like your younger brother, and he’s staring at the man in front of him, slightly enraptured. 

“If my younger brother wrecked your ugly ass car, what does that have to do with me?” you seethe, and the illusion is shattered. 

“It is not ugly,” he argues back for the first time, chasing after you as you dust your helmet off and head towards the beach. It’s why you came here in the first place—though, you groan mentally when you see that the sun’s about to dip cautiously past the horizon. Of course, the irritation couldn’t possibly be because of the idiot floundering after you. 

“Don’t care what you think.” You bin the candy stick, much like you bin his opinion. “Your thoughts are rubbish.”

“Sorry, man—” and he’s still trailing you, just like some puppy now that all his bark’s gone. “—I really thought it was him.”

Irritably, you halt on the spot, and his nose collides right into your back. It’s almost comical how quickly you grab his stupid collar—how wide-eyed the arrogant blond gets, how flushed he becomes. 

“I don’t care about your grudge with my brother.” You’re just about nose-to-nose with him, and his brain short-circuits. If it hasn’t already. God knows he doesn’t have the most brain power. “Quit following me, you moronic stalker.”

“Can’t I make it up to you?” he wheedles, trying to prolong your proximity for as long as possible. 

“Yes,” you deadpan. “By learning from your mistakes and not stalking me.”

“Can I at least get your name?” he takes hold on the wrist currently wrangling him for dear life. “Since you’re so close and personal right now.”

“No,” you sneer, letting go in disgust. “Fucking pervert.”

This day was not a good day. 

゜・

When you next see your brother, you hand his keys to him and vow to buy your own bike. James stares hard at you—the harrowed gaze you sport, the mild twitch in your eye, and finally, the noticeable dent in your helmet. 

“What the fuck happened?” he utters finally, staving off any traces of laughter. Alas, judging by the look you shoot him, it seems he is not destined to be an actor. 

Your jaw clenches. 

“Fuck Incheon, man,” you mutter, dragging a scraped hand across your weary face. He does the maths. Incheon. Blond. Narcissistic king. 

“James,” you intone. Seriously, this time, and all his predictions of what you’re about to say next shatter to dust. “Next time you see that stupid pretty-boy bastard, destroy whatever car he’s in.”

His brows raise, not just because he wants to grin, but also from a certain adjective nestled between the pejoratives. 

“Stupid fucking prick with no brain, no shame and no future,” you seethe. Well, maybe he just imagined it, then. 

゜・

Meanwhile, a certain blond leans against the hood of his car, absent-mindedly tracing patterns on the metal while he waits for his call to finally go through. True to his word, he did let you go—driving back morosely to his apartment while you continued down to the beach for the last shreds of the day.

But for some reason, his mind can’t let your face go. It’s out of irritation, he rationalises. That’s why he’s ringing Jichang Kwak for information, because Jaegyeon’s dubbed the King of Chungcheong the most intelligent (after himself, of course). 

Is it because the man wears glasses?

Maybe. 

Regardless of the status of Jichang’s intelligence, he knows his heart’s racing out of anger. His skin’s flushed due to rage. He’s twirling his hair because of the complex coils of revenge.

When he asks the king about James Lee’s brother, there’s a long-suffering silence on the other end of the line that makes him feel slightly foolish. Just very slightly. 

“Do you have a fucking crush or a death wish?”

“Death wish?” he scoffs. “I could take him.”

It’s only then does he remember the former part of the question and his absence of a denial. 

At the same time, Jichang processes the response given and keeps both his silence and his peace. 

“And I don’t have a damn crush,” he adds, but it’s perhaps a heartbeat too late. For the King of Chungcheong, anyway—he doesn’t think the man’s noticed either his earlier double entendre, or how comedic he sounds.

“Uh-huh.” He’s a bit dumbfounded by this turn of events, hanging up almost reflexively. Indubitably, he might’ve replied monotonically, but there’s just something about being in proximity (even just audibly) to that cretin that has him losing his own brain cells. 

For a few more moments, he stares contemplatively at his phone. Then, at last, he prays for the poor soul of James Lee’s brother—for there is something so deeply disturbing about being the recipient of that moron’s affections he can’t help but feel pity. 

゜・

[theemporium]

[3.3k] after a conversation with steve leaves him haunted with ideas, eddie takes it upon himself to create the perfect circumstances to live out his car sex fantasy. (smut)

based off this request

.

In all fairness, the date wasn’t technically based on a lie. 

Between class assignments, after-school jobs and Eddie working on the latest campaign before he officially handed the club off to the younger boys, there hadn’t been much time for you two to just spend it…together. 

Sure, there were the odd nights you’d head over to the trailer park or he would head over to your house, but neither of you ever stayed up late enough to enjoy the time together. Nine out of ten times, you’d both be so caught up with your own things that the first time you really got a moment alone from everything would be the minutes before you passed out in bed. 

So, the idea of a random, impromptu date at the drive-in movie theatre just outside of town seemed like the perfect night you both needed after weeks of nothing. A sweet, innocent night shared together watching some trashy old movie with snacks and drinks you picked up from the 7/11 on the way—and totally nothing to do with the fantasy that had been playing over and over in his head for the last few weeks. 

Honestly, it had been Steve’s fault. 

He had been hanging around Family Video a couple of weeks ago when the topic was brought up. Just a simple back and forth of the best and worst places to have sex whilst Steve sorted through the x-rated videos the store had to offer. They had been debating on whether shower sex was really worth the risk or not when Steve brought it up. 

“Okay but nothing beats the back of a car,” he had commented casually, not seeming to notice the way Eddie perked up in interest. 

“Huh?”

“Like, when you’re fooling around with a girl and then she climbs into the back with that look on her face? It’s hot,” Steve said with a shrug of his shoulders. “It’s hot in the front seat too, but it’s a little cramped up there.” 

Eddie didn’t say anything in response because, truly, he couldn’t. He couldn’t put his two cents into the conversation, he couldn’t add in any opinions because it was never something he ever experienced. 

There had been a few hookups in the back of the van, but that was different. The back of the van was spacious and he often had pillows and blankets down to make it a little nicer. The last time he drove a car was back when Wayne was teaching him, and even then, it only took a few weeks before he got his licence. And he didn’t drive anything again until he saved up for the van, did a little work on her and had her as his very own ever since. 

Yet, there was a small part of Eddie that couldn’t help but feel like he was missing out. As Steve continued to ramble on, that pit in his stomach grew and grew into something quite like envy. 

He wanted that. He wanted the silly giggles and breathless moans when he fucked some girl in the backseat of a car. He wanted the heated windows, the bodies pressed together and the clothes abandoned on the car floor. He wanted that. 

He wanted that with you, with his pretty girl.

But he never said that to Steve. He never said that to you either. He didn’t say a damn word to anyone, and instead he formulated a plan in his head to get the fantasy he wanted. It was almost embarrassing how easily it worked. 

He waited a couple of weeks until the conversation between Steve and himself was long forgotten. He waited until it felt like a random day when he suddenly called Steve, frantic and desperate and seemingly in need of some serious help from a friend. 

“Woah, breathe! What’s wrong?” 

“It’s my van,” Eddie said as he tried to sound beat down and glum about the whole thing. “I planned the perfect date, Harrington! We’ve barely been able to each other with her college classes and my shifts at the garage, and now my stupid van won’t be ready in time for the drive in I wanted to take her to. She had been raving about it to her friends.” 

“Oh shit. When is the date?”

Eddie tried to bite back his grin. “Tomorrow night.”

“Just take my car!”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I won’t need it tomorrow night anyways. I’ll be at Robin’s.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Harrington,” Eddie breathed out a sigh of relief, a wide smile spread across his face. “I’ll promise to get it back to you in one piece.”

And possibly dry cleaned too, Eddie added as an afterthought.

With a car secure in his possession, the rest of the plan ran as smoothly as he hoped. He drove to your house, kissing away any questions you had about the car with some muttered lies about a dodgy engine problem in his van passed between before he headed towards the drive-in. 

He could barely keep his eyes off you the whole drive, but it was almost like you knew the dirty, little fantasy playing in his head. You were wearing a pretty number he swore he had never seen before, some floral dress that rests just above your knees. The straps were thinner than Eddie imagined was practically possible, and the second you shed the small cardigan off in the car, he was a fucking goner. 

He was straining in his jeans by the time you pulled into the drive-in, jammed between two massive pick-up trucks and, god, Eddie had never been more grateful and convinced that a superior being existed. 

Eddie tried to take it slow. He tried to let the moment come naturally. He watched as you pushed your seat all the way back, allowed himself to do the same and he tried to focus on the movie. He really, really tried. But then you had kicked your feet up on the dashboard, your skirt had ridden up just enough for him to see the pair of cotton panties you were wearing and his brain went totally blank.

“You’re staring, pretty boy.” 

He blinked, taking a few seconds to realise you had actually said something to him. “What?” 

It felt like someone caved his chest in when you smiled at him. “I said, you’re staring,” you repeated, looking far too amused at the clueless expression on his face. “You haven’t even looked at the screen in the last fifteen minutes.”

“Must be a pretty boring movie then,” he answered with a shrug. 

You raised your brows. “So you’re watching me instead?” 

“You’re pretty damn spectacular, babe,” he replied. 

“Me or my legs?” You teased. 

“Both,” he answered shamelessly, and you couldn’t help but let out a snort. 

“Watch the movie, Eds,” you told him, shaking your head as you turned to look out the front window towards the screen again. However, your attention quickly shifted back to the boy in the driver seat when his hand landed just above your knee. “Can I help you?” 

“It’s a boring movie, babe,” he said, his fingers gliding along your skin and it took everything in you to not shiver at the feather-light touches. “A waste of time, if I’m being honest. We could always get Steve to slip it to us for free for a couple of hours.”

“Hm,” you hummed, trying to act nonchalant as you focused your gaze on his face and not the way his pretty fingers looked dancing across your skin. “And what do you propose we do instead then? The movie is two hours long. You gonna entertain me, Munson?”

His lips twitched upwards. “I have some ideas on how to keep you preoccupied, baby.”

“Like staring at me?”

“Like fucking you dumb in the backseat.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and lips parted in shock at the blunt words that just left your boyfriend’s lips, and you waited. You waited for him to crack some joke. You waited for him to grin and wave it off, but he didn’t. He just kept staring at you like he was a starved man, like he wanted to fucking ravish you—and honestly, you wanted it too.

“Eddie,” you murmured, shifting in your seat as he squeezed your thigh. “We can’t.”

He raised his brows. “Why not?”

“We are surrounded by people,” you muttered, your cheeks feeling warm and heated as you glanced around at all the cars parked in the drive-in. You were completely surrounded. There was no way somebody wouldn’t catch you. 

“Scared?” He teased with a grin that felt a little sadistic.

“Eddie.”

“Just a lil’ good girl, aren’t you? Not wanting to get caught…not wanting anyone to see how need you get for me,” Eddie mused, something in his eyes darkening as he continued to trace his fingers along your thigh. 

Your breath hitched as he reached the hem of your skirt. “Eddie—”

“It’s a shame I don’t believe you, honey,” he murmured as his eyes snapped back up towards you, as he watched your face carefully as his fingers slid underneath your dress and lightly grazed your clothed cunt. “Not when you’re this fucking wet and I’ve barely touched you.” 

“I–” You opened your mouth to speak but you couldn’t. Not when his thumb pressed down on your clit. 

“You can act like a good girl all you want but I know the truth, baby,” he hummed as he watched your hand dart down to grip his wrist—but not to push him away. No, you were keeping his hand locked in place like you were scared he was going to move away. “You fucking love the idea. You fucking love the idea that anyone could see what a desperate little slut you become for my cock, hm?”

“Please,” you breathed out, your head falling back against the seat as your legs opened slightly wider. 

Eddie didn’t even bother to hide his grin as he pulled his hand back, listening to the way you whined at the loss. “Take them off.” 

You blinked, your heart beating wildly in your chest. “What—”

“Off. Now.” 

