#if you like fountain pens I want to hear your thoughts too! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gyllenhaalstories · 4 months ago

Text

FETISH — RUSTY SABICH

summary: something something you needed a job and raymond offered you to work at the office. something something there is a misunderstanding and you pique rusty's curiosity.

warnings: this story happens before the events of presumed innocent so rusty is still a prosecutor, includes tommy molto (with mentions of barbara, carolyn, nico & raymond), sexual harassment, cheating, smut (masturbation, underwear smelling). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 3360

gif credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: raymond is the star of this fic and so is @sizzlingcloudmentality's idea that saved this story 📂 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

You were thankful for Raymond Horgan. He considered you as his niece, he had helped you more times than you could remember. He bought you the biggest dollhouse you could dream of when you were a child, he set an absurd amount of money aside for your education and now he had offered you a job most law students of Chicago could never even dream of. Most of the time, you were thankful for Raymond.

"So, let met get this right... You found the file in a recycling bin?" Tommy's voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The twisted grin glued to his face sent a shiver down your spine.

You were not thankful for Raymond at this precise moment. He left you all alone to answer his phone calls while everyone in the office had left to enjoy their weekend. You assumed that no one would care to call the district attorneys on a Friday afternoon. No. Evening. The sun had started setting, you did not even see the day go by. You assumed that no one would bother, but Raymond had never been more popular. "For the third time, yes, I found the documents in the bin and I thought it was important material so I grabbed it before the janitors did. If I had known, I would not have touched it. I can assure you of that, Tommy."

"Mister Molto," he rectified, he pursed his lips. "It's Mister Molto for you."

"Since when are you so passionate about recycling, Mister Molto?" You spat out his name with disgust. There was just something about Tommy. Everyone in the office had been pleasant, you had no trouble believing that Raymond knocked on each door and instructed them to treat you with the upmost respect. Everyone listened, except Tommy.

Tommy's gaze fell on your hand, he watched you tap your fountain pen on the notepad nervously. You were always so nervous in his presence, surely this must mean you liked him. You liked him but you were too shy to admit it. "What did you do with the documents?"

You grabbed your notepad, imitating your every action. Maybe, you thought, the man would understand better if you gave him the visuals. You explained how you pulled the file out of the bin and set it down exactly where Tommy had found it: on Nico Della Guardia's desk. You assumed he would know better than you what to do with it, but Tommy had the reflexes of a cat and snitched the papers before anyone else could see them. "Is it more clear now? Do you want me to tell you the whole story again for the fourth time?"

You were making an excuse to talk to him longer. He found it endearing. His thin lips curled into a smile, he shook his head. He looked down at the file he gripped on tightly, so tightly that the sweat of his palm began to warp the material. "In this office, we value being thorough..." The phone rang, cutting his lecture off. Tommy looked down again. He recognized the code written on the file, he even recognized the handwriting. It was from a case Carolyn Polhemus had worked on with Rusty Sabich.

You exhaled dramatically and let the phone ring three times before picking it up. You repeated your greeting like a robot, expecting the caller to insist you made Raymond magically appear so they could talk to him.

"It's you." A familiar voice resonated through the phone. Rusty was calling. "Hi." You could practically hear him smile. "I was just wondering if you saw my stapler anywhere. Ray always steals it, and..."

"We also value respect around here." Tommy pulled your attention back to you, annoyed that you picked up the phone without excusing yourself. "Anyway." Another grin, another wave of shivers. He rambled about how you should stick to your tasks, how you would be a better secretary if you did not go snooping around people's trash. Apparently, he could not even begin to comprehend the concept of a simple mistake.

You narrowed your eyes while he continued his monologue. You could not believe what your left ear heard, as your right ear burned against the phone while it perceived words about Raymond's kleptomaniac's tendencies regarding office supplies. You tried to breathe through your nose to calm down. Overwhelmed. Overstimulated. You wanted this day to be over.

"Am I disturbing something? I'm sorry, I didn't want to bother..." Rusty frowned, trying to recognize the other voice he heard. He could not see the scene, but he started to imagine the agitation. "Who's with you?"

Tommy's expression faded into a dark one. Annoyance, perhaps. You could not read him well and you certainly did not want to. He gave you... Ick. There was something else, a spark in his eyes that made you swallow a knot of nerves stuck in your throat. "Evidence from a trial is not to be messed with. I hope you learned your lesson. Or maybe... You wanted to see me. So we could have a little talk just the two of us. And the problem is that you can't keep your hands to yourself, can you?"

You scoffed. "That's inappropriate." Tommy was not annoyed. He was aroused. There was a double meaning to his words that made you sick to your stomach. He lost no time defending himself, hiding behind his inflated ego to justify how his comment was perfectly normal.

Rusty had trouble discerning a single thing from the word vomit that fell out of his colleague's mouth. He tried to inquire about what was happening in vain. He had to pull the handset away from his ear, Tommy and you argued in full volume. However, Rusty heard one thing before you violently hung up the phone, forcing it back into the receptacle. He remained unsure of who you directed your rage-filled words to.

"Go fuck yourself!"

*~*~*

"Go fuck yourself! Go fuck yourself! Go fuck yourself!"

The sound of your voice echoed in Rusty's mind. It had been all he could think about. He was fixated. Obsessed.

He replayed the scene over and over again. By now, he understood you spat these words out at Tommy.

Rusty spat on his hand, squeezing it around his cock that he pumped to full hardness.

You sounded like a broken record in his head. By now, he still did not understand why these words had such an effect on him.

His left hand dived into the teal laundry basket, feeling around. He pulled out the towel he used after his session on the treadmill earlier. He also pulled out a bunched up piece of black fabric. The plastic basket was roughly pushed to the side before Rusty flattened the towel on the counter. His right hand moved up and down on his cock, he was desperate for some relief.

You spent so much time with Tommy. Too much time. Why? Why did you spend time with Tommy? All the small talk by the coffee machine or the elevator. Why was Tommy going down in the elevator with you? Why was it always him?

Rusty pulled his hand away from his cock that twitched. He looked down at the counter, grabbing a clothespin to fidget with. He was thankful there was a window before him and not a mirror.

A pathetic sight.

He pulled his sweatpants down below his ass, a drop of precum even left a wet stain on the front. His cock throbbed with the desire to be touched again. His thoughts fought an unfair race.

He wanted to think of you.

But he was thinking of Tommy. Of his jealousy towards Tommy. He could not see straight. Rusty was too blinded by his insatiable lust to remember all of the times he caught you grimacing after Tommy walked away, flinching when Tommy initiated physical contact with a squeeze of your shoulder or a pat on your lower back. You hated Tommy. Rusty hated Tommy.

"Go fuck yourself!"

You resisted Tommy. Why were you not resisting him? Why were you always so pleasant and nice with him? Rusty remained charming and resourceful. When it came to working his way through a case or helping you with a task Raymond gave you that seemed way above your skill set, he was the smartest guy in the room.

Rusty was stupid for wanting to think of you.

He dropped the wooden clothespin on the counter and proceeded to continue. His dominant hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his long fingers grazed over his balls. His left hand brushed over the bunched up fabric. Clumsily, he unfolded it and it revealed to be a pair of panties.

He should think of Barbara.

He brought the panties up to his nose. He brought his hand up to his tip. That would work. That usually worked. It had not worked for a long time, but... But it had to work right now.

He inhaled her scent and he moaned. "Good. Keep going." He traced his fingertip over his slit, smearing the precum over it while he relaxed. He closed his eyes, images of Barbara flashed. His face buried in the crook of her neck, his eyes blinded by the black curls of her hair, his hands squeezing on the soft flesh of her ass. He kept going. He kept thinking of Barbara.

Barbara's features started to morph with yours. He imagined your smile. He imagined your curves. He imagined the sound of your voice moaning his name.

"Fuck!" Rusty shouted. His thin upper lip curled in frustration. His face twisted with anger towards himself while his mind became a mosaic crafted with the memories he had of you.

He barely had anything. It was all office related. It was all Raymond related. It was all Tommy related. He barely had any memory alone with you. You should tell him to go fuck himself. You should push him away. You should resist him. Resist. Resist. Resist.

He needed to resist you.

He wrapped Barbara's panties around his cock and he used them to jerk off. His shoulders loosened up. The fabric dragged over his cock, a familiar sensation that used to make him climax effortlessly. Just the thought of it would make him hard.

Like a fetish. His wife's panties used to work like magic. It could work again. He needed it to work again.

He threw his head back, his eyes fluttered close. "That's it, that's it. Feels so fucking good..." He mumbled. His hand and the panties blurred together while he stroked himself hard and fast. He fought the frustration with pathetic desperation. You appeared in his mind again.

Like a fetish. He could not get rid of his thoughts of you. A fixation. An obsession.

Rusty tightened the grip on his cock. The panties got bunched up at the base, caressing his sack deliciously while he focused on his leaking tip. His breath came in short gasps. He felt so close.

His balls tightened, his orgasm imminent. He propped himself up a bit on the tip of his toes. Just high enough. Quick strokes. Tight quick strokes.

Would you jerk him off this way if he begged you to? Did you even think about jerking him off? Or would you tell him to go fuck himself?

He groaned, he fought the urge to close his eyes so he could aim at the towel.

Did you ever think about the two of you fucking? On his desk. Against the wall. On the floor. He did. He thought about it many times. A fixation. An obsession.

"Fuck yes!" He cried out when he spilled all over the towel. His entire body tensed up. Ropes of white cum painted the navy blue towel. It felt so good to cum for you. It would feel even better to cum inside of you.

He slowed the movements of his hand and squeezed the remaining of his release on the cumrag. He set his feet flat again, his chest heaved while he panted.

For a moment, a moment that did not last long enough, his mind seemed blank. No imagery, no thought. A void. It was peaceful, but volatile.

He opened the door of the washing machine and threw in his cumrag and Barbara's underwear after he wiped his cock clean with them. He added the rest of the dirty laundry and poured a generous amount of detergent with the hope it would wash away what happened.

Rusty noticed a spurt of his cum squirted on the counter top. He grabbed the small tissue box and wiped it clean. He shook his head, unsatisfied. He rummaged through the cabinet and found cleaning wipes. He dragged the wipe over the counter with force until it started to tear up.

He looked out at the window. Rained poured outside, the clouds looked menacing. A bad omen.

Later, he would tell himself this was inoffensive. He could be very convincing, very persuasive. He would make himself believe this was not harmful. He used Barbara's panties. He finished on a cumrag. How could it be harmful if he did not even touch you?

He never touched you. He needed to touch you.

He would fixate on you. He would obsess over you until you granted him the privilege to touch you.

*~*~*

Exactly a week after the incident, you returned to the office with Raymond. He handed you a box, the type of boxes they used to store files. He had already found you another place to work in a less anxiety inducing setting. He reassured you that your departure would not inconvenient you in the future. He also mumbled something about how he would like to have a word with Fuck-Thing One and Fuck-Thing Two. You figured who carried these endearing pet names.

Rusty came into work every morning this week with the hope of bumping into you. Nobody had warned him about how you had been strongly advised to quit. He could tell Raymond was grumpy and Tommy was annoyed. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You leaned the box on your hip and put in the few belongings you had brought to Raymond's office. A set of highlighters with two missing colours, a box of cookies that only had a sleeve left in it, a pad of sticky notes with a smiley face scribbled on it. It felt as though you had never even walked up those infamous stairs in front of the building. You assumed everyone would forget about your short employment, like you had never worked here at all. You gave the stuffy room one last look before you closed the door behind you.

There was nothing out of the ordinary except for the knock on his door during lunch break despite it being wide open. "Come in." He invited you after you waited patiently outside. A patience he could not reciprocate. Not around you.

"Hi, Sir." You took a couple of steps in his office while the man leaned back on his chair, spinning slowly from left to right.

"Screw that." He brushed the formalities away with his hand. "No Sir or Mister with me. Didn't I tell you this on your first day?"

And on your last day too.

His eyes glanced from your beautiful face to what you carried in your arms. "Box full of stuff. That's bad news." Rusty's enthusiastic smile faded. He had waited so long to see you and now you were going away. Bad news indeed.

"Bad? Depends for who." You chuckled dryly. "I'm happy to get away from him."

Rusty nodded, acknowledging what you referred to. "Office gossip. It goes around." You arched a curious brow. "Rumour has it he's not happy."

You laughed, this time more genuinely. You looked at the content of the box, remembering what you came here for. You set the box down on a chair across Rusty's desk and you pulled out the stapler he asked for the other day. "Better late than never."

He stretched an arm across his desk to grab it, his fingers brushed against yours. He wondered if you felt the shock that went through his hand when your skin touched his. Sparks? Probably just static electricity. Rusty tilted his head back to look at you.

"I didn't come here for the stapler... Ray definitely stole it. He always steals things. He says it's endearing, it means he loves you. In my opinion, he probably thinks everything is free real estate." You reacted to your own amusing comment.

Oh how Rusty loved the sound of your laughter. Tommy would be jealous of him if he knew how many times he heard it, how many times he made you laugh.

"You've been working with Ray for how long?" Rusty opened his mouth to tell you the number of years, but you cut him off. "A hundred years or something? And you didn't know that! Wow." You clicked your tongue, mocking him like you truly disapproved of his ignorance.

His smirk turned into a frown of confusion when you quickly switched the topic.

"I came here to apologize for lashing out at you the other day. I was yelling at Tommy, not you. But yeah, I just wanted to say sorry. And goodbye."

"Don't even worry about it." He held his hands on his thighs. "I figured you weren't talk to me. One way or another... You would have ended up telling me to fuck off anyway."

You reacted to his words, squinting your eyes while trying to figure out what he meant. While Tommy had been nothing but a pain in the ass, Rusty revealed himself as one of the nicest people you met in the office. He brought you a cup of coffee, remembered how you preferred it. He paid for yours and Raymond's lunches so he could tag along. You smiled to yourself, remembering your stressful first day and the way it took the two of you to fix the printer by getting a scrunched sheet of paper unstuck.