You didn’t waste any time as your thumbs hooked on the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs and barely making it past your ankles before Eddie balled the fabric up and shoved it into his pocket. You didn’t even get a chance to comment on how quick he was before the boy was pushing your legs open once again, the fabric of your dress pooled at your hips and your pussy on display for him. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Eddie muttered, mostly to himself, before he lifted his hand to slowly trace his fingers over your soaked cunt. You shivered at the soft touches, your thighs instinctively moving to clench shut but he pushed them open again. “Nuh uh, honey, not letting you hide from me.”

“Eddie,” you whined, a little too desperate when he had barely touched you but you didn’t care. “Please. Fuck, please.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, his tone almost tipping over that line of condescending. But honestly, it just made the coil in your stomach tighten. You liked it when he was a little mean. You liked it when he knew just what you wanted. “Gonna make my girl feel good. Promise.”

One hand gripped the fabric of your dress, letting it bunch in your first as your other hand pressed against the window. You tried to keep quiet. You tried to remind yourself that cars were far from soundproof. You tried to remind yourself that you were surrounded by other movie-watchers. You tried to remind yourself that anybody could look over and see you. 

But it was really hard to care about anything other than Eddie burying two fingers inside you, pumping and curling his fingers in a way that had you arching off your seat. 

And Eddie couldn’t help but watch, completely enthralled. 

He didn’t give two shits about the movie when he had you. The way you squirmed and wiggled in the passenger seat, your nails digging into the fabric of the seat and scratching along the car door as he continued to thrust his fingers inside you. The way you clenched around him, incoherent babbles and needy noises leaving your mouth as you reached closer and closer to your edge. The way you looked so fucking pretty with flushed cheeks and glossy eyes and he had barely fucking touched you. 

This was a movie he could never get sick off. This was a movie he could never look away from even if he tried. 

And fuck, the way you were far too loud when you came. The way he was so fucking sure that either patrons in the trucks beside you could have heard you, could have looked over and seen you coming around his fingers as you cried out his name. The way Eddie felt something quite like pride burst in his chest at the idea. 

“Atta girl,” he cooed, his thumb brushing over your sensitive clit as your body convulsed at the burst of pleasure. “Told you I know what my pretty girl wants.” 

“Eds,” you mumbled, somewhere lost between pleasure and desire as you watched him slide his fingers out of you. As you watched him bring his fingers to his lips, shamelessly sucking off the mess you made and groaning at the taste of you on his tongue. As you watched his eyes roll back as he savoured the moment. 

And before you could even let yourself catch your breath, his hand slapping the inside of your thigh as he flashed you a smirk. 

“Get that pretty ass in the backseat, baby.” 

There was something about the way you didn’t even hesitate as you clambered into the backseat of the car, even with shaky legs and panting breaths as you tried to recover from your previous orgasm. There was something about the sight of your dress pulled up over your ass, giving him a pretty view of your pussy as you climbed into the back. There was something about the fact you were so unbothered and uncaring about patrons in the drive-in hearing or seeing you now because you only had one thought on your mind—and it was his cock.

Eddie groaned at the sight of you in the backseat, biting on your bottom lip as you looked at him with a sense of urgency. You wanted him. You needed him. And fuck, if that didn’t make blood rush down to his already painfully hard cock. 

His fingers moved down to unbutton his jeans, hand slipping beneath the waistband to squeeze the bulge in his boxers for some relief but it wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside you, he needed to feel you clenching around him, he needed to have your pretty pussy wrapped around him. 

The car was already reaching a point of warmth that would start to become unbearable with too many layers. With the windows already starting to fog up and a thin layer of sweat covering your skin, Eddie barely wasted any time in shedding a few layers until the boy’s flannel and shirt were thrown somewhere on the driver’s seat and his jeans and boxers were pulled down enough for him to pull his cock out, stroking the length of himself as you quickly shifted onto your hands and knees. 

His head was brushing against the roof of the car, the vehicle had probably already rocked a suspicious amount to the people around you and Eddie was certain that if somebody passed right now, they would get a direct view of his ass—but he didn’t care as he gripped your hips, pulling you back until your ass was flush against his pelvis and his cock was buried deep inside you.

“Shit,” he breathed out, his chin tucked against his chest as he watched the sight of your cunt swallowing his cock. He let out a whimpering noise when your walls clenched around him, squeezing him so tight he could have sworn he would’ve come instantly if he wasn’t using every ounce of self-control to hold himself back. “Feel like fuckin’ heaven, honey.”

“Please,” you whined, pushing back against him as your nails dug into the material of the seats. “You promised.” 

“I know, I know,” he cooed, that hint of the patronising tone lacing his words again and making you clench around him. “Gonna do what I promised, baby. Gonna fuck you dumb and make sure everybody in this drive-in knows it.” 

It shouldn’t have turned you on so much. It shouldn’t have made your stomach dip in desire. It shouldn’t have made your head spin with a kind of dizziness only Eddie Munson could bring. 

And yet, it did. 

And you were absolutely fucking shameless about it. You didn’t care what your patrons thought. You didn’t care if there were people there you knew and would see. You didn’t care about anything when Eddie was pounding into you from behind, your face squished against the car seat as he kept going and going and going. 

You didn’t care about drawing the attention of others as the car rocked with his movements, or the fact your hand pressed against the foggy window gave everyone a clear indication of what was happening. Not when the debauch noises of Eddie fucking you echoed through the car, the shameless sign of how much you loved this. 

You didn’t care about anything other than the bruising grip on your waist as he fucked your soaking pussy, as your walls clenched around him, as you moaned his name over and over and over until you felt white spots dotting your vision as you came around his cock. 

You could barely comprehend the world around as his fingers slipped into your mouth to muffle the whimpering moans you let out, to keep them just for himself as he thrusted one, two, three more times until he finally let himself go. You barely cared about anything else as you lazily sucked on his fingers, a low groan of appreciation sounding through the car as you felt him hunch over you, cooing at how well you did for him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured as he pressed chaste kisses to your cheek, watching the way you blinked up at him as your tongue wrapped around his digits in your mouth. “God, you’re a fucking dream, baby.” 

“Hmmm,” you hummed, pleased with his response. 

You let out a huff of annoyance when he pulled his fingers from your mouth, but seemed happy enough that he showed no signs of moving from his spot just yet. Something about the weight of his body on top of you and his cock still buried deep inside you was oddly calming, and it wasn’t something you were willing to give up just yet.

“What are the chances Harrington never finds out we fucked in his car?” Eddie wondered out loud after a few beats of silence, causing you to let out a snort in response.

“Very, very low,” you murmured as you turned your head to the side so you could look up at your boyfriend. “I would recommend getting it dry cleaned. Maybe blessed by a priest.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes. “That’s a tad dramatic.”

“I can feel your cum dripping down my leg and onto the seats,” you bluntly pointed out, but your lips were still twitched upwards in a smirk. “I’d hardly say that’s me being dramatic.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie groaned as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, leaving soft kisses between words. “I’ll get it dry cleaned.”

“Good.”

“After a few more rounds.”

“Eddie!”

“What, baby? I have a few more fantasies I wanna play out and that dress isn’t helping,” he murmured, though you could feel his smirk against your skin. “If anything this is your fault.”

“Really?” You deadpanned. 

But the boy just flashed you an innocent smile, one that looked so sweet but you knew held a million untold, dirty promises in it.

.

[runariya]

girl i hope you know my notifs are on and i'm so excited to read what you post next 😭 any spoilers for ccl? 👀💜

Nooo that’s so sweet of you 😭 day4 isn’t rly that intense (day5 will be tho 👀) and I fear it’s a lousy spoiler but alas lol

Thanks for enjoying and cheering me on 💕 lysm angel

~snippet below the cut~

❄️🏂🏔️♥️

“There’s nothing left to talk about. But I appreciate your concern.”

Hara just nods, staring down at the floor, rubbing her hands together between her knees while you pull on your coat and tuck your phone safely into its case.

“It’s a nice case. Did you paint it yourself?”

You glance at your phone, rubbing your thumb over the faded paint that was once so bright. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of it after the breakup, even though it reminds you of everything good about your time with Jungkook. Maybe there’s some masochistic streak in you that wants to punish yourself for everything you did and didn’t do. Maybe it’s time to let go of all the memories that keep pulling you back to a time that’s long gone.

“No.” You sigh, tucking it away in your coat pocket with your purse and heading to the door. You pause with your hand on the handle, checking to see if Hara’s following, which she is. She’s right behind you again, and this time, you just let out a startled scream internally, hoping you don’t flinch too visibly.

Opening the door, you let her pass first, just to keep her in your sight this time, but as soon as you’re near the entrance to the main area, she stops, raising a hand. You give her a puzzled look, but she only points to one of her ears, so you lean in, trying to make out what’s being said.

First, you catch the voices of Taehyung and Namjoon, Taehyung’s voice too loud and distinct not to notice. But when you listen a bit harder, you pick up Hope and Jungkook having a different conversation, probably a little further from the others.

“I know! I know you’re a good driver. Just…”

“Just? C’mon, what’s going on with you, C?”

“Just… take care of her, okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re acting like I’m some boy who’s just got his licence and can’t be trusted—”

The rustling of your coat drowns out the rest of their conversation as you step into the room, deciding not to eavesdrop any longer. You glance around briefly, and of course, Jungkook’s eyes find yours again, but you quickly turn towards Yoongi, resting your hands on his shoulders from behind where he’s still slouched on the one-seater. He wraps his hand around your wrist, his thumb gently brushing over your pulse.

“Why was my case out in the snow?” you murmur into his ear, which earns a lazy laugh from him. He peeks over his shoulder at you, his voice still raspy from his hangover as he murmurs back.

“You thought you could yeet it away and be done with it.”

Your cheeks go warm again; drunk-you is really ridiculous in every possible way. You’re just grateful it was only Namjoon and Yoongi who saw your breakdown, and no one else.

“Right.”

“Stay safe, yeah?”

He gives your wrist a gentle squeeze, and when your eyes meet again, even though his are still glassy from last night’s antics, there’s that quiet care in them only real family can have.

“I will. Thanks for being there for me, Yoongs.” You press a quick kiss to his head and give him a brief squeeze around his shoulders, only for him to dramatically fake his own demise.

Straightening up, you meet Hope’s eyes, give him a quick nod, and head towards the door. Jungkook moves with the two of you, holding the door open without taking his eyes off you. His gaze is so intense that you can’t keep eye contact, mumbling a quiet, hurried “thanks” and “bye” as you follow Hope to his car.

[maraschinomerry]

Little Pink Heart

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader, implied Locklyle

Summary: following a fatal Ghost-Touch, Lockwood and reader must figure out how to manage love and life after death

Content: reader's death, ghost!reader, grief, angst, bittersweet, not a happy ending, established relationship

A/N: Please please be aware that this fic has some very heavy content, don't feel obliged to read if you could find it upsetting! That being said, this is as much about exploring the concept of Visitors' sentience that Jonathan Stroud introduced and building on what we saw with Annabel Ward as it is about the angst and the grief. This is dedicated to @bella-rose29 for mentioning the idea of ghost!reader and giving me inspiration (bonus angst: listen to Someone New by Freya Ridings while you read)

Word count: 4.9k (my longest fic yet!)

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea (let me know if you want adding or removing!)

The click of the key echoed through the house as you opened the door. Dusk was falling, the fine mist that had settled tinted a soft blue. As much as you didn't want to go inside, you fancied staying out here less.

“Don't linger, darling,” your boyfriend, Anthony, murmured as he passed over the threshold. His hand slipped into yours and he led you in. The house was cold and dim in the fading light, and from the fine layer of dust and lack of personal effects it was clear that it hadn't been inhabited for some time. It was a shame that the owner, who had seemed like a nice enough young woman, had had to move out of her family home, but you couldn't help but be grateful. You and Anthony had only just got your licences, and with no links to any agencies nor desires to join them you'd decided to try and set up your own. That took time, though, and money, and though Anthony had a little equity in his house you'd agreed to take a couple of small, private cases to make up as much as you could. That was how you found yourself here, ready to earn a reasonable sum in exchange for eliminating a lone Type Two. A few jobs like this would help set you up nicely.

The kitchen was slightly warmer than the rest of the house, the west-facing windows having allowed in the last of the sun before it dipped behind the trees in the distance. Together you set up your kit bags on the table - you didn't have much: a few handmade salt bombs, filings and chains, a few flares only in case of emergency (they'd cost far too much to waste) and of course your rapiers. Lockwood pulled something extra from his bag, a small plastic-wrapped packet. Bourbon biscuits.

“You're the best,” you smiled as he opened the packet and offered one to you, which you bit into quickly.

“I know,” he grinned back, brushing a stray crumb from your lip. You blushed.

The owner of the house had provided a floor plan, but her account of the Visitor had been so inconsistent and vague that it was difficult to pinpoint a possible location for the Source. Anthony spread the roll of paper across the table, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, peering over his shoulder at the diagram. There were two floors and a basement, but the latter had been gutted a month ago ready for renovation so there was nothing in there at present.

“Let's start upstairs and work our way back down,” Anthony suggested. “More likely to find something in one of the bedrooms.”

“True, but it's a lot of wasted time if we don't. Why don't we split up and take a floor each?”

His expression soured, and he moved closer, taking your hand again and rubbing small anxious circles above your thumb. “That's smart, but I hate the idea of leaving you on your own.” Even when he didn't agree with your ideas, he always found a way to compliment them. Just one of the things that made you love him all the more.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “It won't be for long, and I'll call for you the moment I find anything suspicious.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” You leant forward and placed your lips delicately on his. He held you close, your hands on his chest, one of his on your waist and the other fidgeting with your necklace. It was one he'd bought for you, a small pink gemstone in a heart shape on a simple silver chain. His promise to always love and protect you. Not a day had gone by since that you didn't wear it. He nodded at last; he knew he would, he'd do anything you asked of him in a heartbeat. It still worried him not to be by your side, but he trusted that you were a good agent who could handle yourself and that you meant it when you said you'd call for him. His only condition was that if the Source was more likely to be upstairs, that would be where he'd look.

So it was that you found yourself, torch in one hand and the other on your rapier, exploring the ground floor. The silence was oppressive, seeping the confidence from you with every step. Not a ticking clock, not the creaking of the old building settling, not even the residual hum of electricity or plumbing, just the occasional thud from your boyfriend upstairs. Working quickly, you ruled out the dining room and bathroom. That left the lounge. The air smelled musty, and a shiver ran through you as you entered. That was never a good sign. You pulled out your thermometer and watched the temperature drop the further in you went.

“Anthony?” Your voice felt deafening against the quiet of the room, but you knew it hadn't been anywhere near loud enough to travel upstairs. No, this was silly, you could handle this. There were no signs of a spirit yet, for all you knew the change in temperature could be from the wind blowing down the chimney into the empty fireplace. You flicked the torch off, using your now free hand to hold your necklace, grounding yourself as you tuned in and listened. There was nothing at first. You wondered whether Anthony was having more luck upstairs; so far down here had been thoroughly useless. Maybe you should go and check on him. But then you heard it. A tragic, gut-wrenching wail, getting closer.

“Anthony?” you called again, louder this time but as steady as you could. There was movement above. He'd heard. So had the spirit, the wailing definitely nearby now. You pulled out your rapier.

The temperature plummeted.

A screech, so close you would have felt the breath on your neck had it come from a living being, made you whirl round. Your rapier clattered to the floor. Shit. Stay calm.

“Anthony!” you yelled, not caring how scared you sounded. His footsteps rattled down the stairs. He was so close.

You lunged towards your rapier.

The Visitor lunged towards you.

Lockwood was in the back bedroom when he heard his name. All his senses were immediately on high alert - you were the only person he allowed to call him Anthony, so he always reacted differently to his first name anyway, and under the circumstances hearing it immediately made him fear the worst.

“Y/n?” He crept out onto the landing, slowly pulling out his rapier and listening intently for any more noise. It was moments like these he was grateful not to be a Listener, he could focus on you and not the sounds of the house's history. He was only two steps onto the staircase when his name came again, louder and more panicked. Without a second thought he ran down the stairs, only holding back enough to make sure he didn't fall. His blood ran cold when he heard you scream.

You tried to both duck and spin as your hand came into contact with the hilt of your rapier. The blade sliced upwards, connecting with the Visitor, but it was too late. Its clawing grey hand clutched onto your shoulder moments before it disappeared. You screamed as tendrils of ice shot through you, radiating outwards from the spot. Through the fog of pain that had suddenly engulfed your brain you heard Anthony, close by now, yelling your name. You had to go to him. He'd know what to do. Everything would be okay.

You took one step, then another. Your torso was going numb, your entire arm having already fallen victim to the plasm which was turning your shoulder a violent shade of blue. One more step, and your legs gave out. You just about made out the silhouette of your boyfriend in the doorway, rushing towards you as you slumped to the ground.

“No, no, no, y/n!” Anthony's face swam into view, trying to mask his utter horror for your sake. “It's going to be okay, darling, I'll go and get help.”

The fingers of your good hand twitched towards his and he took it immediately, despite how cold it was. You struggled to focus on him through your tears, and noticed the same in his eyes. “Ant-” Your voice was failing fast.

“Shh, I've got you.” He cradled your head, his own tears mingling with yours on your cheek, but you could barely feel them. Almost everything was numb. The blue had spread across your chest, and the little pink heart stood out starkly against it. “I'm so sorry, my darling,” Lockwood said softly. He choked back a sob as he leant down, placing a kiss into your hair. You wanted to do the same, to speak to him, to do anything.

His face was the last thing you saw before everything went black.

—

You had no idea how much time had passed when your vision returned, a room slowly materialising in front of your eyes. It was a bedroom, filled with knick-knacks and bathed in a warm golden light. It looked familiar, but you hadn't been here when it went dark, you'd been… somewhere else. It was so hard to remember, but you knew there had been a dark, dusty room and a feeling of agonising cold. And a person. There'd been someone there, someone you needed to say something to. Now here you were, everything feeling so normal yet so bizarre; you were still you, still able to move and see and hear, but there was a disconnect between those sensations and reality. Nothing felt real. You looked around again, desperate for answers.

There.

Perched on the edge of the bed was a boy. His crisp white shirt was a stark contrast to his dishevelled dark hair, doleful brown eyes and the deep eyebags beneath. He looked exhausted, like he'd barely slept or eaten. There was something in his hand, balanced carefully on the tips of his fingers: a necklace, with a little pink heart. A spark of recognition bloomed in the back of your mind. That was your necklace. It was important. He had no right to be holding it. You drifted forward. The boy looked so familiar. Oh. The icy feeling rippled through your chest again, and you remembered. He'd been there when that feeling had taken over your body until you couldn't feel anything else. Rage boiled in your veins, and a snarl crept onto your face. But then, as quickly as it started, the anger subsided. He'd not caused it. He'd held you so gently, cried as everything faded. You knew him. You opened your mouth, finally ready to speak.

Lockwood stared at the tiny gemstone in his hand, unsure whether he wanted anything to happen this time. He'd secretly slipped it from you before DEPRAC had arrived, and spent the past few weeks periodically taking it out of the little silver-glass box in his bedside table. Part of him desperately wanted you to come back, to let him see you once more, but the other part knew it would hurt so much. What if you didn't recognise him and turned violent like so many Visitors? What if you didn't because you didn't recognise anything, just hung there as a shadow of your former self? What if you did, and he had to live with putting you back in the case and removing you from his life all over again?

The decision was made for him when a soft golden glow appeared in the corner of his bedroom. There you were. Tears welled in his eyes as the image of you sent him spiralling back to that day: your edges were a little fuzzy but everything else was the same, from your outfit to the scared look in your eye to the dark patch spreading from your shoulder. You looked at him now and he was relieved to watch you processing your surroundings. The person he knew was still in there, you weren't just a hollow shell. Suddenly you snarled and he flinched, fingers twitching towards the silver-glass case.

You moved closer.

You stopped.

Your face fell.

He watched the glimmer of recognition in your eyes, and the tears he'd been holding back spilled out along with all the things he'd wanted to say for months.

“Oh my darling, I'm so sorry. I should never have let this happen, I should have been there for you, and-”

He paused. You were mouthing something. Over and over. Your death loop, he presumed. God, just putting death in the same sentence as you stung.

“I'd give anything to be able to hear you right now,” he said, voice wavering. You stopped, giving him a sad look. The realisation that at the very least you could understand him, even if you couldn't communicate fully, hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Lockwood!” a boy's voice called from outside. You both looked at the door and your anger flared again. The boy on the bed shook his head.

“He's a friend,” he told you reassuringly, before calling back, “One minute, George!” You waited in the corner, puzzled. The boy, Lockwood (you knew that name, didn't you?), gave you an apologetic look. “I'm sorry, y/n, I've got to go. I'll explain soon, I promise.” He dropped the necklace into its little case and clicked it shut, and you watched the world dissolve.

—

You still weren't sure how much time had passed when you found yourself back in that bedroom, but it didn't feel like very long. The last rays of the sunset poked through the gaps around the drawn curtains, the room lit instead by a lamp on the bedside table. The boy, Lockwood, was sitting on the bed again holding your necklace, but this time he looked at you almost immediately. His hair was a little neater, his eyebags more pronounced.

“Hi,” he said quietly. “Sorry if I disturbed you, I don't… really know how this works.”

You knew he couldn't hear you, but you gave your message again anyway.

“Maybe I should see if George knows how to lip-read,” he chuckled wryly. The sound reminded you of home, wherever that was. Things were still hazy, but part of you had a feeling this was it. Here, with this boy. “Which reminds me,” he continued, “I did promise to tell you about him.”

You settled into the space in the corner, allowing Lockwood's low, gentle voice to wash over you. It was incredibly calming. George was his new housemate, he told you, who'd been living here for about a month. It was all very confusing - it had felt like both minutes and years had passed since you were last here and the same before that, but he explained that the other boy had moved into the house in mid-September, and the last time you'd been here was a week ago in late October. Where was all the time going?

“I have no idea whether you experience time when your Source is contained, whether you're aware of what's going on in between or remember things from last time,” he admitted. Source. You knew about those. They were what you'd been looking for that night in that dark old house. A spirit had been tied to it, and you had to seal the Source to get rid of it. But you'd failed and it had found you, and now… your chest tightened at both the memory and the realisation. Nothing felt real because you weren't. You were just a Visitor. You continued to listen numbly as Lockwood kept talking. Not much wonder he'd recoiled when you first appeared, he'd seen what the touch of a ghost had done to you and without knowing you'd almost inflicted the same fate. You vowed in that moment that no matter what, you'd never let that happen.

The next few months saw Lockwood getting you out every chance he got. Bit by bit, he helped restore your memories and did his best to accommodate you even though the two of you couldn't properly communicate. He set up a little daily tear-off calendar on his dresser so you could keep track of how long it had been between visits, and stored his kit bag in the bottom of his wardrobe so you could move more freely around the room. Eventually, you'd come to remember him more. Not just the events from the night you died, but him. Your boyfriend, Anthony. You wanted nothing more than to be close to him, to be a comforting presence, but you knew you couldn't. Not only because you couldn't touch, but because deep down you knew that as much as you treasured being able to keep him in your life (or rather, afterlife), you had to let him go sooner or later and he needed to do the same with you. He'd been followed around by grief since long before you met him, and you hated that you were adding to it. You were just glad to see him slowly improving week by week - his face was a little brighter, and it seemed George was making sure he stayed fed. You'd have to thank the other boy if you ever got chance. Anthony said the two of you would have got along if you'd met in life, and even now George's obsession with the Problem would have made him your biggest fan, but their friendship was too new and besides he wasn't a Listener either so you'd not be able to tell him anything.