Rusty caught that small smile of yours and he mirrored your expression. Silence lingered in the office one moment too long. His gaze lingered on you one moment too long as well. He swallowed thickly and fixed his tie back in his vest.

"Well..." You put the lid on the almost empty box and picked it up. You turned on your heels and headed in direction of the glass door.

Rusty was not ready to watch you leave just yet. "Got anything lined up? I can write you good references if you need. Whatever you need." His voice dropped to a whisper with the last three words.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine, but I appreciate the offer." You explained what Raymond did, The old man called up a few connections, offering a round of beers at the bar as a thank you for the special treatment. "Although I'll have to work on my language, or so I've been told." You rolled your eyes playfully.

Rusty did not understand why it had been such an issue. He would have lost his job a long time ago on the basis of telling people to fuck off one too many times.

"Whatever that new place is, I'm just happy that it's Tommy Molto-free."

"I'll... We. I mean we'll miss having you around!" Rusty slipped up, his nostrils flaring while he inhaled deeply to try and dissipate the potential awkwardness.

You answered that you had a good time, that you appreciated his help. It felt so good to hear these words of praise from you.

"You know, after a while... I'm sure you'll end up missing Tommy too."

You basically cackled at his words, now stepping out of the glass door. "Oh, fuck you, Rusty."

"Fuck me?" He raised his voice so you could hear him loud and clear.

You remained immobile to let him finish.

"Is that a threat?" He pulled his glasses off in one swift motion and let them fall on his desk covered in scattered papers. "Or a promise?"

#jake gyllenhaal #rusty sabich #rusty sabich smut #jake gyllenhaal smut #presumed innocent #jake gyllenhaal imagine #rusty sabich imagine #rusty sabich x reader #jake gyllenhaal x reader

196 notes · View notes

knnichs · 8 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨 — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡.

c. scaramouche

character(s) are friends with reader, gn!reader, angsty-ish, scaramouche is still in the fatui, this is a work of fiction

fluff , love letter . word count : roughly 0.9k

t. @aventurne @tragedy-of-commons @yvnaology @nyoomiin

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s busy, constantly busy, awake even during the most ungodly hours of the night and constantly rubbing at his eyes from his exhaustion. It’s no surprise the Fatui are overworking him again. What’s funny is that he’s sitting at his desk, a pile of papers on the right side–all reports from his underlings–were unnoticed; all of it, even the chirping of the birds as the sun rose and showed the start of a new day, Scaramouche was stuck on a piece of paper in front of him with the words that reads, To my dearest.

There's no way he can capture your beauty on a cheap piece of parchment . He should’ve bought something expensive instead, like a new set of clothes he thinks you’ll like. But lately you’ve just seemed so distant. He needs to reach you somehow. You’ve been driven away by the lies his mouth spills and now, he’s suffering with the consequences, and not once will he ever say it to you, but he needs you to stick with him while he tries to better himself.

So here he is: a fountain pen in hand, wasting his time with something so.. childish. Who writes letters anyway, isn't it something you did as a child towards someone you liked?

Call him a child then. Call him old-fashioned, traditional, and in love. Call him whatever you like, because in the end he’s yours, and he’s always been.

He’s let his thoughts linger for too long and suddenly it's 7 am. His eyebags have never been worse and his mind is tired, not from his job, but from this stupid letter he’s made no progress on. To my dearest should be good enough, right? I mean, you were easy to please. He was sure that it would be more than enough for you.

How tiring. He says, mindlessly scribbling on the paper, jet-black ink scattered all throughout and splattering around the words. Was he angry? Not at all. Frustrated, yes, but for a good reason–to think he did this just because you two were friends was infuriating. Shouldn’t you two be something more?

You were pretty, far too pretty for him to describe. Scaramouche thought his vocabulary was wide enough, but this letter alone has him searching for the words he once knew. Your eyes, leaving him feeling small in a never ending forest and your smile–god, your smile was intoxicating. It would give light to the things he’s been hiding from you this entire time. Your laugh–your voice, sweet and soft, loud and oh-so clear. How you’d bring it down to a whisper when you feel embarrassed about admitting something, how your nose scrunches up when you laugh or when your smile lines just seem so fitting for someone like you.

What was so special about you?

You were like the sunset on the beaches, glowing. Absolutely stunning, ethereal, lighting everything in a bright orange, his eyes becoming a mix of brown and a dark blue. He’s different around you, he's a completely different person. From the color of his eyes to the racing of his heart, to the feeling that he wasn’t getting enough air whenever you hold his hand–but you’d do it in a friendly way. You don't squeeze his hand too tight, you let go when necessary and don’t leave any kind of touch lingering for far too long.

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s bad with words and he can’t tell you the things you want to hear;he can’t provide you with the touch you crave, he can’t make up his mind. One moment he’s thinking about just giving you a whole bag of mora for you to use for your next trip, the other he’s thinking about finishing this damn letter that has plagued his mind ever since you first whispered the fact you appreciate him.

There’s no way he can treat you right. There’s absolutely no way he will be perfect, that he’ll be the partner that’ll leave such a mark on you. But god, ask for the world and he will give it to you. Name one thing and when you wake up it's right at your nightstand. Choose the ring and its design, he’ll get a matching one that you yourself decided on as well. Just say the word because he is a child in love.

So here he is, an envelope in hand. Going to the nearest flower shop to buy something that will still wilt under the sun after a few days. He will not love, and can’t love the same way as you, but he will learn how to.

Call him stupid;call him an idiot for falling for someone he knows is way too out of his league. But that’s all he is, and it's far too late to change that. He might lose you at some point, and that's really what scares him the most.

Suddenly he’s standing at your doorstep, ringing the doorbell and you’d be confused who in the world decided to bring you a sunflower and a piece of envelope in the middle of the day–you don't recall ordering anything.

He didn’t even get to sign it. Maybe next time he can get it right… for his dearest.

characters belong to their respective companies. everything is written by staarri - do not steal, reupload, translate, modify or feed my work to ai.

205 notes · View notes

xxxdreamscapexxx · 7 months ago

Text

I don't want to hear thoughts... Unless they're yours.

Chapter 11: Let me help you relax Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader Word count: 2.8k Warning: A lot of fluffy moments and slight teasing. Maybe some anxiety and stress, but nothing heavy. Summary: Wanda wanted to live the normal life she was never afforded, but something was always missing. Something she denied herself and buried deep inside. But watching you move next door, she quickly realizes that this may not be possible for much longer. Especially with all the interesting things she found in your thoughts. Chapter summary: After some stressful days, Wanda wants to help you relax. And what better way than flirting and meditation. Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5; Part 6; Part 7; Part 8 ; Part 9; Part 10; Part 11; Series materlist Masterlist of all my works

After coming home that Sunday night, Wanda was exhilarated. She had gotten a taste of you, all willing and ready for her. Your cute little moans, the needy way you scratched at her back, the way you pulled her closer, your sweet taste, the pliable, easy way in which you accepted her dominance… It was all perfect. But as the days of the week started to pass by, Wanda found herself regretting that she didn’t secure that date with you when she had the chance. Every day the two of you saw each-other, shared small conversations and sweet little moments, you talked about your days and about your plans, she learned more about you, through short afternoon conversations on her porch, where she got to hold your hand, but she couldn’t muster up the courage to ask you out and it seemed that even though you thought about it too, you felt just as nervous. It was only through your thoughts that she found comfort during that time. She was in your mind more and more often, drawn to your ideas. You saw yourself sharing meals with her at night, you sent her recipes you thought she might like, while you were at the office, you imagined cute date ideas for the two of you, that she found simply adorable, making her heart flutter with joy. You were such a romantic soul, a sweet, delicate, sensitive one and as she got lost in your ideas, she couldn’t help but think on all the little dates she wanted to take you on. She just knew that you would melt if she took you to the big bookstore on main street, the one full of Paperblanks notebooks and gorgeous ceramic tea mugs. She would let you roam the shelves, telling her about your favorite books and letting you pick new ones, perhaps even picking a few together and she’d slip in a few notebooks and a nice fountain pen for you, before you reached the cash register. She would spoil you with everything you wanted there, knowing you would probably refuse to let her pay… But she had her ways of convincing you. She’d also love to take you to the lake, just outside of town, the two of you watching the sunset together. She’d kiss you slowly to the sound of the crickets and she’ll hold your hand as you walked. She’d take you to her favorite farmers market, buying you honey and cheeses and a bag of delicious apples, and she’ll invite you over to her house, so the two of you could bake a pie together, while the boys played. She’d take you to her favorite restaurant, of course, treat you to dinner and flirting with you, while she pretended that she didn’t undress you with her eyes. Perhaps she’ll start with that one. She wanted to set the right tone. Show you that she wasn’t just homely. Yes, it was better to start with a night out. But she’ll build up to all the rest as well.

By Wednesday night, after a particularly hard day at the office, the thought of Wanda seemed to be your biggest comfort too. You liked the domestic and kind approach the two of you had with each-other, you liked the afternoons you shared, the little kisses she left on your cheeks, liked making her laugh, even if you were telling the stupidest joke. You liked her casual teasing too, the way her voice would get low, when she flirted with you shamelessly, the lingering touches, the smouldering looks. It was driving you crazy in the best way possible, but even that couldn’t save you from the stress of the day. You were late this morning, having to rush out of your house and even that didn’t help. You couldn’t stop for coffee on your way, having to drink whatever they made in the office, you were swamped with work, you had to make last minute changes to key processes, meaning you’d have to document it all and honestly, it was driving you crazy. And yes, some of it was little things, but in the end, it all piled together. You knew that new projects are like this, you expected it, but this Wednesday it bothered you and you couldn’t shake that thought away when you got home 3 hours after the end of your regulated work hours. You were exhausted, yet you couldn’t switch your brain off and even the thoughts of Wanda couldn’t quite calm you down. You were seated near the pool again, a glass of wine next to you and your fingers frantically typing on your laptop, when a voice pulled you from your thoughts and you looked towards the source to see Wanda standing near your fence, her hands resting on it gently. “Good evening, Y/N.” She smiled gently, tentatively, as if unsure if she should be here. “I hope I’m not interrupting.” She looked away for a second, her voice unusually quiet and small. “Hi Wanda.” You smiled, putting your laptop away and approaching her, your hands landing on top of hers. “Is everything ok?” You asked, concerned. “Yes.” She nodded, even if her answer didn’t seem completely sincere. She had heard your frantic thoughts when you came home, followed them throughout the night as they continued to swirl around in your head, feeling your anxiety and stress as if they were her own, yet unable to pull away from you. She couldn’t just disentangle herself from you and leave you to face your inner turmoil and she couldn’t fight the way it affected her either. It was frightening how intertwined the two of you were, how deeply she felt your emotions, as if they were her own. Perhaps that fear didn’t help the way she felt either.

“Late night working?” She asked, trying to break the tension of the moment. “Yes. I couldn’t stop thinking about work, so I thought it’s best if I just help myself and actually do the work.” You admit. “Does it help?” She asks, already knowing the answer. “No. I’m still stressed. But I’m closer to meeting my deadlines.” You admit with a small, dry chuckle. “Perhaps I can help you relax?” Wanda offers boldly and watches the thought of the double meaning behind her words flash behind your eyes for a moment. “How forward of you, Miss Maximoff!” You joke, knowing very well that it’s not what she meant. “Well, what can I say. I can’t help myself. I see something I want and I just have to go after it.” She jokes back, happy to see some of the tension drain from your shoulders and instantly feeling relieved as well. “No, but honestly, have you ever tried meditating?” She asks, changing the subject. “I have.” You nod. “It never really worked for me, though.” You admit. “Well, perhaps I can teach you.” Wanda offers. “Oh really?” You raise a brow at her. You can’t help but notice that you already feel better, simply because she is here with you. “You have so many hidden skills, I see.” You comment as you walk to the nearby door and open it, so Wanda could enter, a small smile appearing on your lips. “You have no idea.” The older woman teases, walking into your yard. She makes a small pause, looking at you, before she speaks again. “It’s good to see you smiling.” She admits, her voice gentle and soft, just like her features. “Thank you.” Her words make you blush, your smile growing wider. Wanda can’t help but think that it’s one of the most beautiful things in the world. She’s tempted to kiss you right then and there, to sweep you off your feet and carry you into the house, so she can lay you down and kiss you, until your lips are swollen and your head is empty. She supposes that it’s a form of relaxation as well. “Can I offer you something to drink?” You ask, trying to distract yourself from the intensity in her gaze. “Whatever you’re having.” Wanda smiles as she follows you.

* * * The two of you sit at the edge of the pool, feet dipped inside the warm water, a couple of glasses filled with wine near you as you talked. Wanda’s presence was enough to anchor you in the present, all your worries melting away, like they never existed. “Thank you for coming over.” You said to her, as you looked into her green eyes. “You always seem to have the best timing.” “I wanted to see you.” Wanda said with a shrug, but her attentive eyes didn’t miss the way you blushed again. “Speaking of which…” She continued. “I also want to ask you out on a proper date.” She tells you, her hand reaching out to take yours, your fingers touching playfully. “Let me take you out to dinner. I know a lovely restaurant in town.” She offers. “Let me spoil you for a night.” She continues, her voice starting to give away her hopeful eagerness. “Let me show you how well I can treat you.” “I’d like that very much.” You nodded, suddenly feeling shy at the woman’s intensity. You’d never met a woman like Wanda before. Someone so sure of themselves, someone who wanted you and wasn’t afraid to show it. “Then I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.” Wanda decided, hiding her smirk behind her glass as she took a small sip of the wine you had poured her. She already made plans in her head, thinking about every small detail about your date tomorrow, delighted that she’ll finally get to have what she had longed for, since you’d moved in. * * * After the two of you finished your wine, Wanda could tell that you were feeling the pleasant buzz of alcohol, your thoughts slowing down, your eyes sparkling more, as you looked at her. She could tell that you wanted her, even without reading your thoughts and she did her best not to find out where those particular ideas were taking you, knowing that the temptation would be too great to resist. Instead, she suggested to step away from the pool, taking your hand and guiding you inside the house, so she’d finally give you that lesson on meditation that she had first offered you. You were sceptical at first, but when she sat down on the couch and spread her legs, leaving room for you to sit between them, you couldn’t help but smirk and do as you’re told. You would have to be crazy to refuse her closeness after all.

You felt a little uncomfortable to sit like that with her, but the moment you felt the warmth of her body envelop you, felt her sure hands secure you in place, all your doubts disappeared. “Close your eyes.” Wanda said softly, almost a whisper in your ear, while her hands guided you closer to her, your back pressed against her front. “Just listen to my voice.” The older woman continued, hands landing on your shoulders. “Let it carry you away, to a place where you feel safe and calm.” She said in an even tone. “Can you picture such a place for me?” Wanda asked, watching you nod slowly. Unbeknownst to you, she was slowly making her way into your mind, eyes swirling with red. She helped you to control your thoughts, breathing evening out, while she kept any of them from reaching you, allowing only that safe place to remain in your mind’s eye. “Try to hold that picture in your mind.” She instructed. Wanda could feel the tension of the day melting away, she could feel your muscles relax under her palms, she could see the image of a river, its clear water racing past you, as you lay on a field of grass, surrounded by treas. You were at peace there, she could tell and she amplified that image, making the colours brighter and more vibrant. She allowed the details to develop, until she hardly had to help you anymore, your mind settling in that place of perfect peace. You felt like you were in a dream. Your head was swimming, surrounded by thoughts, but none could reach you. Even the sounds felt distant, your senses dull. It was almost an out of body experience. A deep sense of calm had taken hold of you, the rest of the world melting away. There was only you and that beautiful place. Even Wanda’s voice felt like a far-away echo, your ears unable to distinguish the words she spoke. Once she felt that your mind had calmed, the redhead pulled away her powers as well, choosing to give you some privacy. She didn’t want to take too much advantage of the trust you placed in her, instead deciding to bask in the wonderful feeling of holding you into her arms.

* * * You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, the warmth of her body enveloping you and your mind staying in its little paradise. You just know that the image eventually started to fade away, Wanda’s words coming into focus again as she coaxed you back into a more aware state of mind. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, after she gave you some time to fully come back to your senses. “Really well rested.” You admitted. “Thank you, Wanda.” “Wait till you get some sleep. You’ll wake up feeling even better tomorrow.” Wanda said with a smile, her eyes wandering over your face, a look of genuine affection clearly showing in her eyes. She had allowed you to sit on your own. Barely. But she was still seated close by. She didn’t want to miss this rare chance to look at you, to touch you and admire you, without having to worry about being seen or interrupted. She wanted to soak up your presence as much as she could. “Oh, I can’t wait for the weekend!” You answered slowly, groggily, like a person half-asleep already. “Sleeping in would be just magical.” Wanda only laughed at that statement. You looked so adorable like this. All sleepy and buzzed from the wine and completely boneless after she’d helped you relax. You were too cute for your own good. At another time, in another life, she wouldn’t hesitate to take you like this. You’d cling to her helplessly, whining for her attention, begging wordlessly for her to stop teasing you and just take you. Perhaps a part of her would still find pleasure in that… “Perhaps I should let you go to bed then.” She says instead, disappointment evident in her eyes, that she has to pull away from you. “You don’t have to go straight away…” You said hopefully, not even sure what you were offering the woman. You just knew that you missed the way she had held you earlier, missed her warmth and her gentleness, missed the way she made you feel safe in her arms. “I should though. I want you well rested for tomorrow.” Wanda winked. She studied your face again at her words, amusement flashing across your face at her teasing, before it was replaced with disappointment to see her go. The evidence was in your eyes and she paused for just a moment, before she lunged forward, her lips landing on yours and giving you a brief, small kiss. A warning of sorts, before another, more sensual kiss came. This time you were prepared. Lips parting for her and kissing her fully, allowing yourself to be guided by her, without a moment of hesitation. When you parted, it took everything in Wanda not to lean back and kiss you again. You were so damn tempting to her. So irresistible. From the first day she heard your thoughts, from that day she met you at your front door, she just couldn’t get enough. “If you want me to rest, you shouldn’t tease me, Wanda.” You said playfully, a mischievous smile on your lips. “I can’t help myself.” The redhead admitted. “Are you always such a sweet-talker?” You asked, your hand reaching out to touch hers, fingers playing together softly. “I haven’t said anything that’s not true.” Wanda retorted, leaning so close she could feel your breath on her skin, she could smell your perfume… Without thinking, she kissed you again. This time she pressed her body against you too, she cradled the back of your head and tangled her fingers in your hair. She kissed you deeply, pouring her passion in every brush of her lips against yours. Each time her tongue glided against yours she felt little jolts of pleasure spreading through her, tempting her to do it again and again, until you were both breathless and panting. “I’ve been wanting to do that for days.” Wanda admitted, straightening herself, even if everything inside her told her to stay, to pull you even closer. “And is it everything you pictured?” You asked playfully. “That and so much more…” Wanda smiled, her lips spreading into a grin, before she was leaning into yet another kiss.

#lesbian #writing #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #top!wanda #bottom!reader #i don't want to hear thoughts...#scarlet witch

246 notes · View notes

throwaway-yandere · 1 year ago

Text

A/n: ansy speaking, not her. Please. P l e a s e. Don't read ANY of the endings unless you've reached the end of the story in your own way.

Link to the fic.

Gepard Landau died on the same day you lost your leg. That was all you remembered.

His funeral was befitting a Landau. You didn't exit the car and simply watched from afar. No one knew who committed the crime, as far as everyone was concerned, you were also a victim of an aggressive assailant. Serval had done eerily good work at making you scarce. The visitors were either distracted by the fact you were just a few feet away from witnessing them lower down his casket or were too busy mourning over the loss of a great soldier.

Yet, there was someone who wasn't as convinced as the rest.

Sampo knocked on your window that day, grating you with the happiest sounding "condolences!" he could boast. At the time, you wanted to punch his face in but feared you'd get an earful from Mrs. Landau. A no-last-name orphan like you can’t just buy a car.

You rolled the window down. Hearing him out was better than feeling whatever sinister emptiness resided inside your heart.

Sampo cheerfully reached his hand out to shake yours forcefully. "Heyya there, friend! Long time no see, eh? Guess you can't catch me now, not with those legs, I mean."

You can't believe you laughed at such an insulting joke.

"What do you want, Sampo…?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing special."

The shady merchant rested his elbow on the car, giving you a lopsided smile. He radiated pure confidence, a trait you lack in those defeated times.

"Say, if I told ya I can bring lil Geppie back, would you make a deal with me?"

You scoffed.

"Bring him back?"

"Uhuh."

You chuckled emptily, staring away. The words that escaped your lips did not come from the heart, but it was the only thing you could insensitively joke about in response.

"If you plan on bringing him back, you might as well make him exactly like my type. Otherwise, what's the point?"

You slowly regained consciousness, your eyes fluttering open to reveal that you were positioned on a couch inside a dimly lit room. The air was musty and the only light source was a vintage-looking fan. We have received all the intel we needed, but Kafka was nice enough to watch the rest so you should probably thank her for adding this in our data bank.

A figure materialized in front of you. He was a dirty blonde man with a soft and concerned expression plastered on his face. This man knelt beside you and asked:

"How are you feeling? I’m… I would like to apologize for yelling at you. It was not my intent to frighten you so much. I was caught up in my selfish emotions. Please forgive me."

You took a moment to assess yourself, noting that even though you were disorientated— you don't feel any physical pain or emotional distress. His presence compelled some sort of familiarity but your memory was frustratingly blank.

As you tried gathering your thoughts, the sound of a distant radio static buzzed your ears. It was persistent. You strained to listen, but the man was oblivious to it. His blue eyes solely focused on you.

“... Are you alright, darling?”

You gave up trying to hear the noise and focused on your surroundings, ignoring him in the process.

The space you were in was a deserted therapy office. The wallpaper, which had formerly looked rather professional, was peeling off and fading. There were lingering odors of mold and rot. The furniture was peppered in dust and cobwebs clung to the edges of the tables, cupboards, and walls. It simply wasn't a place to be.

There were remnants of the previous doctor inside— a torn chair, a used fountain pen, and most intriguingly, rowed forgotten photographs that have likely lived past the faces depicted. You swore you could recognize a person or two in those photographs. One had stylishly long blonde hair with blue streaks. She wore thick-rimmed glasses and a contagious smile as she lovingly wrapped her arms around an embarrassed young man and someone who looked exactly like… you?

As you gazed back at the dirty blonde man, it finally clicked. Though your memory fails you, you were almost certain he was the young man in that image.

"Gepard?"

"I'm not–" He exhaled, soundingly resigned to his fate. "Nevermind. Yes, that's me."

Did you get his name wrong? Or was he just too quick to say no?

“...Was I wrong?"

"No, I could be him if you want me to be." He smiled weakly. “And based on what just occurred, I can surmise that is the case. I won’t try to be anyone else anymore.”

The radio static continued, stealing your attention once again. You turn to Gepard, desperation was evident in your voice. "Can you hear that? The static…”

He placed his head above his fist, pondering your words. "I... I don't hear anything. But if you’re hearing static, then I can only guess that Serval is overdoing her job.”

You raised an eyebrow, speaking slowly as if you didn’t want to come off as idiotic. “Serval is here?”

Gepard shook his head. “Not in the Back Alley, no.”

“Then what was that sound–”

“Just an old doctor’s device from the Xianzhou Loufu. No need to worry, (N/n).”

Gepard cleared his throat.

“(Y/n), I’ll have to go away for a while. Can you promise not to leave? It won’t be long– I’ll merely fetch you something to eat and drink.”

“But that shouldn’t be your responsibility. Having you do such simple tasks would bring me shame,” you shook your head incessantly. “Besides, I’m not hungry!–”

“(Y/n).”

He glared at you, feigning coldness. You were unconvinced but decided it was best not to test him. Gepard had always been caring for his people.

You nodded in agreement, your voice barely a whisper. "Okay, fine... I won't leave. I'll stay here."

“Do you swear it?” You’re not the sharpest person, but you still noticed how Gepard’s eyes lingered on the locks, contemplating if he should trap you inside.

“I promise.”

He smiled.

"Good. Stay put and don't open the door for anyone. Dangerous creatures are lurking outside."

“Wait!!!”

As he turns to leave, you reach out, your hand instinctively grasping his arm.

You nearly didn’t speak a word after. His eyes were dilated– afraid. But that fear was gone in a blink of an eye. You immediately let go of his arm. You had a feeling something traumatic had occurred that was similar to the action you had done.

Then again, he just spoke of dangerous creatures beyond this clinic. Perhaps it had something to do with them.

“...Please, exercise caution." You continued.

His gaze softened as his hand gently covered yours.

"I promise, I'll be careful. My priority is to protect you, always."

The sound of footsteps outside drew your attention and your heartbeat quickened, worried about the aforementioned creatures in Gepard's warnings. Thankfully, it was just the man himself. He returned with a tray containing a straightforward supper. The aroma of warm soup and freshly baked rye bread wafted in the air, creating a cozy ambiance. Once upon a time, you would’ve politely declined this offer but you didn't sense any other noble birth in the room aside from him. Most importantly, you didn't sense Mr. Landau's presence.

He set the tray down in front of you, slightly ashamed about his delivery's lack of quality and quantity. "Here, eat. It's not much, but it'll help."

“T-Thank you…” You reluctantly took the plastic spoon. “But… would you mind filling me in with what’s going on, Young Master? I can’t remember a thing.”

“Master…” Gepard tasted the formal honorific and cringed. “First– what can you recall about yourself? What’s your occupation?”

“I’m a servant of the Landau family, taken generously by Mr. Landau’s endorsement.”

That man? Generous? As if.

“And the Silvermane Guards?”

You tilted your head.

“They are one of Belobog’s last bastions. Why do you ask? Has something happened at work, master?”

In other words: you don't remember what happened. To you, what happened around 5 years ago or so never occurred if you can't recall your time as a soldier.

Serval's new device had worked, for sure.

Gepard exhaled loudly, “confirming” your suspicions.

“I’m not your master anymore, (Y/n).”

As you look at him now, something feels different. You were inclined to believe there is a merit to his words.

"Was I fired?" You asked, terrified.

He held your hands. His hands felt unusually warm and his eyes brimmed with an emotion you can't put a finger on. Gepard looked… hesitant, yet determined. A near oxymoron.

And he decided to commit to the worst idea he had in mind.

"... D-Darling, don't you remember?” He chuckled nervously. “We're not in that household anymore. We've eloped. We left everything behind to be together."

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't take the time to think of his words and your mouth ran on autopilot. The Landau's principles were ingrained in you as much as it did to the siblings.

"Eloped? But... why? What about your family, your responsibilities?"

The sadness that flickered in his eyes was then swiftly replaced by a reassuring smile. "Dad never understood us. S-So, we decided to escape! To build a life on our terms."

That doesn’t sound like something Gepard would do.

But, if he would do that for you, then…

Foolishly, you still found yourself swept away by his romantic fibs of leaving everything behind for these flights of fancy. The stuttering happiness in his voice is infectious, and you can't help but feel a sense of elation. It's as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. Just as Sampo would've wanted for you.

… Doesn't that mean Gepard loves you as much as you love him?

"Why can't I remember that?"

"You must've just been too tired, sweetheart," Gepard muttered sweetly. "We had quite the busy day yesterday trying to find a safe location."

"I... I can't believe it," you stammered, undeniably disbelieved and overjoyed. "W-We're alone together, just the two of us?"

Gepard nodded solemnly, looking to his left. His eyes were looking anywhere but at you.