“I've got something to show you,” Anthony announced as you materialised one sunny day in late spring. He sat down with a large pink folder and patted the space next to him on the bed. You tilted your head in confusion.

“Come on,” he sighed fondly, “you never had any sense of personal space before, don't start now. Just no hugging.”

You glowed a little brighter and drifted over, your legs disappearing into the mattress until your torso was level with his. Being careful where he positioned his arms, he angled the folder towards you. It was a photo album, labelled in handwriting you recognised as your own. Page by page, he took you through your memories, giving you time to linger on each one: you as a baby, then a toothy toddler with your first pet; your family and childhood friends; Polaroids of your first team in training to become agents. His hands trembled a little as he reached the next section. On the left were four photos: the team you'd transferred to, the one he'd been training with; a slightly blurry action shot of the two of you sparring for the first time; a goofy photo he'd taken of you cartwheeling down a grassy hill after a case; your team all proudly holding their Grade Four licences. On the other side, surrounded by two styles of hand-drawn hearts, was the two of you hugging on the steps of 35 Portland Row, Anthony's lips pressed in a smile against the top of your head. You remembered that sensation well, a frequent occurrence right up until the moment you died. The rest of the album was full of photos of the two of you, ones taken by others and candids you'd snapped of each other. You felt a pang of regret that you'd never get to take any more.

Anthony turned another page. Hold on. You knew for certain there were no more photos. You looked sideways at your boyfriend, and he gave you a bashful smile. Pasted across a double spread was a copy of a certificate from DEPRAC, confirming A.J. Lockwood & Co Investigators as a registered agency. Inspector Barnes, who you vaguely recalled meeting once or twice, had signed as the licensing authority. Anthony and George had put their names down as the founding members. But then underneath that, in Anthony's familiar hand, he had added an extra section. Honorary Member: y/n y/l/n.

He looked at you so lovingly. “We did it, darling.”

You would have reached for his hand if you could.

—

Weeks began to pass before Lockwood got you to visit again. He'd have spent every day with you, but business was good and he owed it to you to make a proper go of it. In the meantime, George talked incessantly about Visitors which gave Lockwood a chance to think about you. Each time he finally got to see you again he'd apologise profusely, and you'd repeat your death loop back to him. He tried so hard to figure out what you were saying - his Sight was good, you were as clear as day and he knew your every quirk and mannerism, but he just couldn't put the movements of your lips to the right sounds.

Everything changed the day he met Lucy Carlyle. From the moment she set foot in his living room, he felt like he was supposed to have met her. The feeling only grew when he gave her the interview tests - plenty of people had passed through, some with better Talents than others, but none had come even close to the Listening abilities of the girl before him. When she spoke of the gentleness she found in his uncle's pen-knife, he knew he had to hire her.

Lucy managed to defy even his high expectations on the Annabel Ward case. He kept his focus on the young woman's spirit hovering at the end of the corridor, rapier levelled in case the details of her aggressive nature were true, but he couldn't help but think of the first day he brought you back and how quickly you'd retreated and shown a level of sentience he'd never expected from a Visitor. Was this poor woman the same? Lucy's eyes were closed, listening intently.

“She's in pain,” she said softly.

“Of course she is, she's dead.”

“No, something's different.”

He was intrigued instantly. “What's different?”

She shushed him. “I can almost…”

Annabel launched forward, sending Lucy crashing through the wooden railing in her attempt to dodge the grasping hand. Déjà vu overwhelmed Lockwood, your pained eyes flashing across his mind as he staggered backwards.

No.

He'd already lived through this once and regretted the outcome every day since. Now was his chance to redeem himself. He sprang towards the ghost, fending her off with his rapier, pulling Lucy from her desperate grip on the picture frame as soon as the coast was clear.

“Did it touch you?” he asked in a panic as she clung to him.

“Course not, I'd be dead.” Didn't he know it. The more she explained how she'd connected with the spirit, the more sure he became. Later, when they experimented with Annabel's necklace and he listened to Lucy describe the scene in such detail, he knew for certain.

“He loves me. You love me, don't you?” Her hand stroked delicately across his cheek, and he fought the urge to lean into the touch. For that brief moment, he could pretend it was you, still with him, saying those words. Perhaps with Lucy's help, it could be.

—

It had been a while. The trees outside Anthony's window were tinted a beautiful copper. You couldn't wait to hear his updates this time.

“There's a sadness, but so much love too. She feels very kind.” That wasn't Anthony's voice. Something was wrong. There was a girl sitting beside him on the bed, holding a little pink heart on a chain. Your necklace. You grew defensive, preparing to strike.

The boy looked up and saw you glaring. “It's okay, darling.” The girl followed his gaze. “Lucy, this is y/n, my late girlfriend. Y/n, this is our new associate, Lucy. She's a Listener.” Ah. Finally. You settled back down and took in the girl properly. She was pretty, with a warm brunette bob and a blue jumper which made her eyes pop. She smiled up at you, a genuine friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you,” she said sweetly. Anthony gave her an encouraging nod. You noticed that he seemed a little nervous, but there was also a calmness to him that had been missing for the past year. If that was Lucy's influence, then she was alright in your eyes.

Anthony spoke to you again. “She's brilliant, connected with a Visitor on our last case and I thought maybe she could finally help us figure out what you've been trying to say.” You nodded in agreement, and the girl closed her hand around the necklace.

You weren't sure whether you were in Lucy's head or whether she was in yours. The two of you blended into one as she ventured into your memories. Anthony's room melted away around you, sending you back to that cold dark room. You bristled.

“It's a bit different having her in the room with us,” Lucy murmured, eyes closed. “Let me know if either of you need me to stop.”

Anthony glanced at you, flickering slightly but still present and unagitated. “We're okay, go on.”

Meticulously, she described what you were both experiencing, or in your case reliving. It was hard knowing you were getting closer to the agony all over again, but it was important for your boyfriend to finally have a chance for answers and closure, so you kept the inevitable moving along.

“Anthony?” Lucy said softly, the same way you had. By the look on his face, it seemed he was realising now what you had at the time - that you'd tried to call him and hadn't been loud enough, that if only you'd tried again straight away, maybe you'd still be alive. “Anthony?” she called again. “Anthony!” You heard your own scream echo in your mind, felt the cold grasping your shoulder. The boy reached out and gripped Lucy's free hand, never taking his eyes off you. The gesture was supportive for her, but meant for you too. A tear rolled down his cheek. Lucy's breathing was shallow.

“It hurts,” she gasped, “and she's scared.”

“I should have been there quicker.” His voice was shaking with emotion, barely able to get the words out.

“No, there's no anger. She knew you were coming, and having you there through the end was a comfort.”

Anthony swallowed thickly. “Her death loop. Can you hear it?”

She opened her eyes and watched you as you spoke, the words spilling from her lips a second after.

“It's okay. It's not your fault.”

The boy broke down, his sobs rattling through the small room. Lucy held out her arms and he folded into them. She threw you an apologetic glance, and you said it again to her. “It's okay. It's not your fault.”

They were still hugging when, with his and your permission, Lucy gently slipped your necklace back into its case.

—

Now that the secret was out, you really did become an honorary member of the agency. Sure, you couldn't exactly contribute to the cases, but other than that the whole team treated you as one of their own. Anthony always waited for your opinion on big decisions, which you could make quite apparent with how happy or angry your energy was. George was absolutely fascinated by you, and took every opportunity to quiz the others on your awareness of various things and how you reacted to his experiments. Lucy often got you out on her own to have another girl to talk to. In return, of course, she'd fill you in on any gossip they came across or funny things that happened on cases that the boys were too embarrassed to tell you about. Through it all, you watched the three of them grow into a little family. Anthony and Lucy especially had clicked with each other; they reminded you of how you and he had been. That realisation filled you with a mixture of relief and melancholy. You loved Anthony so much, all you wanted was for him to be happy, but you'd be lying if you didn't wish it was you putting the light back in his eyes.

He sat you down shortly after New Year. His face was sombre but hopeful, and he fidgeted with his ring. Part of you could already tell what was coming.

“I don't really know how to say this,” he began hesitantly, “but after everything we've been through, you deserve to hear it.” You waited patiently for him to find the words he needed. Really, you had all the time in the world.

After a few moments, he spoke again. “I promised to always love you, and I will still keep that promise until the day I die…” But. There had to be a but. “...but I really care about Lucy too, and I just-” He didn't need to finish the sentence. And technically he was single. And he stood a chance of having a life with her. And she wasn't going to keep him tied to his past and his grief.

“It's okay.” Now he knew what your death loop was, he could tell what you'd said, and the way you'd limited it to just those words was a reminder of how remarkably well you understood everything that was happening. How you were as close to being a person as you could be, how it wasn't close enough.

“Promise?”

You touched the hollow of your neck, where the outline of a little sparkling heart sat against the darkness.

He nodded in understanding and reached for the silver-glass case. “Thank you, darling.”

“It's okay.”

It's not your fault.

[pencildragons]

ty for tagging me tessa @clayvedevs !!!!!!!!!

1. Do you make your bed?

NO. making the bed is evil and also too hard

2. Favourite number?

uhhh UHHHH 12 ? 12 is a good number i liked being twelve. 67 is also a good number !!

3. What's your job?

divine prophet of The Bog (extremely unemployed)

4. If you could go back to school, would you?

yes !!!! i lovee school i lovee learning & my hs? extremely chill

5. Can you parallel park?

yes fire emoji fire emoji fire emoji

6. Do you think aliens are real?

I feel like the possibility that there AREN'T aliens is extraordinarily low, even if they haven't evolved yet or would be completely unrecognisable as a form of life to us. the universe is still comparatively so so young so i feel the chances that at some point in the next quadzillion years that the circumstances of earth won't be replicated at least in part is hugely unlikely

7. Can you drive a manual car?

technically? i learnt to drive in a manual ute that is ABSOLUTELY not roadworthy but i did not get a manual licence :( sort of regret that but im sure if i got back in a manual i could do it again. probably

8. Guilty pleasure?

thinking in depth and forever abt my girl in middle earth oc hobbit fic that i havent properly written since like 2021. she means the WORLD to me i could make it sooo good if i just got over the evil puritans in my head telling me it is cringe

9. Tattoos?

soon!!! one day!!!! trust and believe!!!!!!!

10. Favourite colour?

loveeeeee yellow i love yellow so much soo much. unfortunately i am ginger.

11. Favourite type of music?

idk if i have a favourite TYPE of music persay? but ive sort of been bouncing between a mix of folk rock and Silly Power Metal and i will hit up the odd soundtrack also. wait actually this is untrue i am, embarrassingly, really into hyperpop (UNDERSCORES I LOVE YOU)

12. Do you like puzzles?

yeah! they're kind of evil and i am not great at pattern recognition and they hurt my back. but also v satisfying to do

13. Any phobias?

ants i fucking hate ants i HATE them (i stood in a bullant nest when i was 2) + also maybe thalassophobia? idk though that may have also been cured by the time i played 130 hours of subnautica in a week in december

14. Favourite childhood sport?

touch footie!!! i was very good at it lowk and i miss playing it terribly

15. Do you talk to yourself?

LMAO YEAH. when im thinking about writing especially. or doing literally anything. i will talk to myself

16. Tea or coffee?

TEA I LOVE TEA I LOVE TEA SO MUCH. i cannot drink coffee because The Side Effects + caffeine does not seem to have the intended effect on me, so i don't really drink caffeinated tea that much either? i absolutely LOVE rooibos with honey in it though one million out of ten

17. First thing you wanted to be when growing up?

i wanted to be a scientist because i was under the impression that scientists blew things up and that it was exclusively their job to do that. i still want to be a scientist tbh but for different reasons

18. What movies do you adore?

im so normal and regular and fine about the hobbit extended edition trilogy. so normal. no but fr i love unexpected journey i have watched it more than twenty times total and. five times in the last week and a bit LOL

Tagging:

@sithfox @hastalavistabyebye @patchmates @rockcattomato and anyone else who would like to !!!!

[fallenwhumpee]

Back

• Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Masterlist •

Warnings: inexplicit injury, strangling, military settings.

Leader pulled their legs up, trying to fit into the narrow gap of the bus seat. They hugged their bag, not really liking the fact that it restricted their movements, but also refusing to keep it out of their range. They just wanted to leave before someone changed their mind and sent them back.

The bus filled slowly as Leader sat still. Their muscles tensed quite a little when someone sat next to them, but they covered it as if they were just fixing their position. They wondered if they could ever get used to civilian life after everything. They sighed and relaxed all their muscles, letting go of the tenderness and hoping that it would help with occasional tremors. 

When the bus's engine shook the whole vehicle, Leader let their head drop to their bag, their worn-down body begging for their mind to shut down. But as always, they were thinking too much, and it was impossible to sleep with strangers around. They simply kept staring around, trying to ease their suspicion.

Within the first hour on the bus, the majority of passengers fell asleep. Leader wished they were among that crowd, but they never got what they wanted. The seat in front of them leaned back not long after, cramping the small space even more. With a silent curse, they stretched their arms at least, beginning to feel sore already.

They thought that things couldn't get any worse. They were wrong.

After six hours of misery, the bus pulled over absurdly. Leader would hit their head if they weren't so squished to their place.

"Routine control, everyone out," an officer barked through the doors. Leader didn't move immediately, waiting until everyone had gone out and made their way to the officer who looked like they were in charge.

Leader took out their military ID, hoping it would get them a softer approach.

"That's not going to clear you," the officer muttered.

"I only wish to be searched in private," Leader replied. They knew their badge would clear them, but they didn't have the energy to do so. "If that's not much trouble, of course. I don't want to scare people because..." Leader opened their bag slightly, revealing the handle of their gun.

The officer eyed Leader warily before nodding. "Follow me," they said, directing Leader to the back of the police car.

Leader followed silently, gripping their bag tighter as they reached for their wallet to prepare their licence along with their badge marking them as a captain, even though the officer didn't spare a glance at it. The cool night air and the distant murmur of other passengers being searched filled the silence between them.

The officer took the paper as if they were ripping it. Leader was getting a bad feeling, but they didn't want to cause trouble. They were too tired for it anyway. With a sigh, they leaned on the car slightly, trying to get the weight off of their right side.

The officer eyed them, scoffing and muttering something about respect under their breath. They inspected the documents closely, his eyes narrowing as he read the details. "You've been discharged recently?"

"Yes," Leader answered, shortly and perhaps unnecessarily cold.

"Annual leave?"

"Medical leave. I shouldn't be on my feet for too long," Leader almost snarled. The officer - probably didn't notice or just ignored - simply pointed the bag. Leader complied, even if it was the last thing they wanted. They simply looked away, realising that they were truly nowhere. Their eyes were yet to adjust to the lights changing, and the flashers weren't helping, but there was nothing around.

Because that person standing in the middle of the road was just their weary mind playing tricks.

They turned back when the figure dissolved into the air.

The officer searched with such passion that Leader suspected that they had a personal vendetta against the military. Finally, the officer dropped their bag on the bonnet. "Everything seems to be in order. Pack your stuff inside the car."

Leader frowned. "Here will suffice. I'm not getting into the car if you're not arresting me."

"Just get in; I don't want to draw a gun against a soldier, and you seem decent enough to avoid trouble."

Why couldn't they have a peaceful day?

Leader sighed. There was no point in resisting. They quickly tucked everything back in their bag and got into the car. "At least tell me where we are going," they muttered, not bothering with the facade any longer. They were just as annoyed as the officer.

"The military base around here was adamant about receiving you."

Perfect, Leader didn't say. "Routine control my ass," they muttered instead, not able to stop it.

"I am not fit for duty," they informed the officer. Leader didn't think they would ever be, but self-pity wasn't going to get them anywhere.

"Not my problem. Tell that to your people."

Leader sighed quietly - again, they were beginning to develop it as a habit now, much to their annoyance - as they settled into the uncomfortable seat of the police car.

The journey to the military base was silent except for the occasional radio chatter from the officer's walkie-talkie. Leader busied themselves with memorising the names and following the sequence, and surprisingly, they found that they enjoyed listening to some cops trying to catch an amateur thief.

When the car stopped, the officer didn't say anything, but the door lock opened. Leader got out quickly and kept their bag in their hand. It was hard to see somewhere so bustling again. They felt like their mind was tugged with needles from every direction. They cursed their senses not for the first time, and watched as the police car left without a warning. 

Leader's shoulders tensed out of their control. They quickly walked to the base, showing their ID to the security. A private escorted them inside, no words exchanged. They were led to an interrogation room, which explained so little but confirmed Leader's worries.

Leader was ushered in without a word. They sat in one of the two chair - to the further one from the door as a sign of trust and acknowledgement of authority - and read the files before them. Their breath caught on their throat when they got to the second, however. 

Medic, missing in action.

The team was disbanded. How could...

They flipped the page. They wished they didn't. 

"I was going to ask you about that."

Leader flinched. "Major," they greeted with a rushed salute.

And nothing after that happened in a blink. Leader saw Major walking over them with a hostile face. They saw the hand rising and the leg swiping their foot. They saw the other hand starting to move to their stomach.

If the attack is coming from a friend, don't resist. 

Just like that. They didn't resist as they were slammed to the floor, their superior on their throat. Leader struggled to breathe as the punch shook their empty stomach, their hands grabbing the hand keeping them down, even though they were not doing anything to stop it.

"Why is your teammate kidnapping your medic?"

What?

"Don't look at me like that. What do you know?"

A punch to their face pulled them from the shock. 

"I don't know," Leader forced out. 

The hand around their throat tightened—

For once, they wanted to give in to the tempting anger. It would be so easy, so easy to crush the arms holding them, but their wishes never ruled over the will.

They were let go. Major offered them a hand, and Leader accepted it without a second thought.

"I didn't realise that their teachings went that deep. You could easily save yourself. I doubt this base can keep you in."

Leader doubted that too, especially when their restraints were getting loose every moment.

"Some things go deeper than simple teachings," Leader answered after realising that they had drifted for a moment. They pulled the chair and sat down, sighing to release some of the built tension.

"They made you from fine stuff. Now, any idea why one of your teammates went rouge and kidnapped the other?"

Leader's hand began to tremble. It was the worst possible time. They hid their hand with the other rather clumsily, drawing attention.

"Why do you run away from the only place that can fix you?"

"If I'm called back only for these questions, I wish to continue my leave," Leader bit back a harsher response. They would never walk back to the place that had broken them in the first place.

"No. Your leave ends before it starts. I want you back on your team— at least what left of it."

[draculancer-flow]

My local HORUS cell is run by a cyborg who has optimized his brain so hard he's inches away from violating the First Contact Accords, and he uses all of that CPU power to start flame wars and LowTierGod people on the omninet several times a second. Yesterday (or maybe today or last week, I took too many percs to make sense of time) he tweeted that I couldn't pull bitches if I was a fomorian Lancaster, so I had a buddy of mine in the Horizon collective neurospike him. I saw the explosion from the other side of the city. Ten minutes later, I got an omnimail with a Minotaur licence in it.

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 6, In Which You Try To Look Away (It's Harder Than You Thought)

AO3

by the way, I saw today an art on twitter which is extremely Raul-coded

I am not a murderer, you thought as you ordered the ATM to give you another two hundred euros.

Even if I am, that guy deserved it, you thought as you re-inserted the card to give you two hundred more (damn those limits per withdrawal).

Even if he didn’t (and he did), nobody is going to miss him, and his fiancee will move on to the next lawyer in Oliver Peoples glasses soon enough, and besides, people die in freak accidents all the time. 

Even if they don’t, well, if every death wish resulted in an actual death, humanity would be long extinct and that wouldn't be your fault, would it now?

With that comforting thought, you pocketed the last of your ten thousand euro goal, tired from having to repeat the same task for almost an entire hour. Anything can happen, Raphael could cut off access to his account on a whim, but cold hard cash was something you could hold onto even if you fell from his grace.

"Ms. Berger," came a voice on your phone with a strong French accent the moment you picked up. It was Raphael’s banker, Francois-something, who gave you the PIN in the first place. “Would it be easier if we delivered cash directly to you? Your withdrawals keep triggering our petty theft alerts."

"Oh no, thank you," you replied, trying your best not to sound like a petty thief. "I have enough for now... I think."

“As you wish,” came his slow reply.

"But uh... could you help me make two bank transfers?" You asked after a pause. "One to my mother, Franziska Berger… (how much how much how much?) ten thousand euro, I’ll send you the details… and one for the stray cats shelter... (how much how much how much?)… five thousand euro?"

Too much? How do you quantify the cost of accidentally-on-purpose getting some useless yuppie run over by a bus in terms of absolving your sins? 

Five thousand felt somewhat stingy.

“The stray cats?” The banker repeated back at you as though questioning whether this was some sort of coded drug deal.

“Yes,” You replied firmly. “They do incredible work. Ah! The kids cancer foundation, too. Five thousand. No, ten".

That seemed about right for the guy’s life.

"Ah, you meant charity. Of course," Francois replied, relief and amusement in his tone. "Lovely, great for the ESG rating. Make sure to get an invoice for the tax refund."

It didn’t quite sit well with you to use stray cats and kids for tax refunds, but you still said yes and stashed the money deep down the rucksack. You got a bit of cash for now (soon you will go for more, because who knows), but it’s still not an income source. 

What could be? Should you ask Raphael to buy an apartment in your name, or two? You could rent it. Or a company? Tenebris, for instance. Just imagine their gobsmacked faces - especially after they gave you the boot without even a severance package.

That was a delicious thought.

You let it simmer as you sat down in an tourist-trappy Italian restaurant in the city centre, just about to order an Aperol Spritz when your phone began to ring again. You are in high demand these days.

"Anya!" Your mum gasped on the other end of the line. “I saw you on TV!"

Sure, the accident was all over the news channels. Some blurred out the dead body better than others did. You would bet your last cent that the unedited version got more views.

"Yeah, gruesome," you grimaced.

"Gruesome? Why? Ah, you mean the guy. Well, that happens all the time; they really give driving licences to anyone these days. I do hope the driver rots in prison for what he did to this poor young man. Anyway, no. I called to say, I saw you and Raul on the news”.

She managed to infuse an uncanny amount of innuendo into the last sentence.

“Raul is such a handsome man, Anya”, she sighed wistfully. “Quite the catch you got there, huh?”

There we go again. 

“What, way out of my league?”, you joked dryly. “I’ve been told that”.

“Oh, no, what nonsense! You are such a pretty girl!” Your mother protested. “More importantly, a good-hearted girl raised right; I am glad there still are decent men who still appreciate that. Did you meet Raul for a lunch?”

“Oh no,” You replied nonchalantly. "We actually… ah, we actually went to a church. He introduced me to his pastor."

Your mother sucked in an audible gasp like she'd won some kind of maternal lottery.

“His pastor, already? I am so happy for you, sweetie.”, she finally managed to say. “This is like a fairy tale come true”.

Yeah, a Grimm one.

“Sort of”, you chuckled. '“By the way, you will receive a bank transfer soon, ten thousand euro, don’t be afraid. It’s… well, take care of your health, okay? Get a decent dentist this time, a private one”.

“Where do you have the money from? Is it his?”, your mum suddenly sobered up. “Anya, what on earth is he paying you money for? I hope you are not doing anything… anything…”

"No," you cut her off and licked your lips, recalling the last thing that passed between them. “Mom, please! It's not his money, it's my company’s – long story.”

One that you haven't come up with yet.

Besides, if Raphael was giving you ten thousand dollars (thirty-five thousand in total with your other expenses for the day) for one blowjob, then you definitely had a successful career, just not in the field you had planned on.

“Okay,” your mum replied. “But still...you don’t need to...why don’t you buy some nice dresses instead? What on earth was that t-shirt you were wearing to a church?"

“I am hanging up”, You threatened half-heartedly.