"Yes, (N/n). It's just you and me now. No more hiding, no more pretending. We're free to be together, forever."

The truth of your past may be hazy, but the promise of a new beginning was exhilarating enough to discard any bad histories.

Gepard asked, slightly frowning.

"But for this to work, I need you to follow my commands, is that okay?"

"Okay." You nodded eagerly. “What is it, Young Ma— Gepard?”

“When I tell you to close your eyes, you’ll close your eyes. If I told you to cover your ears, you’ll cover your eyes.” Gepard slightly tightened his hold. “And when I told you to not question what you see, you won’t ask or try to rummage your head for memories or information. Is that clear?”

You were used to his authoritative tone. It was the mark of a Landau, it no longer struck fear in you as much as a normal citizen would have been. Instead of intimidation, you were informed of how dire these commands were, and you accepted without doubts much like a soldier.

“Understood. I’ll follow your commands to the best of my abilities.”

Gepard smiled.

"You're so obedient for me…" Gepard caressed your cheek with the back of his palm. "Just how can I reward you for this?”

"It's okay. You don't need to do that."

"Are you sure?"

"Affirmative."

He grinned wider and buzzed with happiness.

"You make me feel so loved."

Gepard slowly cupped your cheek, eyes slit in a lovelorn gaze. His mind raced thoughts about your lips. How soft would they be? Would your lips feel chapped? Would he grip your shoulders should he part them open with his tongue? Much more ideas in that nature flooded his head, which only fanned the flames that heated his cheeks and ears. He wasn't sure how you'd react if he indulged himself— if you would forgive him for this— but he knew that if he didn't do it now, his curiosity and drive to keep you to himself will worsen.

He looked away, eyes childishly closed shut with a slight pout.

"(Y/n)."

You pretended not to know what he was thinking to save his pride. "Yes?"

"... Would it be alright if I add another segment to that list of commands?"

Just like his favorite theatre actress, your eyes crinkled as you put on a sly smile with good-natured mischievousness. Before leaving your hand pressed on your cheek, you adjusted a strand of hair and combed it back, angling your head at your best side. Needless to say, you were having fun toying with him.

"Yes, sir."

"... G-Good."

Gepard cleared his throat.

"If I tell you to k-kiss me, would you?"

You chuckled.

"That doesn't sound like a command—"

"Kiss me, (Y/n)." He ordered, but as soon as those forceful words escaped his lips, he froze and raised his hands, attempting to take it back and sheepishly apologize.

That didn't stop you from taking him by his collar.

You grinned.

"Much obliged."

He released a muffled yet pleased noise as you pressed your lips against his.

As Gepard's lips met yours, neither of you cared for how dusty the place was or how eerie the surroundings were– it was only the two of you, alone in a gentle embrace. His lips were soft and tender as his thumb slid up the back of your palm, wordlessly asking for permission to deepen the kiss. You obliged by slipping your fingers through his hair– and that snapped something inside him.

Gepard instantly pulled you closer.

"M-Mhmm…"

His arms were forceful yet overprotective, enveloping you as though you were delicate. The warmth of his breath and his near inaudible yet high-pitched whimpers seeped into your very being. These served to make you feel safe and cherished. He tilted your chin up, faltering to catch his jagged breath despite how feather-like his movements were.

This is what the real Gepard Landau had always wanted.

This bliss is what he failed to attain.

Time stood still as you melt into each other. Gepard was savoring every moment– every connection between you two– before he pulled away breathlessly. With eyebrows furrowed, he loathed himself for needing air, but his expression softened as he caught you heaving.

"I-I'm s-sorry–" he breathed in. "I s-should've practiced moderation."

His cheeks flushed more as he watched the silvery saliva that linked you both disappear, sputtering apologies for being "too rough" when he was anything but.

Gepard gazed into your eyes as you snaked your hands from his nape to his arms. He returned the favor, embracing you as the most precious treasure he's ever held.

With a soft smile, he whispered against your lips.

You’re very obedient.

You’d do every word he says, wouldn’t you?

"T-Thank you for being here, for loving me. You're everything to me."

Then, stay here.

Never leave him alone again.

The soft morning light peeked through the thick curtains, painting the room in slivers of white and gold. Having no need for human necessities such as sleep, Gepard sitting by the bedside couldn't help but smile as he watched you rest. The sight before him was nothing short of wonderful. The soothingly paced rise and fall of your chest and the way your eyelids fluttered slightly in your dreams— mesmerized his unblinking eyes. He prided himself on abstaining from holding you for the entire night to not disturb your sleep. Gepard was content with simply gazing, without looking away for a single second.

Not once.

He won’t leave you ever again.

A soft sigh escaped his lips. In the “warmth” of this morning light, he knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be—by your side, in this makeshift realm.

He then whispered to you, knowing that you wouldn't hear them but wanting to express his emotions nonetheless.

"I wonder why Gepard used to deflect your affections so much. If I obsess over you then that means he loved you just as much… But there’s no point mulling over this, is there?" Gepard muttered.

As you writhe in bed, he carefully draped your blanket further upward, worried that you’d get cold.

"Then again, unlike me, he has always been a man of tradition. He probably did not see it right to pursue a romantic relationship with someone under his station. A true Landau."

The man’s smile disappeared.

He is not Gepard. Not even his ghost. He is a manifestation of how the man desperately didn’t want to follow the family’s code of conduct. The true Gepard had always secretly wanted to break free from his shackling family bloodline but his father wanted to adopt you. And he couldn't bear the thought of having his dream spouse as his sibling either.

Despite that, the real Gepard had never resorted to manipulative tactics to control your emotions and actions. Not once has he tried gaslighting or using his position of authority to influence your decisions. Gepard was obsessive, but not unkind. He thought that perhaps letting you go would be a greater act of love.

Such a “considerate” gesture failed. No longer do those sentiments matter now.

Gepard watched you sleep silently. As he fixed your stray hairs, he couldn't help but ponder over the subtle signs that your mind was broken. You seemed unfazed by the fact that you had both your legs, despite being paraplegic in reality. Similarly, you didn't react to how you’re wearing a wedding ring that you never had nor the sight of his arm, even though he had lost it before.

This alley you shared was a twisted reality. A merely distorted version of the past and present fueled by your desires and wishes– and you were lost in a maze of your own making.

Deep down, Gepard was disappointed that you couldn't see through the facade, that you couldn't recognize the monsters that followed you both as a manifestation of your psyche that wanted you to confront the truth.

As he sat beside you, Gepard felt a heavy weight in his heart. He wanted to shake you awake from this dream, to make you see that the person before you was not him, but merely a reflection of your deepest desires.

But he held his tongue. He was far more selfish than the real Gepard, and that selfishness kept him alive longer than he did. Instead of breaking the happiness you and Serval carved for yourself, he stayed by your side. Thankfully, Serval is too caught up in her distress, thinking that she could save you from this alley. She cannot. The only thing she’s doing is making matters worse for you with that device of hers. But that’s okay. He would be there for you, even if you couldn't recognize him for who— for WHAT he truly was.

Gepard sighed wistfully.

You won’t get to know the truth.

And it’s for the best if it meant having you all forever to himself.

For this is the only way "Gepard Landau" can atone for his sins.

#ansy-writes #yandere gepard landau #yandere honkai star rail #yandere gepard landau x reader #yandere gepard #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere x you #yandere male #yandere hsr

117 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 2 years ago

Text

Guard #400

a/n: It is time... for Pantalone ♥♥♥ I was actually really looking forward to this one lol, he just fits a little too well in this whole prison scheme (I guess all Harbingers do hahhaa). Also I won’t deny any longer just how badly I want to be railed by that guy. Just... just give him to me mhy, now, gimmi gimmi. If he ever does come out as a playable character I might just C6 him because damn. He’d demand it and I’d just be Sir, yes, Sir! Woof woof.

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Guard!Pantalone x GN!AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Dub-Con, Forced Exhibition, Slapping), Abuse of authority, Manipulation, Long Post

[Prison Project Introduction & How to request | Pinterest Moodboard]

"So? Have you made your decision?"

Pantalone slowly rose from his chair, uncapped his fountain pen, and placed it on the paper you recognized as the contract he had offered you before. Gesturing his hand to the document, he added, "The offer still stands, but I'm not sure for how long."

He was growing impatient. You could hear it even through his honeyed, service voice, unfitting of a man in his position. The few slow strides were so confident, as if the contract's content didn't concern him in the least, no matter how nasty and inhumane it was. He was a man that knew what he wanted. And even worse: He knew he was going to get it.

Circling around you, you felt his warmth in your back, a hand brushing from your hip up your side, resting on your waist as he stepped up next to you from behind. "Let me guess—no one else wanted to employ you? Poor thing."

His taunt felt like an ice-cold blade stabbing into your gut, twisting around in the form of a delighted chuckle. Pantalone hadn't been your first choice of employer. You thought the chief of finances of the prison you had been sent to wouldn't have interest in someone locked up for embezzlement. But your options of other jobs had been so few, most of them refusing you even before you asked for a position, that eventually you put your doubts aside, trying your luck with this man. However, the job he had for you was more punishment than going to prison not guilty already was. You just wanted to earn some money to make your life here more comfortable and save some for the hardships you'd face once you got out.

He wanted a sex slave.

As disturbing and straightforward as that. Things in this prison were anything but proper. Still, you never expected an officer in a leading position like the finance department to go this far. The first time you read the contract, you thought you were hallucinating, laughing it off as a bad joke. But seeing the everlasting, unreadable smile on Pantalone's lips, you realized he was serious about this—so you ran.

You wished you could have told anyone what had happened, even just vent it to a friend. But nothing and no one in this prison was friendly to you, the newbie. You could live with the mockery and bullying, being pushed around and called names. However, you were in no position to tell anyone what Pantalone had offered to you. There was nothing you could do to put his head back on straight. You were powerless.

Thus, after another round of unsuccessful applications, you were back, disgusted at yourself for even considering it.

"Isn't there anything... anything else I can do but this?" you asked uncomfortably, and you heard him take a deep breath by your side, annoyance radiating off of him. Your morality told you not to sink to his level, to not even consider it any further unless he offered you actual work right then and there. But your conscience was whispering into the back of your mind, with his voice, that this was as good as it would get, and you should take it as long as he still wanted you.

"Why? Do you think I won't compensate you well for this work?"

Hand slipping down, his fingers gripped your waist, pulling you into his chest, his lips next to your ear. "You need the money, remember? And I have lots of it. If you want to leave, you're free to go—now. But if you agree to stay, you'll get whatever you want from me, and I'll get my break from work. It's a win-win for everyone."

The smug smile plastered on his face could be heard in his voice as he made all of this seem so harmless. Fun, even. A business transaction like in the books with a twist. Your body for money, and maybe more. "Anything I want?" you muttered, thinking about the few things that would make your life easier here if you had them.

Pantalone's head dipped lower, and you subconsciously moved your head out of the way, baring your neck to him, which he appreciated with an agreeing hum. "Mhm, anything," Pantalone confirmed, halting in his tracks just before your pulse, enjoying the closeness of what was almost his (or so he thought). "Whatever you might desire from me."

The offer was horrendous. He was merely tricking you into becoming his sex slave with sweet words and promises. You had no reason to believe him. But if he spoke the truth, and was a man of his word, then... maybe...

"I want a cell for myself," you tested him.

"Mhm, sure," Pantalone hummed, planting a fluttering kiss on your neck that gave you goosebumps. A brush of his lips, like tipping his credit card to a machine for quick pay.

"And I want some of the money to be transferred to a bank account outside of jail for later."

His second hand reached up, driving from your collarbones to your jaw before wrapping around it, forcing your head back. "Anything else?" Pantalone asked, a sharp, biting undertone echoing through his voice, declaring his patience running low. There was so much you could demand and so little time to demand it. But he wanted something in return, and denying him any longer wasn't an option. This had to suffice if you wanted to stay on his good side. There was only one more thing you could ask for—mercy.

"Can you... Can you promise not to do something ridiculous or embarrassing to me?"

Raising an eyebrow, he watched you intently through hooded eyelids. There was a hint of distrust in his gaze, indicating that he didn't expect a rather personal request instead of more materialistic things. "That's what you concerned with?" Pantalone asked, and you nodded your head into his palm, feeling bashful.

"I will see what I can do. However, as that is an undefined request, we'll have to test out a few things before we know for sure."

You breathed out slowly, having held your breath as you waited for his answer. "Thank you," you whispered, lowering your gaze to the contract on the table. Pantalone released you, his touch lingering as long as possible on your body until you reached his desk, picking up the pen. In your best handwriting, you wrote down the things you discussed before placing your signature on the bottom line.

No second later, Pantalone's body collided with your back, one hand slipping around your front and between your legs, finger digging into the fabric of your pants and overall, sliding between your folds and up to your clit. You gasped, threatening to let the pen fall from your hand when he caught it with his free one. Leaning over your shoulder, he put his signature over yours. If that was supposed to be this way or an accident, you didn't know. But it looked awfully possessive of you as he hastily smeared his elegant signature all over yours.

With two fingertips, he played with your clit, the fabric giving barely enough coverage but all the more friction. You struggled a little against his touch but caught between his body and his arm, it only made you grind against Pantalone more, a husky grumble in your ear making you shudder.

Wasting no more time, Pantalone reached around to your front, unzipping the overall so he could sneak his hand under your shirt and up to your chest. The lousy bras you were given gave no resistance as he tore them off, letting them fall away and baring your breast to him. "No more bras," he mumbled, kissing along the nape of your neck as he fondled your chest, leather sliding over your nipples, flicking and twisting the little knob.

"And no more panties."

"Is that a command?" you gasped as you tried to keep your composure despite the clenching of your core and the treacherous slick running down your thighs.

"Call it a work instruction," Pantalone chuckled before drawing away, his hands leaving your throbbing nerves behind lonely as you staggered forward, catching yourself on the table. Everything in you screamed to hide and defend your body, but when you felt him grip the arms of your overall, you knew it wouldn't be the one to protect you any longer.