You didn’t. You listened in the background to the story of how your mum’s school friend called her to say she saw “her Anya” with a very handsome man on the TV, nonplussed by the fact there was a scattered corpse in the background. 

In the meanwhile, you opened Google on your phone. 

You didn’t fancy doing that before - annoyed by that fake persona Raphael had created. But since he obviously put that much effort in it, it’s worth looking up what he had been up to and for how long.

Nothing good, for sure.

"…Raul D'Avergni, managing partner of an international law firm, inherited the private equity conglomerate, Avernus Capital. This transition was precipitated by the unexpected and tragic passing of his father..."

"…By December 2024, D'Avergni's high-profile liaison with Isabelle Arnaud, actress and socialite, had unceremoniously ended..."

No. Who? No. You didn’t need any ex-girlfriends.

"…Ms. Arnaud levied abuse accusations against Mr. D'Avergni…”

Oh, no…

“…she retracted her claims within a mere twenty hours and ensued a public apology for any harm inflicted upon D’Avergni’s reputation..."

Hmm.

"…her psychiatrist intervened on her behalf. Evidently, Arnaud was grappling with severe mental health issues that led her to make unfounded allegations..."

Raul likes them crazy, they said? Or makes them crazy?

"…Ms. Arnaud now resides in a high-end medical institution in Monaco, focusing on her mental health issues..."

What did Isabelle look like, you wondered, as your mum finished her talk and wished you a good day. You typed her name into the search bar, holding your breath in anticipation as you half-expected to see Hope's face staring back at you.

The woman clinging to Raphael's arm at some fancy film premiere bore no resemblance.

Your stomach sank as if it had plunged into the depths of hell.

She was exactly the type of woman Raphael should have on his elbow; a timeless beauty, but something more Renaissance like, the kind of faces humankind seemed to have stopped producing. She was in her mid-twenties, as well, but… hell, you could not hold a candle to that. Few could. 

Not even the Tavs. She resembled her namesake, Isabelle Adjani, in her youth, maybe even better.

The pictures showed her laughing and looking deeply in love while gazing up at Raphael, while he offered only a very formal smile to the camera. So not Hope then. Nothing like their story. She was in love, he wasn’t. 

Good.

Later snaps by paparazzi painted a different picture: a gaunt woman hidden behind oversized sunglasses and swallowed up by her hoodie, clutching to her coffee cup. 

With a swift click, you banished Isabelle from your screen and plunged further into Raphael's (Raul’s) life story.

You found a photo of Raphael in his twenties (yes, just like the Tumblr post you hated, and no, you wouldn't have fucked him at that age), caught up in a minor scandal in Sankt Moritz (apparently his fraternity brother had pissed on the Swiss flag), more gossip, his philanthropic affairs for local theatres and art galleries, numerous articles praising his professional achievements, and interviews with Lawyer and WSJ and the like. There was mention of a brief marriage and divorce in his early thirties, but when you tried to Google the woman's name, nothing came up.

The whole thing left a sour taste in your mouth. This was someone's real life story, not a fictional character. Raphael wasn't just some wealthy corporate jerk; he was a half-devil from Avernus, which was infinitely better and more sympathetic.

You were well aware that Raphael wasn't exactly a good guy. But he had his rules; he had to have his rules. As for the whole thing with Hope though... What exactly was she? An idea? A person? The fandom barely discussed her, and what little they did, you didn't like; all horrible takes, every single one.

The whole plot felt half-baked.

Anyway, what seeing Isabelle did motivate you to do was to take a real stroll down the city's most expensive boutique street.

Now, the first thing you bought was not because you wanted or needed anything, but because Raphael expected you to. You were not much of a materialist anyway; you were ideologically opposed to consumerism. These things were overpriced, generally not worth it and, on a larger scale, represented everything that was wrong with society.

You decided to enter a Valentino store out of curiosity, as you had never been inside one before. The saleswoman's disdainful look at your T-shirt motivates you to buy a black dress with a white collar, not necessarily because you liked it, but because you want to prove that you can afford it, despite the price tag of two thousand euros. 

Well, you liked it a little. The wool and silk blend was great to touch.

The details of the rest of the shopping trip became a bit hazy. You had your reasons; the consort of an Archdevil Supreme had to look really nice. If you couldn't be as pretty as Isabelle, you could at least dress as well as she did. So you started with some nice blouses and trousers, and a (just one) jacket. With that, you needed shoes. With shoes, of course, you needed a bag. Now that you had a bag (you closed your eyes as the price flashed at the till), you needed some jewellery (you needed to see what all the fuss about Tiffany's was about). And, of course, you needed make-up. 

At each shop, the sales assistants smiled wider and wider as you piled more and more bags onto your arms. By the seventh stop, it felt like their smiles were entering uncanny valley territory. 

Eventually, the banker would call you, right? But when exactly would that be? You tried to find out, but failed. It had to be over forty thousand.

The thought made you dizzy. In one day you had spent your entire year's salary. Now all you could do was hope that Raphael wouldn't make you work off the debt somehow. Unless it was the kind of work your mother suspected you were already doing for him.

You came out of the last shop with five bags and the feeling that you were a very shitty socialist. Since you couldn't carry any more, the shopping concierge (apparently it's a real job) offered to store the bags until your driver picked you up, and just as you were about to say which bloody driver, whom do you take me for, you remembered that you actually had one.

"Mrs Berger," the receptionist said cheerfully the moment she saw you in the door. "Nice to see you again! How can I help you? Oh, yes. The driver, of course. Yes, of course, let me put you through to Mr D'Avergni's personal assistant".

Oh, it's Mrs Berger and my pleasure? They were wondering if the rumours about you wanting the guy to be run over by a bus were already out there. The personal assistant's name was Camilla, her voice was the embodiment of professionalism, and she was the one who could take you to the driver, who was there in no time.

His name was Yuri and he was more talkative than you would have liked. Gruff, huge, way too big for the car he was driving (any vehicle known to man would be too small for him), with a deep booming voice and the face of someone who had spent half his life behind bars.

"Have you seen that poor bastard? All over the main road," he remarked as he passed the street cleaners. "Probably too busy fiddling with his phone to keep an eye out."

"Mghgm," you offered. 

"So, are we stopping by your place first, Miss Berger? Boss said you wanted to get some things first. Are you moving in?"

"Am I?" You ask, surprised by the news yourself, and then think to yourself: "Why not?”

Why the hell not.

****

You didn't waste any time. With a tidy suitcase in tow, you were out the door of your apartment before Yuri could get too bored. You packed the essentials - toothbrush, laptop, documents - and a few other things that suddenly felt crucial to your life.

Out the car window you watched the cityscape change from urban jungle to manicured suburbia and finally to a small gated community. The driver talked politics (he had exactly the kind of convictions you'd expect), then about how amazing Raul was (and how extremely open-minded he was to give an ex-con a job), before returning to politics. 

You didn't ask what crime Yuri did his time for. 

You knew it was Raphael's house the moment you saw it through the car window. Who else would live in such a place? Not a house, that's too boring a term; a villa, all intricate stonework, marble and terracotta, such a flamboyant display of wealth that it should have been taxed just to exist. 

Only a devil or a mafia don would call such grandeur home. So much, too much, theatrical to the point of grotesqueness; no real person could possibly live like this. You couldn't help but wonder if Raphael had been influenced by the films he had seen - perhaps he had developed a taste for modern cinema.

He must have liked The Godfather.

This place. The fountains, the statues (classical, Roman, as if sculpted by the ghost of Michelangelo), the gardens. You wondered how many souls it took to keep this whole thing running.

The gates opened and the car drove you into an underground car park that was already very busy and very Italian: Ferraris, Maseratis, Lamborghinis. You counted; eight. Who needed eight cars? Not even one for each day of the week. 

The lift took you up; Yuri left your shopping bags and suitcase in the foyer and said goodbye.

You'd never set foot in such a house before; the closest you'd ever come was drooling over Sotheby's property listings.

Why would anyone need all this space? For just one person? It was at least six hundred square metres; and the guest and service house looked like another two hundred. The kitchen and dining area was three times the size of your apartment.

You could play golf here.

For what it's worth, the villa didn't remind you of the House of Hope. Firstly, it was completely empty; the servants, if they were in there, managed to make themselves invisible. Second, it lacked the baroque, replaced by the dolce vita and flair of a Lake Como residence. Thirdly, there were no self-portraits, not even pictures, nothing to suggest that the man who lived here had a face, a history, let alone a family.

The first floor was devoted to entertaining guests: the kitchen, the dining room, the library, the ballroom (you guessed this kind of rooms used to be called ballrooms, he even had a piano in it). The second floor was half-locked, except for the master bedroom (the bed easily could accommodate two orthons and a cambion sandwiched between them) and the dressing room. 

There was also a basement - the entrance blocked by a number lock. You considered trying the PIN combination, but decided you didn't want to snoop down there... well, you wanted to snoop very badly, but you didn't want to face the possible consequences. Unless they resembled those in his private club.

So you roamed both floors twice before staking claim to your new sleeping quarters in the master bedroom by putting your suitcase down there. You checked everything else in the room: Raphael's bedside glasses, his choice of books (predictably, Machiavelli, but not The Prince, another book you had never heard of called Mandragola), even his dark silk pyjamas, which lay on the chaise awaiting their owner's return. You open his drawer: hand lotion, velvet sleeping mask, lubricant, two opera tickets (Götterdammerung) from about a month ago... 

Then curiosity led you to look under his bed, where he indeed had something stored: a large black storage box.

Oh, you just had to have a look. 

Just to get an idea of what’s on the evening programme.

Handcuffs, the real kind, the police kind, metal ones. The thought of all the women (and men) who might have been bound with them, as jealous as it made you feel, was titillating. A whip and a crop. Yes, that works for you. And what's this? Butt plugs? Only if they were still sealed in their original packaging (you were not into that kind of hand-me-downs) and way smaller. A chastity belt? Well, that's... intriguing, but probably not in your first month together. A hook? That can stay where it is.

At least nothing too extreme like needles or enemas or any of the other disgusting things you sometimes saw on weird porn sites.

Underneath all that, toys and accessories, lay another plain black box. Oh, a box in a box. Something was written on it.. 

GOOD EVENING CURIOUS LITTLE MOUSE

"Good evening," you said as you opened the lid.

Then promptly closed it again.

"No," you said. "No, no, no. It was just a fic I read and liked, I was very horny, but it's not really my thing. No, thank you. Just because I didn't have a father doesn't mean I have daddy issues. I don't care about the guy, he never cared about me, end of story".

You took a deep breath before opening the box again, hoping that the items inside had disappeared. 

But to your dismay, they were still there: a velvet collar adorned with "Daddy's Little Mouse" in shimmering gold thread, a headband with mouse ears, red lace cobweb-thin lingerie and a tail-butt plug (thankfully still in its original packaging and on the smaller side). The tail was furry and tipped with white, so you must have been a dormouse.

All of the toys were top quality, handmade, and incredibly vulgar. Well, no surprise, having seen what Haarlep was wearing in his house.

You closed the box shut again.

"I'd rather cook us something to eat," you suggested, getting up. "Some pasta. I bet you like pasta?"

You definitely liked pasta and hoped that Raul (Raphael, Raphael) would not have you hanged on the hooks and tortured for your very non-Italian interpretation. You hoped in vain, because he chimed in and tried to stop you from committing a crime:

"Working late. Don't bother with dinner. Take some time to relax and enjoy yourself. R".

As you descended the stairs, ignoring his text, you wondered - did he ever cook? Or was his kitchen just for show, with the real work done in the servants' quarters (do they still call them quarters?).

You forgot that question the moment you saw what was lying on the marble kitchen counter.

The same box you had left upstairs, still with 

GOOD EVENING DISOBEDIENT LITTLE MOUSE 

on it. 

You blinked and took two large steps back. 

The box seemed to crawl forward in response.

You shrieked; this was a bit too much. Raphael's presence, the supernaturality of it, had been subtle before; now it was becoming a bit performative.