Reluctantly, you slid off the orange prison wear, letting it fall to the floor. Behind you, Pantalone let out a deep, hungry breath, and you didn't dare to turn around to see what expression he was making. Whether it was mockery or lust, you simply didn't want to see it. When he gripped you by the neck, you leaned forward, ass in the air, as Pantalone pressed his crotch to your backside, grinding the bulge in his pants into the softness of your rear.

He grew more and more assertive, forcing you on your tiptoes as he rested his body on top of yours, dry-humping into you with need. Heat was building between you two and inside you. Strange, considering you were still against all of this, and you two weren't at a stage where the stimulation was too much to bear. Maybe Pantalone's desire was slowly wearing off on you, the hot pants brushing against your earlobes, paired with his groans, tickling something deep inside your core.

Whatever it was, you knew you had to get this whole act over with quickly. You couldn't give him the satisfaction of watching you crumble and come undone because of him just like that. Even if it was just for feeling better about yourself and your decision, you had to prove to yourself that you could be strong and withstand all of this.

A herculean task.

Your trousers were already sliding off just from the grinding when Pantalone decided to ban them into pooling around your ankles instead. Standing in only your panties before him was humiliating, but you knew it wasn't enough for him yet. Until you were stark naked and very likely out of your mind embarrassed, he'd not stop. And he proved it to you by hooking his finger around your panties, tearing them off you, and making them unwearable, his work instruction becoming more and more reality.

Now, he had much easier access to you than you liked. Without any straining fabric in the way, your cunt got to experience the leathery touch of his gloves. Cold fingers caressed your heated folds, the nerves of your clit zapping electric shocks through you. But no matter how hard you flinched or tried to escape forward, Pantalone was always there to put you back in your place against him, never letting go.

By the time he was finished teasing you, you felt dizzy from the pleasure, barely hearing him unzip his own pants until you felt the curve of his cock resting against your throbbing cunt. Pantalone wet his cock in slow, agonizing slides through your slick folds until you were ready to welcome him, his tip settling perfectly against your entrance.

You both let out moans in unison as he sunk into you. However, when you thought he had already pushed completely inside you, Pantalone made yet another step forward, sheathing every inch in your pussy, your ass bumping against his hips. There was no one you could think of that ever filled you so deeply. Whose curve aligned perfectly with your insides, and who made you feel like you would lose it after only entering you.

"I chose well," Pantalone sighed in satisfaction, breath shuddering before he pulled out slowly, treasuring the feeling of your walls clinging on to him desperately. And without warning, he plunged back in, leaving you gasping as you were pounded against his desk. There was nothing you could do but endure the exciting tingle of pleasure, capturing your every body function and every thought.

Your mind wanted to be strong, and your body just really wanted to cum.

"Move," Pantalone gasped, pulling you up by the arm. His cock slipped out of you as he directed you around the table, leaving a mess dripping out as you mewled. Immediately, you put your hand over your mouth, trying to hide the sounds that threatened to escape, but Pantalone merely laughed, amused by your frugal tries to deny your feelings.

Getting around first, he plopped down on his chair heavily, not caring about the image he usually upheld so well. Legs spread and arms on either side of the armrests, he seemed more like a king commanding his subjects than a respectable boss. Though... with the kind of contract you two had, you weren't sure if he had ever been reputable in the first place.

His cock, erect and throbbing, awaited you with a slick sheen, and you felt your core clench in longing as your eyes fell on it, long and curved, a dangerous and greedy thing just like the man attached to it. "Get on top," Pantalone instructed, waving his hand for you impatiently.

Laying your palm in his, you slung your leg over his, trying to find a space to place your knees. Pantalone pulled you taut against him, one hand grabbing your side, elevating your body until you lost your footing, relying on his support. However, his gaze snapped from the space between your hips and the tip of his cock, a demanding glint in them that made you act without any words needing to be spoken between you two.

Reaching down, you brushed your fingertips over his length, his cock pulsing hard against your hand, demanding to be led back to your entrance so it may sink inside again. However, with how the position was, you assumed Pantalone wanted you to please him, causing you to grip his dick, pleasuring him with your hand first. If it helped him to cum faster, it would only be better for you, but his fingers at your side turned into claws, signaling he wasn't impressed by your teasing.

Reluctantly, you lowered your hips, sliding his tip through your folds until you reached your entrance. You prepared yourself with a deep breath, wanting to slide down in your own tempo, but Pantalone seemed to have a different idea, slamming your hips down and buckling his at the same time. Even with your eyes wide open, you couldn't see anything but lights flicker in your vision. Next thing you knew, you moaned loudly as Pantalone urged you up and down his cock like a fleshlight.

"Mhm-! Not so... Not so f-fast!" you slurred, a smug grin jerking the corners of his lips.

"You do it, then," he relented, letting go of your body. You flopped down like a loose sack of potatoes, panting heavily. Placing your hands on his shoulders, you used them to push yourself up, biting your lip to hold back the moan after you mumbled, "Okay..."

"Okay, what?" Pantalone asked, a slap ringing out as his hand came down on your ass. This surprise was nothing you could bite down, moaning loudly, and a second slap followed right away.

"Okay, Sir!" you corrected yourself, quickening the pace in hopes he'd find it harder to aim.

"That's right," Pantalone huffed, eyes fixed on your breast jiggling before his eyes. "I'll teach you how to be more respectful to the person you belong to. Got it?"

"Mhm--! Yes! Yes, Sir!"

You must have been out of your mind, moaning and rocking your hips on your boss's lap. You'd never done these things for money. Aside from the occasional sigh and groan, the hungry gleam in his eyes, and his fingers digging into your hips, Pantalone gave you no indications or words of his satisfaction. Regardless, there was no turning back now. Not when you could already feel your toes curl.

A knock on the door finally made you regain your conscience, snapping you out of your hazy humping. Your expression grew panicked, but the door was already opening without either of you asking the person to come in. "Sir, I have the weekly reports you wanted--"

You could hear the person's jaw drop as they looked up from the papers they were bringing, eyes landing on your bare ass, their gaze tingling on your skin as it drove upwards, trying to see who it belonged to. Your whole head felt ablaze after being caught in this unseemingly position, your pussy still dripping with all your juices even in this kind of situation.

"Not a good time right now," Pantalone said, waving his hand dismissingly but appearing unbothered otherwise.

"I- I was- There--" the person behind you stammered, and you simply wanted to die the longer you could feel them checking out your body. This was probably the worst case you could have imagined when you took the 'job'. Pantalone sighed, and you recognized his telling signs by now. If you learned anything, then that he wasn't a very patient man.

Gripping you from underneath your thighs, he lifted you up, bucking his hips into you, making you gasp loudly before letting you fall back first on top of his desk. After the initial shock and pain, you forced your eyes open again, staring straight into the eyes of the young guard who had greeted you upon coming in and acted as a secretary to Pantalone. It was infuriatingly embarrassing to be seen like this, disheveled and so close to your orgasm, especially when Pantalone put your legs around his hips, jerking them until you got the hint and wrapped them around him on your own before he plunged back deep inside you.

Covering you with his own body from the horrified and, at the same time, intrigued glances, he looked up at his secretary in annoyance. "Look at them again, and I'll gauge out your eyes. If you have any sense of self-preservation, leave. I am busy."

That finally released the young man from his state of shock. He stumbled over his own feet, muttering apologies to no one in particular and slamming the door behind him, which caused Pantalone to huff. Lowering his gaze back to you, you were still embarrassed beyond belief when he asked, "Was this sufficient?"

"No!" you yelled, immediately lowering your voice after noticing the irritated glint in his eyes after you screamed into his face. "This is terrible! They saw me... doing this... here..."

"I'll install a lock then," he promised calmly, pushing his irritation aside for you and rolling his hips. You let out a frustrated groan as your pleasure spiked again, and Pantalone put his lips to your throat, nibbling on your skin as he pounded into you. You could hardly decide which position had felt the best, but you knew you were done for. Pleasure-wise and your reputation.

"Sir," you whimpered. "I'll... I'll--"

"Cum," he muttered into your collarbone. "I don't mind you feeling pleasure because of me. Just make sure to finish the job."

Nodding meekly, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding on to him tightly as Pantalone began pounding harder, his cock throbbing inside you, so close to bursting as well. He gripped the edge of the table tightly, his knuckles turning white as your toes curled, back arching, needily wanting to be closer to him even more so close before being pushed over the edge.

Cumming on this amazing cock wasn't hard, not when it seemed to check off the best spots like a veteran explorer of your body. All the harder was the orgasm. Your moans were no longer muffled. Tears shot in your eyes as you began to see stars again, your nails raking through the uniform jacket with the intent to destroy.

It was over way too fast.

After the height, you crashed too hard, tears overflowing as you realized you couldn't even keep a little bit of your dignity. Soon everyone would know what you were doing with the chief of finances. It wouldn't even be rumors that he was fucking you in his office for money. It would all be true. And what was even worse was Pantalone knowing he had won. He convinced you to play by his rules, obey his commands, and on top of it, made you cum even before himself.

You sobbed as he plowed through your orgasm, heavy breathing that felt like flames licking at you and the feeling of his cock pulsing inside you. Reaching over to grip you by your hair, Pantalone turned your head in front of his, moving forward to kiss you. "N-No!" Already feeling disgusted by yourself, you denied access by averting your face, his orgasm coming and going without him finding refuge and pleasure in a kiss.

When your eyes darted briefly to his face, you expected it to be filled with satisfaction or victorious madness, but instead, he stared at you coldly, bitterly. You hadn't realized this kiss would mean so much, but it seemed like you ruined his orgasm for him, which made you... happy.

Pulling out, you didn't even care that you'd have to clean up the mess he left behind to drip out of you. You sat up slowly, watching as your boss wiped his cock clean before discarding the stained leather gloves, throwing them on top of you. "Get off my desk," he commanded, and you strained your tense back, feeling the pain from being thrown on the wood roughly before. You managed to get down before Pantalone sat in his chair again, rolling back up to his desk with an irritated expression on his face.

"Go and get some wet wipes and clean this disgusting mess you made," Pantalone instructed, and you gulped, clearly hearing his anger through his voice, even though you found the blame unfair. Going around the desk, you picked up your clothes, quickly putting them on again.

"I'd love to send you there naked, you know. You probably enjoyed being seen more than you admitted."

Catching his eyes, you gulped, blurting out something you should have rather kept inside. "Are you really that mad because I didn't kiss you?"

You could feel the anger emanating from him as he stared at you, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fist. "S-Sorry," you muttered quickly, lowering your gaze and hurrying to zip up your overalls (all the way!) before running to the door. You dreaded having to look into the faces in the office space waiting just outside. Still, it was better than staying inside with the mad tyrant of the financial department. You had a feeling you'd not get away unharmed if you dared to test his patience any longer.

However, just as you wanted to turn the knob, a hand slammed into the door next to you. You jerked away but were grabbed by your upper arm and kept in place right beside him.

"I think you forgot who's in charge here. You need me, but you're just a diversion for me—a break from work. There are enough other gullible prisoners dying for a chance at what you have. Never forget I fucking own you. You signed the contract. You're mine to do with whatever I please. Don't you dare ever deny me again."

Pantalone didn't allow you to look into his eyes, but you were glad that he stood behind you so you didn't have to face him as he spat these words into your ear. Gulping, you nodded, his grip tightening around your arm for a moment before he let go, taking a step back.

"Kiss me," he said, voice as monotone as it sounded dangerous. It was his way of proving you really understood what he just said and your position. What you meant to him. That you were caving and submitting to him, or you knew he'd make your life miserable. It made you want to cry again, pathetic and captured in his scheme as you were, but you choked back the tears, turning around and stepping up to him.

Reaching up, you cupped his cheeks with shaky hands. Your gut revolted at even the thought of having to kiss this man, but you took a quick breath, calming yourself. It was just a kiss. What could go wrong? You already rode his dick and let him make you cum harder than anyone ever before, you shouldn't feel this ashamed with simple and insignificant affection in comparison.

And yet, watching his features soften as he leaned down, you were horrified to see the affection in his gaze just before your lips united. You wanted to end it quickly, but his arms wrapped around your midriff, pulling you close, unwilling to let go as he licked over your lips, slipping inside as you gasped. Pantalone didn't let you back away, involving you in a deep kiss, no matter how much you clawed your fingers into his arms, kissing you again and again until you were gasping for air.

But only when he was satisfied with tasting you did he finally let go, pushing you from him as if it meant nothing to him, turning and walking back to his desk. "The wipes?" he asked goadingly, patting the wood, discarding you just like that, high and dry.

"Of course..." you mumbled, confused about the sudden change in his wants. Just now, he had been angry about you not kissing him, and now he wanted nothing from you all of a sudden?

"Of course what?"

"Of course, Sir!" you corrected yourself, hurrying to leave the room, even with the horrified faces awaiting you on the other side.

Leaving behind one smug Pantalone, watching his toy running off to get the supplies so they could clean the desk before he'd make them dirty it once again. Over and over until your mind would be so broken, you'd not know anything other than the pleasure of his cock. Touching his fingers to his lips, he could still feel your plump softness caressing them, your taste lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Next time, you'd kiss him as he claimed you. And if his workday wasn't long enough, Pantalone was sure he could find a reason to take you home with him so you could warm his cock all night long. There was still so much he wanted to see—mostly you choking on his cock, crying, and begging him to make you cum. You were the best candidate he had in a while, and there was no better stress relief than a desperate little prisoner writhing beneath him. He might not be as patient as to wait days again for you to come around and fulfill all the things he wanted to do to you.

But he would, most definitely, get his fill for what he was paying.

Tag List: [How to get added]

@just-simping-over-genshin | @whatthefuckbabysalad | @tonightwrites

338 notes · View notes

yusuke-of-valla · 9 months ago

Note

Insane thoughts about non-SEES characters

You've brought up Mamoru before but I just think the fact that he ultimately drops out of high school to go work in a factory would raise a lot of question in Minato's head about what he should do in order to take care of the siblings.

The kids Yuko coaches in her Social Link are about Yusuke's age.

Hamuko misses Minato's summer track/kendo/swim meet because she's in Inaba with the volleyball/tennis team.

Maiko is everyone's friend. She can be pen pals with the younger kids after moving away.

You have the really funny opportunity to have Naoto cross paths with Rise while she's in town for the show that ultimately gets canceled due to the Hermit Shadow.

The Temperance Link is shared but the fact that Hamuko can actually make items during it and Minato can't leads me to believe that he just sucks at sewing. Hamuko makes little dolls and purses for the kids.

Bunkichi and Mitsuko give them even more snacks for the rotating cast of children that they keep bringing to the bookstore.

One of the Culture Club options - and the only option in Reload - is Art Club. Keisuke, Minato, and Fuuka can all be in Art Club. (Keisuke does show up as president of the Photography Club in Junpei's link but can be easily replaced.)

Maiko and Bunkichi are both among the people who get lost in Tartarus.

I knew about Maiko and Bunkichi! I remember thinking that's a really cool way to tie your social links into the main plot

Maiko also ends up friends with Ken I think during the Kyoto trip and while the teens are in summer school they have their own little weird adventure.

Wait hold on we can combine these Maiko getting kidnapped happens during the Kyoto trip and the kids+Koromaru stage a potentially ill-advised rescue trip (they're fine)

I love the implication that Minato just sucks at making things. There's probably a gendered analysis to be made about how Hamuko can cook and sew in her social links but Minato can't but in my heart it's just because Minato's cringe (speaking of, Sumire deserves to be the unofficial third memeber of Fuuka's cooking club)

Speaking of unofficial club members I think Yusuke hears that Minato and Fuuka are in the art club and is just fucking vibrating but doesn't say anything because he doesn't want to impose and then Minato invites him along and he is soooo excited to be able to make art with Minato and half the time no one understands what he's saying because he's been devouring art theory textbooks since he could read but he still takes the first thing Minato drew and gave him and keeps it under his pillow for good luck (idk how much of an Art Nerd Keisuke is but I feel like even without Madarame's influence Yusuke talks like an art history grad student at age 8 so he may or may not be able to follow.)

Club trip to the art museum you have never seen a child more excited outside of a candy store

Kasumi and Sumire train with Yuko even though her kids are a little older because they can keep up and Kasumi really wanted to

Naoto and Rise meeting early on would be so funny I think Naoto should do something incredibly embarassing and after Naoto is a complete badass In Persona 4 because he already has a Persona Rise is like "wait didn't you fall into the fountain at Pawlonia Mall two years ago"

I do think Minato and Hamuko being worried about not doing enough to support their siblings is a part of their arc because. You know basically being in charge at age 8 and having a really unstable home life but I have not narrowed down a vibe I like for both of them. I think Minato seeing Mamoru and thinking maybe he's been too happy to be distant and let the others do their own thing would def be interesting though

#Berry blast brigade #I am so insane about this I keep seeing parallels #reading the manga was a mistake now I want to get Portable

22 notes · View notes

gurokichi · 2 months ago

Note

There is no need to apologize, Bon. That wasn't even a late reply! <3 My day was definitely comfy and cozy. My cats were being extra cuddly, too, so doll had 2 great cuddle buddies!

I haven't fully watched any of those suggestions through yet! Doll hasn't even heard of some of those!! I'll definitely be sure to watch DSD and check out the others, Black Butler has been on my 'list to watch' for quite some time, so hopefully, I'll get around to watching it too! Doll truly appreciates all the suggestions^^

Eep! Thank you so much for the compliments! I am both shocked and so happy to learn you've gone through my entire blog <3 I haven't been writing long, probably about a year or two. I only truly saw it as anything I could share a couple months before making my blog! I hope to keep it more of a hobby and a way to express myself, possibly publish some of my writing in the future, but I don't plan to pursue it professionally by any means!

I have many hobbies and Interests,,, recently though I've specifically into,,, Flower pressing, writing, reading, you, my dip pens and fountain pens, my pets, plants, and beading! What are some of your hobbies?

-Your Dolly 🎀

Aaa, okay, if you say so!! I just hate taking so long when I’m online to reply; I don’t wanna leave my doll waiting… I fear that you’ll become bored of me if I take too long (◞‸◟)

Comfy and cozy days are the best!! ALSO, AW, YOU HAVE CATS?? I’m so jealous… cats are adorable. What’re their names?

I’m glad that I was able to give you some suggestions; I was worried that you’d have already watched through most of them… good to hear that isn’t the case! Please let me know your thoughts on my suggestions if you ever watch any of them (＞＜)

You’re welcome, Dolly! You’re very deserving of them. How could I not go through your blog when you’re such an interesting little thing? Ah, I see… well, your writing is wonderful! I can’t wait to see more of it in the future. It’s good to have hobbies that you enjoy. I wish you luck if you ever want to publish some of your writing!

My doll seems very crafty. What do you like reading? Are there any books you’d recommend? I’ll take any recommendations. I’m trying to get back into reading books… it’s kind of overwhelming to have so many options!! You’re also into plants..? Into them as you enjoy gardening, just learning about them, or both? I like gardening. I also like learning about flower meanings, that’s always fun! Do you have a favorite flower, Doll? I’d say mine would have to be bleeding hearts.

I definitely wanna pick up more creative hobbies like you have… not sure which I’d like to do, though. As for my hobbies and interests, I enjoy space, psychology, nature, video games, collecting things that I find cute/interesting, history, writing, and drawing!

#// bon's mail #// doll anon

4 notes · View notes

ryuzakemo128 · 3 months ago

Text

Demons in my head, Angels in my eyes

(Part One) (Part II) Masterlist

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Cello Player/ Visual Artist! You, Female Reader x Chrissy Cunningham

Content Warning: Mental Illness mentioned and embedded into it. Like Depression, Synaesthesia, and PTSD. Suicide Ideation also heavily referenced.

Words: 4717

Summary: You can’t say anything to your mother because all she ever did was “Don’t do that. Do something else.”

Your parents left over the weekend, you didn’t hear them leave out the front door, you slept too heavily to notice much of anything these days. You were determined to make the most of the rest of the weekend before returning to school on Monday morning. At three in the morning, you grabbed your journal, the one that had all your thoughts, feelings and everything in between tucked inside.

To anyone else, it’s a normal journal, to some it’s a diary. For you, it’s part of your soul, your mind, and your body. If someone were to ask for it, it would be like asking to cut off one of your limbs. Severing part of your soul as well as your body.

You wrote in cursive, much like your grandmother did, the Italian script swirling over the pages like whispers of the past. The words bled into the paper, dark and heavy with the weight of your thoughts. It was a therapeutic act, the scratch of the fountain pen on the parchment a lullaby to your restless mind. You detailed your days, the way the light danced across your cello strings as you played, the vibrant colours that filled your vision with every note. It was your escape, a place where you didn't feel so alone.

I don’t think they quite understand how I feel. How alone I am in the middle of the night. While they have friends, and I’m alone in the middle of the night. Crying myself to sleep because they don’t see me. They chose not to. I am alone in my bedroom in the middle of the night, crying my heart out as it burns to ash and cinders. How can I be truly alive if I feel so dead on the inside?

You continued to write into your journal, the sleeves of your black jumper kept rolling down like the waves of the sea and the wind in the air. Your phone rang, “(L/N residence. This is (Y/N) speaking. How can I help you?”

The voice on the other line was unfamiliar, yet it sent a chill down your spine, “Is this (Y/N)?”

“Yeah. Who is this? Where did you get this number?” You were creeped out by this. You were sure that you didn’t share your number with someone outside the people you knew. “If this is a prank call. Please leave me alone. If you are making this into a prank call. I want you to think about your life choices that led you to this point. Then I want you to leave me alone.”

“This isn’t a prank. It’s Eddie. From school?” He spoke slowly, almost nervously. It was clear he didn’t expect you to be up at this hour.

“Right, right, doesn’t answer my question about where you got my number, though. If you could answer that question before we get any further information out of the way. It would be both nice and rather creepy if you didn’t,” you replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of your voice.

Eddie sighed, “Look, I know this is weird. I found it in the yearbook, okay? I just... I couldn’t sleep either. And I remembered seeing you at the music room sometimes, playing the cello. It’s beautiful, by the way. And I just... I don’t know, I guess I wanted to talk to someone who understood. Who’s not going to judge me for being a little messed up at the moment.”

“Right. The D&D guy with the curls, leather jacket and denim vest with that D&D on the back.” You commented. “Same guy that’s been over my place twice and only just managed to get my number.”

“Well, I figured you’d be easier to talk to than the other girls in school. They don’t seem to get the whole...” he trailed off, searching for the right words, “the whole weirdness of the world we’re in.”

“Did you want to come over? You sound pretty out of it.” You went on a limb and asked him.

There was a moment of silence before Eddie spoke again, “Yeah, actually. That would be great. Do you mind if I come over?”

“If I minded, I wouldn't have asked or offered it. Also, I bought more soda on Friday.” You told him.

Eddie took a deep breath, “Alright, cool. I’ll be over in five. Just, uh, don’t let anyone know, okay?”

“Munson. It’s three in the morning. I doubt people are going to be awake at this hour. Also, who am I going to tell outside my black cat Mr. Midnight?” You asked him confused.

“Just don’t tell anyone. Okay?” He sounded desperate.

“You have my word. I will not tell another human soul.” You promised.

“Thanks, I really need this.” He said, the relief evident in his voice.

“I’ll see you when you get here.” You hung up the phone and tucked your journal under your pillow, swiping at the tears that had escaped during your cathartic writing session. You didn’t bother to change out of your pyjamas or even put on shoes. Who was going to see you at this hour? You tiptoed upstairs, avoiding the creaky third step from the top, and unlocked the front door. The chilly autumn air woke you up a bit, sending a shiver down your spine. You stepped aside as Eddie appeared, looking even more dishevelled than usual.

“You look….you look awful this morning. What the hell happened to you? Did you try to win a fight in your sleep or something?” You opened the door, stepping aside to let him inside. “You managed to look worse than I feel. The shower is upstairs if you need it.”

Eddie gave a small, sad smile, stepping into the warmth of your house. His eyes searched yours for a moment before he nodded, “Thanks, I might just do that. It’s been a rough night.”

“I’ll get something for you to change into.” You walked down to your bedroom to get an oversized shirt and a pair of sweatpants from your drawer. You also handed him a monotone-coloured beach towel. Better to be safe than sorry when it comes to covering up after a shower.

When Eddie came down, his hair was wet, and he had your clothes on. They swamped him a bit, but he had a certain charm to him, even when he looked like he’d just got out of a dumpster. He sat down on the couch, looking around nervously. The silence was awkward, so you turned on the TV, playing something random in the background to fill the void.

You handed him a can of soda and sat down beside him, your eyes on the flickering screen but your mind racing. What could have possibly brought him here at this hour? Was he in trouble? Did he need help? The curiosity was eating away at you, but you knew better than to pry. So, you decided to leave him to his own devices while you tied up your bedroom a bit more.

The emerald-green velvet couch on the other side of the television. You grabbed the remote and turned the volume down so that it was a gentle murmur in the background. You sat next to Eddie, the scent of mint and rain from his shampoo filling the surrounding space. He took a sip of the soda, his eyes focused on the TV, but you knew he wasn’t watching.

You gave him a pair of thick black winter socks to keep his feet warm. “The basement stays pretty cold. Even in summer. Better off putting them on, otherwise you’ll get sick from the cold seeping through the concrete floor.”

Eddie nodded, slipping the socks over his feet with a grateful look. He hadn’t said much since he arrived, which was unlike him. Normally, he was a ball of energy, spouting off jokes and stories about his latest D&D campaign. But tonight, he was subdued, his eyes darker than usual. You didn't mind.

The concrete floor covered in faux fur rugs in dark colours kept most of the cold from seeping in. But not all of it. You dragged out your heater in case he needed to use it.

“So, what’s been going on with you?” You finally asked, breaking the silence.

Eddie took a deep breath, his eyes still on the TV, “You remember the party?”

"Which one? It's been a while since I went to one." You answered.

"The one at the beginning of the semester. Where the music room got trashed." He replied, his voice low and tight.

“I remembered seeing the aftermath of it.” you commented as you cleared out most of the garbage from your room. Sorting it in three categories. Recycling, general waste and glass containers. “I never wanted to bleach my eyes more than I did that day. I draw horrific stuff on a daily basis. Also, I doubt it was your fault, it was more likely the fault of someone who didn’t know better or should have known better.”

Eddie nodded, his eyes never leaving the TV, “Yeah, I know. But it’s like...everyone’s looking at me differently now. Like I’m the school’s villain all of a sudden. It’s hard to deal with, you know?”

“Well, one, you’re dating Chrissy Cunningham, Jason’s ex-girlfriend. So, he’s more than likely spreading rumours or something. Secondly, I doubt they’re looking at you that way. If they are, let me know and I’ll fight them.” You replied as you looked around seeing how much you have done already.

Eddie looked at you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, “You’d do that for me?”

“Is the moon round? Is the sun white? Is the grass really greener on the other side?” You answered in a way that said. ‘No shit sherlock. Of course I would.’

Eddie looked at you cleaning your room up for him to longue around comfortably. It was a sight he wasn’t used to seeing. Normally, people avoided him, or at least didn’t go out of their way to make him feel comfortable. “Why are you doing all this?” He asked, his voice small and tired.

“I am treating you how I would want to be treated in return.” You answered. “I am depressed. I have a lot of shitty things, parents included, and do you know what? I’m still going to pamper you. So, sit there and let it happen.”