"I got your hint," you said, your voice a shaky laugh. "Don't scare me, please. Please."

The box stayed where it was, but it radiated an energy of impatience, as if it might jump at you if you neglected it any longer.

“Fine,” you conceded, coming a bit closer. “A little romance would’ve been nice but…”

"Setting romantic atmosphere," a cheerful female voice said.

who the fuck who the fuck who the fuck

Alexa. 

Fucking smart home systems. The lights dimmed to a soft orange glow, the heavy curtains closed with a soft whoosh and a familiar tune echoed off the walls, the ballroom piano playing in the distance:

I put a spell on you

Because you're mine

The melody was familiar and so was the voice behind it - smooth, silky and oh so captivating (the adjectives you would use to describe it could fill many romance novels). A deep, rich baritone. You chuckled - had Raphael discovered blues? It suited him. 

You know I cannot stand it

You running around

You loved his interpretation of the song. It felt so intimate, him singing to you, so... very, very special. Your fear vanished in an instant; you poured yourself a glass of wine and took a luxurious sip.

"I'll put these on for you," you laughed, putting all the flirt you ever had in this laugh. "But don't expect me to call you 'Daddy'."

There was no protest; Raphael was too busy singing, pouring his entire soul into it. You made yourself busy too; stripping. You weren't very skilled (any skilled), but the thrill of being watched by him awakened something in you. You caught your reflection in the mirror and damn, you were hot. 

Shrugging off your shirt and sliding down your plain black briefs, you swayed your hips at your reflection as the wine worked its magic on your mind. For once in your life, you felt genuinely attractive; he made you feel genuinely attractive. The sexiest you'd ever been. 

Slipping into the silky red lace lingerie he had chosen for you (splurged on, because it was a La Perla) - you fastened the collar around your neck. A long golden chain dangled from it, wrapped twice around the hook and cascaded down your back. Then you put the mouse ears - not cartoonish, not Minnie Mouse ones, but real fur and incredibly lifelike - on your head like a headband. 

You looked like...well, precisely what your mother suspected you were doing to pay the bills. But at least high-end. Very high-end. The only thing worse than being an escort is being a cheap one.

But there was one more item left in the box.

"Ehh," you said at the sight of the mouse tail, especially the part that was meant to be inserted. "I'm going to need... I'm going to the bedroom."

It had been ages since your last foray into such play; back when you were with that boyfriend who constantly pestered you about anal and found it somehow arousing to "accidentally" (sure, mate) poke you and mumble an insincere "oops, wrong hole". 

You didn't stick around much longer after that.

Stretched out on Raphael's sumptuous bed, you slicked up everything - the plug, your pussy, your arse - with copious amounts of lube. First, some warming. So you began to rub yourself, two fingers finding their familiar way to your clit. You couldn't shake the crawling feeling of being watched, every inch of your body scrutinised by unseen eyes.

"Raphael," you called out into the empty room, desperate for some form of interaction or response. "I would love it if you would join me... or say something pleasant”.

Now would be the perfect time to call me a good girl.

But there was no response, just an eerie silence in the room. Feeling too naked and too slutty, you pulled the blanket over you, a makeshift barrier between you and his eyes. Under the fortification, tucking the tail in seemed less daunting.

Before you could get down to business, there was a jerk at the blanket, which fell to the cold floor, leaving you bare again. Then another tug on the chain attached to your collar, pulling you closer to the bedpost.

"I'm sorry," you gasped breathlessly, both hands instinctively reaching for your collar. "I won't hide."

The chain didn’t let go, making a point out of a slight pressure around your neck. Taking a deep breath, you focused on the task at hand, stroking your clit as you guided the plug inside you. 

You told yourself to relax and take it slow; just imagine it's Haarlep. How many times had you dreamed of being squeezed and stretched between the two of them? It was always Haarlep who took you from behind; it just seemed more their style.

The plug slid in deeper. It didn't hurt, and the little discomfort it caused added to the excitement. 

Damn, this is so dirty. 

"It's in," you said as the plug settled inside you. "All the way in. What's next?"

The words were barely out of your mouth when the golden chain, suddenly a snake-like lasso, wrapped tightly around your wrists.

Pulled them towards the bedpost, stretched out and bound tightly to either side. Fear gripped you and you clenched around the plug, pulling your knees tight together.

Tightly. Very tight. A little too tight. You tried to wriggle, the metal biting your skin; you could move your hips a little, but no more. 

You couldn't get out yourself, which was not good news when you were alone (well, almost) in a very big house. Your mind immediately thought of that girl in Gerald's Game.

"Raphael?" you asked. “It’s not that kind of game, is it? It’s a nice game? Can we play a nice game?”

He did not answer, but you heard footsteps. Footsteps coming down the long corridor. Confident, quick and very purposeful.

Stay calm, stay calm, it's him, it's him, who else could it be? Haarlep? The orthon? The driver? 

The door swung open.

It was Raphael, and he was visibly surprised to see you in this state, which was absolute bullshit considering he was responsible for tying you to this very bed. 

"Well, I'll be damned," he said, covering the distance to the bed in two strides. "What a welcome home surprise, piccola." 

Raphael gave you a lecherous, wet-lipped smile and knelt on the bed between your legs. There was something boyish about it, an expression you'd never seen in the game, as if he'd just found his first bike under the Christmas tree.

You searched for “piccola” earlier today: “baby” or “little girl” in Italian. 

"I'm not going to call you Daddy," you repeated, and Raphael shook his head and laughed, not seeming at all horrified at the thought (and he should be).

"I have some compelling evidence to the contrary, Daddy's little mouse," he teased, his fingers playing with your collar. 

"Anything but Daddy," you pleaded. "That's just... demeaning."

Weirdly incestual, too. You haven’t even seen the guy, not a photo, not a… (don’t think of him why the fuck would you think of the old bastard now).

“This is the whole appeal of it, is it not?”, he said. “How would you prefer to address me then?"

Raphael? Something told you that telling him that would make him very angry, and you weren't exactly in a position to want an angry man on top of you. Raul? No, that name just felt completely wrong and made you feel like you were in a Spanish soap opera. 

Raphael began to unbutton his shirt one button at a time, revealing a white undershirt, which he then took off. 

His physique was impressive for a man of his age; not those bodybuilder abs from bg3 but a well-toned body shaped by workouts and diets, which seemed to be very much at odds with his indulgent ways. Rough brown hair spread across his chest and lower abdomen against honey-tanned skin. Every inch of him seemed so put together, so perfectly groomed.

"Master," you finally decided (there was this one fanfic…) as you spread your legs wider in an invitation. 

"Master?" Raphael seemed amused, his fingers tracing the lace of your bra, teasing your hardened nipples through the fabric. "Such flattery. So this makes you my slave girl? Tied up and ready for me to use as I please?"

Reading Raphael say such things was one thing, but hearing him actually say them in real life made you feel embarrassed. It was a bit, ugh... 

“You get flustered easily for someone who waited for me dressed like this, little mouse,” Raphael raised an eyebrow at your see-through lace. “Topolina." 

He wrinkled his nose and laughed, as if the word was funnier in Italian, and poked the tips of your mouse ears. You wanted him so badly that your lips caught his as he came closer and you pushed your tongue into his mouth. He kissed your back, his hands moving up and down your body. 

"How the hell did you manage..." he mused aloud as he studied your bound wrists.

His fingers ventured between your legs, and the moment he stumbled upon your tail, his whole body twitched with excitement, his breath catching in his throat as he traced the soft fur to reach the base of the plug. 

The playful gleam in his eyes was replaced by an intense, wild desire.

"Merda," he breathed out. "Look at that. Aren't you a dirty little girl?"

You cringed at how pornographic the line sounded (his suddenly much thicker Italian accent didn't help), but Raphael seemed to find it excruciatingly erotic.

In one swift motion, he lunged forward and forced your legs apart, his hands pulling your knees towards your chest, folding you in until your muscles screamed in protest at the stretch. 

Without warning, he thrust deep inside of you. You gasped in surprise; no preliminaries, no foreplay, no taking it slowly, just raging, explosive lust.

Fortunately, your own fingers had done their job earlier, so despite the brutal force of his first thrust, pleasure surged through you, along with a sharp twinge of friction as his cock rubbed against the toy lodged inside you.

He seemed to relish the sensation and so did you. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as your body arched beneath him; stretched and pinned by his weight, trapped, surrendering to the relentless pounding that followed - raw and invasive and yet so fulfilling.

You were so looking forward to coming again from his penetration alone. The mere thought made you pull harder on your restraints, craving the delicious pain of being bound. The furry tail must have tickled his balls because he tucked it under you so that it would tease you instead. 

"Cross your ankles behind my back," Raphael rasped into your shoulder as he grazed it with his stubbled chin. "Yes, just like that... now tilt your hips."

You responded with your most submissive “yes, master”, making his cock twitch inside you, and then sifted your hips to better accommodate his pleasure. Wrapped your legs tightly around him, pulling him in deeper, pain-pleasure soaring through you. You sniffed his hair. 

His cologne (worn leather, cherry liqueur, bitter almonds) smelled so good oh so good.

He slid his arms underneath your arse, lifting you towards him at every thrust. 

Raphael said few words after that, grunting and thrusting and thrusting. Something about him was different this time - something very human - from how his sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead to his expressions of sheer lust that bordered on comical at times. 

One thing remained the same - the pleasure his pounding brought you, the familiar hooks of approaching orgasm - not any orgasm, the orgasm of being with him, his sharp talons - sinking inches deep into your flesh again. 

fuck does he feel good

rough or tender it just feels so good

his cock his tongue his breath on your neck

You screamed "fuck me", then once again, louder, not caring how obscene you sounded, and bit his shoulder without a second thought. 

The scream that escaped you was higher pitched than you had intended.

do whatever whatever you want whatever you want with me

Raphael's face creased with annoyance as his strong finger pressed into your cheek. "Easy…easy… piccola... I appreciate…. a good performance… not …overacting," he scolded as he went at you harder, pushing you to the point of pain.

hurt me

fuck me fuck me harder

You would have protested at the implication that you were pretending, but you were too busy coming under him, his hand clamped over your mouth before your temporal insanity could drive you to actually call him ‘daddy’.

If he wanted you to why wouldn’t you he is so sweet to you oh so sweet to you

The scream was swallowed by his palm as an orgasm, brutal in its intensity and lightning-fast, ripped through you, whip-snaked it. You greeted your release with a wail, biting into his hand. Raphael paused mid-thrust, apprehensive of how your pussy convulsed around him and your leg spasmed uncontrollably - if this was a performance, you deserved an award.

"You weren't pretending," he panted, awe-struck. "My apologies. You were not".

The realisation frenzied him; he spilled within a minute after, rutting into you with intensity belying his age. Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of you, his breath, cherries and tobacco, warming your throat as his cock softened within you.

"I may have gotten a little carried away," he said, sounding embarrassed and slightly apologetic as he lay down beside you. "But it seems you're more than content."

You eagerly and quickly nodded.

"Are you that... passionate with every man?" He asked as he helped you free your wrists - jealousy creeping into his voice at the mention of that mysterious 'every man'.

You couldn't help but laugh at the question. "No," you replied. "Far from it. You are not just any man. You are anything but."

Raphael let out a sigh of relief and kissed you, making no effort to hide how much your compliment pleased him. 

When you parted, you hopped awkwardly off the bed - the odd gait one adopts when they have a plug in them (no way were you going to remove it in his presence, no way) and cum was trickling down your thighs. 

Shit, the condom. Now you forgot to ask him to wear it.

Would he have?..

Ah, screw it. Google says Plan B is effective for up to 72 hours after unprotected sex, so you'll take it tomorrow - for tonight and last night. You'd never been this careless before, but hell, you'd never murdered people with a mere thought or slept with an Archdevil of Hell.

Raphael was still lying there, basking in the afterglow, when you returned.

"I have to admit, Anya... I'm seriously thinking of proposing," he murmured with such tenderness as you snuggled against him that you wondered if Raphael really was incapable of love.

"That would be quick," you replied, but made it sound like you wouldn't mind at all.

"Quick?" he scoffed. "A man knows what he wants in a woman the moment he sets eyes on her. Unfortunately, there are very few left in your generation."

You smiled, already dreaming of being the Archduchess of Hell, and half-dreaming in general from sheer exhaustion and satisfaction. 

"They lied about you being bad in bed," you murmured as sleep began to take over. "I knew it was all bullshit."

"They?" He asked, his face contorting into a scowl at your sentence. "Who are they? Anya, for God's sake, stop reading those trashy tabloids."

You closed your eyes for a moment. When you half-opened them, you saw him on the balcony outside, in a black silk robe, AirPods in his ears and a cigarette in his mouth. Behind him you could see the smoke and fire of the Avernus mountain ridge, the fireballs cascading down from the sky. Beautiful. 

Raphael gestured with his free hand, aggressively, and you listened a little closer; fortunately he was more than loud.

"...we will bleed them dry if they dare to break our agreement..."

"...they knowingly and willingly accepted our terms, they will choke on the consequences..."

"...all must pay their dues, sooner or later..."

"...an army? We have our own army..."

A yawn escaped your lips as you snuggled deeper into the plush pillows of the massive bed. Everything, except the AirPods, fit perfectly into the image of Archdevil Supreme.

You felt so chosen, so alive, so gloriously alive, and your life had just begun.

"Are you coming soon?" you called out as you tried to think of an appropriate nickname for him - something intimate, but not too cheesy. Darling? Baby? Sweetheart? Love? My favourite devil?

But he beat you to it before you could decide.

"Soon, my love. Rest," he blew you a kiss. With a loud click, he shut the glass door and cut you off from hearing the rest of their conversation. You let out a contented sigh and rolled over onto your side, drifting into a peaceful slumber.

"My love," you said in your sleep. "Raphael called me his love”.

****

The urgent need to go to pee woke you. The time was a mystery, but it must have been late enough for Raphael to have gone to bed too.

He was pressed close to you, his hand cupping your breast. You looked over your shoulder; asleep, peaceful, in buttoned pyjamas, and it was the one moment when he did not look threatening at all; vulnerable, if anything. You kissed him on the cheek and he smiled in his sleep and held you close. 

When you came back from your short (not really, a good thirty metres to the toilet) trip to the bathroom, you snuggled closer to him, preparing to doze off again, and then you heard something.

You listened closer, thinking you had dreamed it first.

Soft, gentle whimpers. You recognised the voice. You didn't know how, but you did. Something childishly cheerful and slightly mad about it.

Oh, no. No. You were happy, spooning with Raphael, and you didn't need this shit right now, especially when things were finally going so well.

Hope, please, you begged.

You got all your happy endings, so many of them, wonderful endings where Raphael was killed by the player and you got to live and your revenge and whatnot. Can I have one too, please? Without you whining and making me feel guilty for something I didn't even do?

"My love," you asked Raphael softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his side. "Can you let her go?"

"Mmm," Raphael murmured in his sleep, "Sure, piccola. Whatever you wish for."

You waited for him to act, but he only tightened his grip on the blanket and shifted slightly.

"You have all the hells and the crown and everything (and me). You don't need her anymore," you tried again. 

"Anya, let me sleep," Raphael mumbled into his pillow, away from your voice. You tried to hide from her voice under your pillow as well, but you could still hear the soft, painful moans. 

Ugh. 

They were very, very far away, but still there.

"She's still wailing," you complained, taking him by the shoulder and shaking him a little. "Raphael? Raphael?"

 "Who is wailing?” he groaned in pure frustration, and then made a half-hearted attempt at listening. “Ah, merda, not that bloody bitch again! I swear, I will plug that hole myself!"

You tried to make sense of that sentence and couldn't, but what you did get was that it promised Hope nothing good and sounded vaguely vulgar, which was even worse. 

"Don't hurt Hope," you begged, appalled by his threat. "She doesn't deserve it!"

"I don't deserve it either," Raphael retorted before turning away from you. "Please be quiet."

He should direct this request to his prisoner. 

What had really happened between them? You didn't think his obsession with Hope was sexual because, well, because, for example, he fucked you and you both enjoyed it, so he was definitely into consent, and Hope was more like a metaphor, a concept, a point to be made, and some shitty fucking rushed Act 3 writing.

"You... you didn't hurt her like that, did you? There was some talk... With that boudoir line... It was misinterpreted... right?"

Right. He may be evil, but he is lawful evil. He believed in consent and seduction, not violence. 

"I haven't hurt anyone, what in damnation are you talking about?" he growled through gritted teeth, and you let out a small sigh of relief.  "But if I don't get some rest, I might."

He hadn't hurt Hope. He wouldn't lie. He cannot; devils can deceive, but not outright lie. You read it somewhere.

Okay, he's not going to let her go and he's not going to help you and Hope was certainly not going to shut up. You have to go to her. And say what? Say what? Sorry for your predicament and the centuries of torture, Hope, but could you please be a bit quieter, me and Raphael just had sex and are trying to sleep? 

Let her go? And lose his favour, his credit card and the place next to him in his bed?

Yes, come on. It would be the right thing to do and you would do it. 

Where was she anyway, you wondered as you walked down the stairs. In the cellar? Hanging from the ceiling? You still don't have the key to the cellar. When you reached the ground floor, the kitchen, you realised that the noises were not coming from the cellar - they were coming from outside.

Outside? Did he hang her on a tree on this cold April night? 

You put on his trench coat and slipped into your sneakers. This was so unnecessarily evil, you thought, suddenly feeling much less happy about everything, especially as the pained whimpering got closer. Hardly human, you thought, more like a creature trapped and desperately trying to free itself. 

Yes, definitely more of a creature.

In fact, it reminded you of a dog. You searched the darkness of the night, determined to find it, and there it was: a dachshund wedged between the ground and a large, weathered fence, whimpering into the still night. 

The poor thing must have thought it was quite the burglar, trying to burrow under a hole in the fence to pull through. But it only managed to get itself stuck.

"Oh, poor baby," you said as you approached the dog. "Let's see if we can get you out."

You pulled on the fence to widen the opening and the cub was free.

It licked your hand in gratitude. Dogs love you. All animals do, and it's quite mutual. You had a harder time with people.

There were distant, panicked cries for Steffie somewhere in the distance; the owner was out on a rescue mission. You took the dachshund in your lap and went to meet her.

The woman was in her sixties, dark brown hair, a very aged beauty, and she looked a bit funny in her fur coat and slippers. She had tears in her eyes. Steffie ran to her as soon as she saw her.

"You silly little girl," she scolded the whining, complaining dog in her arms. She had a thick American drawl. "Why do you keep going back to his house? What's so special about him? I told you he was bad news!"

"Is he?" You asked the question when you knew the answer.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered, forcing a smile to her lips. "I didn't mean it like that. You're Raul's new girl, aren't you? Samantha. I live down the road. Sorry about Steffie, she's very... adventurous."

There were exactly three houses on the street, a mile apart each.

"You meant it like that," you said. "If it's about Isabelle, she's apologised and withdrawn her accusations".

There was a pause, and Samantha's perfectly friendly smile cracked a little.

"Well, in that case," she said, before adding with forced cheerfulness, "thank you for looking after Steffie, sweetheart! You take care now."

She tried to walk away, but turned back; she was as curious as her little dog.

"I was walking Steffie when that French girl ran out of his house," she said, unable to resist the urge to gossip. "She was naked and babbling like a lunatic. She had blood on her, too".

"Did she scream something about the devil?" you asked after a pause.

"Devil? No. Not that I speak French," said the woman, making a last attempt to walk away, but failing. "Listen, I have a daughter about your age. And if some guy - ANY guy - tried to put that kind of crap around her neck, I would chop his arms off".

What did she mean? 

The collar. 

She meant the "Daddy's little mouse" collar you still have around your neck. 

Oh, don't kink shame me, you were going to say, but that kind of talk sounds ridiculous in real life. She managed to shame you very badly, so you hid the collar under your trench coat and mumbled, "I put it on myself".

That actually made her look at you again. Steffie looked at you with the same expression. 

Everybody's out to guilt trip you - Hope, the dog (the dog you saved!), the neighbour, the guy who got thrown under the bus, and you've done nothing but enjoy some devil sex.

The woman finally decided it was time to go, muttering "You need Jesus, sweetheart" before she left.

That's your God who kept women in collars and on leashes for centuries, not the Devil, you thought bitterly, and unlike the Devil, he didn't even fuck them. 

Well, only once.

***

You were back in the en-suite bathroom, washing your face in the marble sink.

Who the fuck was this man, really? What the fuck was happening? 

Your hand shot out, yanking open a cabinet door. An array of men's grooming products stared back at you - cologne, razor, facial moisturiser and scrub, deodorant, shaving gel, sleek, expensive bottles. A man took care of his looks.

Another cabinet creaked open under your touch. 

Your eyes darted to the label on the bottle - Risperidon. You had no idea what it was, but you memorised it for a future Google search, repeating it under your breath like a mantra. 

"Are you rummaging through my belongings, nosy little mouse?”

He was dead asleep last time you checked!

You jerked, closing the cupboard and stumbling back to the bathroom sink, gasping for breath. "No," you stammered, turning to find him standing in the doorway. "I mean... yes. I can't sleep. I thought you might have some pills."

His eyes were canny; he didn't swallow your lie and made no pretence of doing so. He bridged the gap and hugged you from behind - frighteningly strong and wanting every ounce of that power to seep into your bones. His strength made you realise just how much of a level 1 human NPC you were.

"You don't have to violate my privacy when I'm not around, Anya," he whispered against your skin as he began to trail soft kisses down your neck. "If there's anything that's bothering you, just ask me directly. I want us to be honest with each other."

What was in the cellar? What kind of work does he do for you? Did he rape Hope? Or was it Haarlep? Where is Haarlep, by the way? Why does Raphael want to play Raul? 

"What happened to Isabelle?" you asked. 

"Ah, I see. Is that why you asked me if I had hurt anyone?" he said. "Is that what the tabloids told you?"

You nodded.

"Isabelle had an addiction," he admitted, the crow’s feet showing themselves. "It spiralled out of control. She had… a bout of psychosis, a mental breakdown. Made false accusations to the press. She's now getting the help she needs, poor girl”.

"Why was she covered in blood?" you pressed, looking at his reflection in the mirror as an infernal light danced in his orange eyes.

For all the fire in them, they seemed icy, impossibly cold for a man who had called you my love less than an hour ago. "How did you come by this information? You seem to know more than one would expect of you, Anya. There are things about you that make me... wonder. I have been giving you the benefit of the doubt, perhaps foolishly."

Your breath caught in your throat. “The neighbour”, you said. “Your neighbour told me”.

The truth you’d spilled slaked him, but only a little. He looked at you, jaw hardened.

"Samantha? I’ll have a word with her. Very well, we were making love when Isabelle had a psychotic episode."

Making love? Really? He did not make love to you.

"She lashed out at me," he continued. "It was my blood, Anya. I would never hurt her or any other woman. Without their consent, that is."

But that couldn't be true, because there was Hope - and many others who owed him, and Raphael might have been many things, but not a liar, and yet here he was, lying right to your face.

He did hurt people. Whether they deserved it, whether they brought onto themselves, that was a different matter, but he did hurt them.

"If you need proof, you can take a look at the psychiatrist's report," he offered coldly. "The authorities got involved... unfortunately."

"I believe you," came your shaky reply. 

You desperately wanted to. 

Raphael’s eyes flickered.

"Trust goes both ways, Anya," he whispered in your ear, running a finger along your collar. "If you do not trust me, then I will be forced to ask some very unpleasant questions myself. Do we understand each other?"

Which questions? He knows everything there is to know about you. He knows your browser history.

“We do”, you said, still looking in the mirror. “Of course we do, my love”.

"Is that so?” he smiled. "I suggest we go to our bed and put that theory to the test."