Eddie’s eyes searched yours, looking for any signs of deceit, but all he found was sincerity. He leaned back into the couch, watching as you worked tirelessly to organise the surrounding space. It was a strange feeling, to be cared for so deeply by someone who was practically a stranger. The small noises you made cleaning up, the way your eyes squinted in concentration as you sorted through the mess, it was all so...comforting.

Then your cat wandered in from his cat perch and fell asleep in the cat bed above the television. It was one of those nights where the silence was the only companion you had outside of the TV static. Eddie leaned back, the socks you gave him had helped. He could feel the warmth seeping into his bones. “You don't have to do all this for me, you know.”

“What does that have anything to do with wanting to pamper you?” You asked confused. “Don’t mind Mr. Midnight. He’ll watch you from his cat bed. He’s a people watcher.”

Eddie chuckled slightly, watching the cat sleep. “It’s just...no one’s ever done this for me before. And you don’t even know why I’m here.”

“True. You could stab me to death and hide my body in my mattress.” You shrugged. “Though, I don’t think its nice to demand things from people who are clearly distressed about something. Learned that lesson the hard way.”

Eddie looked up at you, his eyes searching your face for any hint of malice. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

You frowned at his question, “Did you expect me to let you in and just be mean to you? What kind of person did you think I am?”

Eddie’s gaze dropped to his hands, which were picking at the label of the soda can. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just not used to people being...just nice without expecting anything in return. My life isn’t exactly full of rainbows and unicorns, you know?”

“I didn’t think you like unicorns or rainbows. I didn’t think you’d be the type to wear bright colours.” You said. “Though. I hate to say this. Neither is mine. My parents left to get my mother’s inheritance a few hours ago. They said they would be gone for a week or two. But I have feeling it’s going to be two or three. They’re never in a rush to get back from wherever they are.”

“Wow. That sucks. But you seem to handle it pretty well.” Eddie said, his eyes still on his hands.

“I keep myself busy. If I don’t, I usually take it out on myself. Which, according to my therapist, is not healthy.” You said, tossing a pillow into the pile of clean laundry you had made.

Eddie nodded slowly, his eyes following your movements. You could see the gears turning in his head, trying to process your words. “So, what do you do to keep busy?”

“You know, I play the cello, I do realistic cosmic, contemporary body horror pictures. I do pottery to sell." You said from the top your head.

Eddie's eyes snapped to yours, "Body horror?" He said with a raised eyebrow.

You pointed to your walls, which were covered body horror that looked like it moved if you stared at it too long. You painted your roof to look like the stars at night, placing glow in the dark stars on a few of the painted stars to make them stand out.

Eddie’s eyes widened as he took in the artwork. “You did all of these?”

“Yeah. I painted the walls before I was moved down here to have more space than my parents could give me upstairs. Though I have a feeling it was more to do with the fact that it was to lock me down here sometimes.” You answered.

“Your parents lock you down here?” Eddie’s eyebrows shot up, surprise etched on his face.

“Sometimes.” You answered.

Eddie looked around the room with new eyes, taking in the artwork that adorned the walls. The cobwebs of paint stretching out from the edges of the canvas looked like they were reaching out to him, the figures within twisted and contorted in a way that was eerily beautiful. He knew the feeling of trying to escape something, the way the subjects of your art seemed to be trying to break free of their two-dimensional prisons.

A month later the demon in the back of your skull whispered, ‘They don’t want you. They would be better off had you died in your sleep.’

Sometimes you want to give in to those thoughts and end it all. Sometimes you feel like you believe the demon inside your head. You would if you were alone all the time, wouldn’t you?

You can’t say anything to your mother because all she ever did was “Don’t do that. Do something else.”

She never told you what that something else should be. Like she expected you to just know what you were supposed to do or read her mind somehow. When they returned it was like things got worse than had already. The house cleaner than it was without them, than it was whenever they were there in person. They didn’t even acknowledge your existence unless you were playing your cello. It was like the only time you weren’t invisible to them was when you were playing that damn instrument.

One afternoon you were about to head out to practice to avoid another physical altercation with your father. The cello case in your hand was a shield from his criticism and a ticket to the sanctuary of the music room. You were about to leave when your father pulled you by the hair and slammed you against the wall, his hand over your mouth to muffle your screams. The force was so strong that you felt your teeth rattle in your skull.

Hot tears went down your cheeks, as he whispered harshly into your ear, “You are fucking useless unless you are playing that stupid thing.” You felt the rage build up inside of you, but you had to keep it down. If you didn't, it would only make things worse. You nodded, your eyes squeezed shut tightly, trying to hold in the pain and fear.

You hoped it would stop, yet it continued, his grip on your hair tightened more than it had in months. Your father decided that wasn't enough, it wasn't enough for him to 'satisfy' his need to control you. So, he grabbed the cello case from your hands and smashed it onto the ground, the sound echoing through the hallway like a gunshot. The strings snapped and the wood splintered, your heart shattering along with it.

The tears fell freely now, and you couldn't hold in the whimpers that escaped your lips. Your father looked at the wreckage of your cello, his eyes filled with a twisted satisfaction. He released his grip, and you slumped to the floor, the pieces of your shattered world scattered around you. The cello was more than just an instrument; it was your voice, your escape, your reason to keep going. Now it lays in ruins, and you trudged off to see if was worth fixing or if you had to save up for a replacement again.

Eddie found you at Lover's Lake, the broken cello still with you, your eyes glazed over with a mix of anger and sadness. You had called him, your voice shaking as you spoke through the sobs, “My cello… it's gone. He….he broke it. He said I'm useless. He took it from me. He took it.” You pointed to the ruin that was your black cello, the strings snapped, and the wood cracked in half from where your father threw it onto the ground.

Eddie's eyes filled with a rage that was new to him, a rage he hadn’t felt before, a fiery determination burning inside his chest. He couldn’t do much for you now. What he wanted to do for you is both illegal and cold-blooded murder. Your father was a monster, and you were the one paying the price for his twisted sense of reality. He knew that wasn’t what you needed from him right now.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly as you wept into his shirt. “It's okay,” he murmured, “It's okay. I'm here.”

A week after that, while you waited for your new black cello, your hands were idle too idle for your own liking, and you felt like you were losing your mind. You paid for the replacement out of your emergency cash funds. The money you had been saving for college. You didn't tell anyone at school about it, not even Eddie. You didn’t want to burden him with your personal hell.

You stayed in the library during lunch from now on, studying medical journals to improve your body horror to add more grotesque details like veins bulging, flesh tearing apart, and the look of bones cracking, because that’s what you thought would make you happy. It didn’t, but it kept the demon at bay for a while. Feasting on the knowledge of the most grotesque parts of your imagination, a banquet fit for a legion of demons flooding in like a river of blood.

You continued to improve your art the more medical journals you read, but the emptiness grew within you. The music that had once filled your soul was now a silent echo, a painful reminder of what you had lost. Each night you stared at the wall, your thoughts racing faster than your heart could beat. You could almost hear the symphony of your cello playing in your mind, but it was muffled by the sobs that you tried so hard to hide from the world.

“I’m going to go into Forensics Pathology.” You said in a tone devoid of emotion to Eddie and Chrissy. Answering the question of what you were going to do after high school. “My dad does it. My grandfather did it too. Generational thing. Yeah. Munson, I told you weren’t a freak. You don’t have a family like mine. You’re far more normal.”

Chrissy looked at you with wide eyes, her grip on Eddie’s arm tightening. “That’s intense. But it sounds like it’s in your blood, you know?” She tried to sound positive, but the horror was clear in her voice.

“You’re scared of me. I understand.” You noticed. You always noticed. You attempted to head to the library when the bell rang, but your books felt too heavy to hold with trembling hands. You didn’t bother to explain why you weren’t going to the cafeteria anymore. You didn’t bother to explain why you stopped playing the cello. They wouldn’t get it anyway. They wouldn’t care in the ways that you cared.

'Oggi in figura, domani in sepoltura.' embroidered with gold and purple thread into your dark blue denim jacket, each letter painstakingly done in cursive and with a skull at the bottom of it. Though you added an embroidered skull every week as a tally to count the weeks you were still alive. It was a morbid way to count the days, but it kept you going. It was a reminder that you had survived another week, another day, another hour.

You stitched that into your jacket, feeling the thread poke your skin every time you pushed the needle through. It was a comforting pain, something that grounded you when everything else felt like it was falling apart. Eddie found you in the library stitching in another skull into the back of your jacket.

Just as you were listening to a cassette tape of your second cousin, Joseph, singing Ave Maria, the same cousin that had taken his own life at the age of 27. The irony wasn’t lost on you, but the melody was hauntingly beautiful. It was the second funeral you went to, the first being your grandmother's.

The bell in the distance rang, indicating the end of lunch. The hallways would soon be flooded with students rushing to their next class. You hadn’t eaten anything, but you weren’t hungry. Not really. You hadn’t been hungry for a while.

Eddie sat beside you, his eyes following your trembling hands as they worked the needle through the fabric. He didn’t say anything at first, just took in the sight of you, the pain in your eyes, and the stark reality of the phrase etched into your jacket. Finally, he spoke up, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“What’s that mean?” He pointed at the Italian words.

"Today in person, tomorrow in a grave." You answered finishing off the skull on your jacket.

Eddie looked at you with a mix of shock and concern. "That's... intense."

"It's about death. It's not supposed to be intense." you remarked putting your jacket back on.

Eddie nodded, looking at the new skull you had just finished sewing. "Why do you do that?"

"It's a week tally for along I've been alive." you answered dryly.

Eddie's eyes searched yours, looking for any signs of a joke, but all he found was a sad truth. "Why do you need to keep track like that?"

"My cello is broken, my hands are idle and if I don't do something I just might kill myself. So please save your honeyed words of encouragement for your cheer squad captain and girlfriend." you snapped. "Just do me a favour and continue to pretend that I don't exist."

You were tempted to ask someone out just to spite him. Just to prove that you weren’t as broken as he thought you were. But the truth was, you weren’t sure if you were or weren’t. The whispers grew louder every day, and it was getting harder to ignore them.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. You threw yourself into your music, the cello becoming your voice when words failed you. You had gotten a job at the local music store, teaching kids and repairing instruments. The cobwebs of the garage had long been swept away, replaced by the sweet smell of fresh paint and the sound of your cello echoing through the night.

You finally got a date with someone. Eddie found out you were going to go out with someone. The quote painted on your truck, 'Chi vive sperando -- muore cantando.' meaning 'He who lives with hope dies singing.'

Eddie found out through the town's grapevine, a network of whispers that seemed to stretch from the arcade to the very edges of Hawkins. His eyes narrowed when he saw the fresh coat of paint on your truck, the Italian script standing out starkly against the fresh blue. With the English translation underneath it. It was a clear declaration of your newfound resilience, a silent rejection of his own dark musings. He felt a pang of something akin to jealousy, though it was quickly doused by the cold realisation that you were moving on without him.

Eddie thought, 'I'm dating Chrissy, why do I feel jealous? She's just a girl from school, someone I've talked to a few times, but nothing more.' He shrugged it off, trying to convince himself that his feelings were trivial. But as the days grew closer to your date, he couldn't help but feel a sense of loss, like watching a favorite show come to an end without the satisfaction of a proper finale.

You had no idea of Eddie's turmoil. You were too busy preparing for your night out, choosing an outfit that didn't scream 'desperate' and practicing your smile in the mirror. The cello had become your sanctuary, a place where the outside world couldn't touch you, but now you were ready to step out of it, if only for a few hours. The date went well, filled with laughter and easy conversation. You felt alive in a way you hadn't in a long time, the kind of alive that didn't need the cello's strings to resonate with your soul.

As you returned home, the truck's headlights cutting through the night, you saw Eddie leaning against a lamppost, his silhouette cast in a pool of amber light. He looked up as you approached, his eyes meeting yours in the rearview mirror. For a moment, you felt a twinge of something, a whisper of regret maybe, but you pushed it aside. You had made your choice, and you weren't going to let his shadow fall over your newfound happiness.

"Hey," he called out as you parked the truck. You took a deep breath and stepped out, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the warmth of the date. "How was it?" His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it that you couldn't quite place.

"It went better than I thought." you commented unlocking the front door.

Eddie took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. "Really? That's great." His tone was forced, his smile tight. "Who's the lucky guy?"

You felt a rush of annoyance at his sudden interest. "It's none of your business, Eddie," you said firmly, your hand on the door handle to head inside for the night.

4 notes · View notes

andithewhumper · 1 year ago

Text

Hannah (2)

Wow, finally an update! I've been sitting on this for a while and even though I'm still not happy with it, here it is. I am excited to be able to introduce all of my ocs.

Masterlist - Prev

Content: Vampire thralls, vampire carewhumper, past referenced abuse, human whumpee, nonbinary whumpee

The sound of the clock was loud in Quinn’s ears. The waiting was destroying them and they had to fight not to fidget with more than their hands. Their new Master was sitting with her back away from them, writing something with a fountain pen. The room was much like the rest of the house, scarily fancy. Quinn hoped that they wouldn’t need to touch anything. It all looked so expensive. Their old Master was fancy, sure, but Quinn never saw much more than his basement where they were kept.

It had been quite a shock to come to this huge house, bustling with activity. Quinn had already seen six vampires, including the ones that brought them here, and several more humans walking around, all seeming too busy to spare them a second glance. Thankfully, out of all the vampires they had seen, Master’s friend had not been one of them. Everytime Quinn was around him, they were tied up. In fact, they were restrained for a lot of the time with their old Master; not that it was needed. They were always weak from lack of blood, it was weird now that they didn’t have that same lightheaded feeling. Quinn knew they would have to savor the strength for as long as they could. When their new Master chose to feed from them the feeling would come back and they would be as weak as ever again.

They stared at the ground, finally getting the shaking under control. They forced themself into a posture they thought would be proper for a family this fancy. Their old Master never cared how they presented themself as long as their neck was easily accessible, but Quinn suspected now would be different and they didn’t want their Master thinking they were as useless as they really were.

When they heard Master turn around they froze their fidgeting and tried not to move too much. They knew the vampire could hear their heartbeat so they tried to calm their breathing, not quite sure it was working.

“So you were Joshua’s thrall, huh?” the vampire asked. Quinn swallowed hard and nodded, then remembered they had been told to respond verbally.

“Y-yes, Master.”

“You should be grateful, he was going to give you to Edward. That bastard goes through thralls like they are testing mice.” Their Master’s voice was filled with irritation.

“I-I am grateful, Master. Th-thank you for taking me. I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you.” Quinn kept their eyes on the ground. Their voice was quiet and respectful, but it still shook to their dismay. Their new Master must be so disappointed that she had to take such a useless thrall.

“Look at me when you speak, thrall,” their Master ordered. Quinn’s eyes shot up immediately. They were ashamed that they had done yet another thing wrong.

“I’m sorry, Master,” they forced out. Their Master didn’t look disappointed, though. In fact, she nodded in approval.

“Good. Now what is your name, thrall.”

“It’s Quinn, Master.” They wondered why their new Master cared about their name. Their old Master just referred to them as ‘human’ or ‘thrall’ and so had the vampire in the office.

“Good, Quinn. Like I am sure you heard when I was speaking to my father, I do not need you for blood, but I will drink from you. I also will make use of you in my lab from time to time. Do you have education, Quinn?”

They expected it, but hearing that they would be used in the lab was terrifying. Quinn’s eyes flicked around the room before landing back on their Master.

“I-I went to school until I was taken by my past master four years ago, Master.”

The vampire nodded. “Then you will learn. I’ll start you out with something simple, but once you learn how to use the machines I’ll get you to do something more complicated. My father, annoyingly, is correct that I could use some help in the lab, though I have little use for a human test subject.” Quinn listened to Master’s musing with relief. They were more than willing to do whatever task was asked of them, especially if that meant they wouldn’t have to be a subject.

Quinn wondered what Master was testing. They thought it was rare for women to be scientists, but they supposed, maybe Europeans did it differently. Master had a strange drag to her voice that Quinn couldn’t place, but they were sure it wasn’t American.

Master stood and stepped closer to Quinn.

“Now if I am going to deal with you, I will put you to good use. Stand up.” Her voice was smooth with authority and Quinn stood immediately. They felt strange, standing so close to their Master and they had to resist the instinct to kneel. Their old master would have struck them down if they ever dared to stand in his presence.

“Now follow me quietly,” she ordered before turning away and walking out the door.

---

Kairos was surprised by the thrall. They seemed to be very well behaved, though scared. She knew she shouldn’t be too surprised by that, of course. She knew that Joshua was severe to his thralls. Such cruelty quickly stamped out any resistance from humans. Their posture was atrocious for a thrall of the Orfeo household, but that could be remedied. Kairos couldn’t help feeling annoyed that she would have to be the one to teach them. Kairos learned very early in her death that it was in her best interest to stray as far away from the thralls as possible. They were all snitches and functioned only as extra eyes for her father. This thrall would be no such thing and Kairos found herself smirking at the thought that her father would not be able to squeeze any information out of the thrall that he gifted her himself.

Quinn followed dutifully behind her. They trailed back a few steps and kept their eyes on the floor. Kairos strode quickly through the hallways, not caring if the thrall struggled to keep up with her. She held her head high and other thralls bowed and stepped aside when she passed. She was almost to her lab when she ran into her younger sister, Hannah.

“Oh, Kairos. I apologize. I didn’t see you.” Hannah’s voice was calm, but strong. Out of all three of her sisters, Kairos liked Hannah the most. It was in part because she knew Hannah the least. Hannah was turned only a decade before Kairos moved away from her father’s household. She was a dark skinned Romani woman with striking golden eyes, though whether they looked like that before she had died, Kairos was unsure. She was kind and while her two other sisters would poke Kairos with sharp, barbed words, Hannah was more gentle. Kairos wasn’t sure if it was because she genuinely liked her or that she was just too polite to act otherwise.

“No worries, I’m just showing my new thrall to my lab.” Hannah’s eyes twinkled a bit at her sister’s words and she peered behind her to look at the thrall that had retreaded behind Kairos in a way that made her feel a bit possessive. She was glad that the thrall sought her for safety, however unconscious the action was.

“Well they look gorgeous, Kairos. What made you take a thrall?” Hannah turned her attention back to her sister and Kairos could feel the human relax infinitesimally behind her.

“Father didn’t want to reward Edward by giving him a thrall. This one came from that friend of his, Joshua.”

Hannah made a face of disgust before nodding.

“Well I agree with his judgment. Edward certainly needs no more encouragement to surround himself with those sorts of people.” Hannah smiled with a nod before slipping past her. Kairos glanced back at her thrall who looked nervous but not too overwhelmed.

“Come now, we have things to do.”

Taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpycries @a-formless-entity

Lmk if you want to be added. :)

#kairos #quinn #vampire whumper #human whumpee #carewhumper #vampire carewhumper #whump #hannah orfeo

8 notes · View notes

sea-moon-star · 1 year ago

Text

Tu Me Manques || KTH

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x f.reader

Genre: Fluff, Boyfriend!Tae, Penpal!Tae

WC: 1.8k

Summary: Inspired by Layover's aesthetic, just Tae being a long distance boyfriend with 90's heartthrob vibes.

A/N- As a Tae bias, Paris screams Tae & the Pop/W/Arena photoshoot deserved a fic! 🌊🌙⭐️

---------------------------------------------

I've never been to France, I've only ever lived in the little seaport of Pohang in Gyeongsang, South Korea. Yet, I'd grown up watching all those movies depicting the beauty of Paris, listening to Lolo Zoui, Carla Bruni, Angèle, Pomme, Louane, Stromae and more. I'd begun to learn French from apps on my tiny phone screen and baked Ratatouille, all in bids to make my Parisian dream come true. But I knew given my financial situation, I'd never be able to make it true. The closest I'd ever come to it was the descriptions sent by my pen pal writing to me from Versailles. When I'd signed up for the pen pal program back in school, I'd never imagined my luck that I'd be patched with someone in my dream country. Kim Taehyung and I had been writing to each other since a decade now, from the early 2000's till now. He was a Korean descent boy who's family had moved to France while he was still a kid. He wanted to stay in touch with his Korean roots and I wanted to vicariously live in France. It worked out just perfectly, especially as we grew up and switched between both languages, our letters getting longer, photos getting added to our notes, hand pressed flowers being sent inside envelopes, souveniers being exchanged across the miles. But nothing prepared us 90's babies for the technological revolution and what that would bring. I wasn't prepared to hear his deep and dusky voice especially in contrast to his boyish charm and soft demeanor on paper. It caught me off guard as did his photo, him sending me a cheeky picture where he's trying to eat a chocolate minitature Eiffel tour. Even though he knows I love chocolate and that was what should've caught my attention, I was far too distracted by him in his leather jacket and jet black tresses.

I told myself it couldn't be true, it just couldn't be possible. I mean we'd never met!! How could I be attracted to someone that I didn't even know irl, who knew what kind of a man he really was? There was only so much letters, photos & calls could reveal. Besides we were continents away with neither planning to cross the sea between us. I just told myself that I was projecting my love for France onto him, it was just me romantizing everything to make it fit like a neatly tied gift. But this want a fairytale, it was reality and Tae and I were simply not happening.

But fate had other plans, I saw all of France through his eyes. Starting with the Palace of Versailles, which was the first place he'd video called me from- he'd made up his mind to travel the country while letting me experience it through his footsteps. He'd keep his camera on, give his commentary and share every moment of his adventures with me. And so one day, when we'd run out of new places to visit, I asked him to take me to a place that reminded him most of me. Something that he thought would resonate with me, somewhere he'd take me first if I was actually able to visit there. And I wasn't ready for what he had in mind. I imagined he'd pick one of the more obvious spots like the Louvre where we'd bonded over Monet's art work all day or the vineyards of Champagne where we'd been on call all through the night. But instead he went to the Place du Trocadéro, as the sun set behind him and the stars sprinkled across the sky. This elevated and open green space nestled behind the Eiffel tower was a less visited but still tourist friendly location. With its dancers and musicians, street food carts and fountains- it's alive and the magic of Paris is visible at its best. "I chose this place because it's so alive, you can feel the excitement and passion in the air. It reminds me of you- with your bubbly energy and buzzing enthusiasm. It's filled with songs by favorite artists, the chocolate crêpes here have your name written all over them and everytime I watch couples on a date here, families taking pictures in the light of the tower, tourists videocalling their loved ones. I just knew, I had to show this place to you, not just on camera but in reality. I promise you, someday I'll find a way to get you here. I've never seen anyone treasure this place the way you do, the locals here think it's a tourist trap and sometimes I do too. But everytime I show you around, the stars in your eyes and the small O's of your mouth remind me of the beauty that surrounds me. You're beautiful... I mean it's beautiful. Isn't it?"

And in that moment as he bit his lip realizing his mistake, that he accidentally called me pretty instead of the scenery. I couldn't help but come to a huge realisation myself. I wasn't looking at the scenery any longer, I was looking at him. Him in his cozy and furry sweater that I wanted to cling onto, him with his shoes half worn knowing that he hated wearing footwear even when he knew he'd be walking all day, him with his large fingers easily gripping the phone even as he was being pushed through the crowd, him with his nervous laughter as his tipsy self slipped secrets he otherwise wouldn't share. What mattered to me wasn't the shine that shone behind him but the sparkle in his eyes. Even though France was and would always be my first love, I had fallen in love once again. And this time, I could tell it was stronger than before because even though I was visiting the most gorgeous place in sight, as he'd rightly described- I was consumed by him. I was in love not with the city of romance but with the man who'd introduced me to it.

"Tu me manques." I told him, knowing that he'd know what I meant. French was known as Aphrodite's chosen language for a reason. It was so much more than just me saying, I miss you like what the words translated to English or Korean meant. It was me telling him that "he was missing from me, that he was a part of my body, something that was integral to my existence, like the only way I'd be whole was if he was here next to me." And that's why this one phrase was more powerful than any amount of I love yous said in any other tongue and I knew he understood that. Because in that moment, I could see his eyes tear up as his boxy smile graced his face and he leaned forward to press his lips against the phone screen. Sending me a kiss, across the world as the winds in the sky and the glowing moon above us, passed on his love to me.

THE END. 🌊🌙⭐️

#layover #pop #90s aesthetic #long distance relationship #boyfriend taehyung #yeontan #penpal #thv #taehyung #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fanfiction #bts v #slow dancing #rainy day #blue #love me again #for us

11 notes · View notes

white-collar-cannibal · 9 months ago

Text

um. here's a snippet from an incomprehensible version of the tlt au. i may elaborate but don't bet on it. tlt!gl!ranboo pov. cw: discussion of gore and gun violence

You knew who the figure was the first moment you say them move, despite the layers of combat surplus it wore, despite the thick glasses and the blue pleated mask and the shadowy hood that all obscured any inch of the face from sight. You would have known the figure if it had been ten thousand years.

You reached out, very gingerly, like a lord extending a hand to be kissed. The figure drew a long, thin fountain pen from a hidden jacket pocket, and jammed the point into the middle of your hand, into the arch of artery that you forgot the name of. You managed to swallow most of the wounded noise your mouth wanted to produce, but your shoulder and elbow tensed, twitching the hand and tearing the wound minutely. The pen withdrew, and blood welled out in thick drops before the skin of the hand smoothed over, in perfect anatomical form. The figure wrote a thick swatch on a notepad, removed a glove and pressed the corpse-pallored thumb of a willowy hand to it, and was still.

“Aw, what the fuck.”

Each of the people around you stirred upon hearing the familiar voice of Charlie, née Septem-Sextae, your brother who had never been your brother, a man who had the stolen face of another of their missing-presumed-dead friends.

You crumpled to your knees, bowed your head, letting long black-and-brown hair fall about your face, and said, like a penitent, “In the hope of forgiveness for the death of your cavalier, I offer you my life and my service in perpetuity.”

What a joke. His cavalier wasn’t dead at all, you knew that too well. His cavalier writhed in your chest every night, when you slept and did not dream. His cavalier had wormed his way into the crevices of your brain and your senses, had muddied your memory and your thoughts. His cavalier was right in front of him, and he couldn’t even see it.

No one spoke at first, but then they all yelped, and you felt something press against the back of your head, and heard the fat click of the safety of a polite little short-recoil pistol, poised to turn the medulla of your brainstem into fatty, useless mush.

A voice, thickly Edenite, said “Don’t flatter yourself, zombie. Stay down,” and then, faintly, just to you, “What happened to your eyes?”

You could have done anything. You could have exploded the bone chips embedded in your terrible novelty jacket outwards into a revelation of shrapnel, could have poured out thanergy in gouts and calcified the tendons of your assailant so they could never hope to pull the trigger, could have bought yourself enough time to draw out an entropic field spell big enough to turn the whole room to ash. Instead, you stood very still, and your mouth said, “Good to see you too, Niki.”

3 notes · View notes

constantinemaddeswife · 1 year ago

Text

this is an open letter. Of sorts.

I wish I'd had the foresight to die with some thick fancy paper and an even fancier fountain pen on my person. It would feel more satisfactory, I think. More official.

But, well. Let us not start talking about foresight and regret. Otherwise we would be here for an eternity. I died with my phone, meaning I can still blog, and I can still write my letter.

Joseph. Father.

...Dad.

I don't know how to feel about you. I don't know how to feel about myself.

I only started using she/her pronouns because you have always hated women. It was spite. But now.....I really like it. It feels like....me. Of course I understand that our mission is the most important thing, that our future depends on Constantine's ascent. And I don't mind being a tool for this movement - it is an honor to be able to serve our cause in such a significant way. Until the last breath I took I knew that I'd been important. To our cause. To what it would mean to be able to bring the dead back to life. I thought I'd been important to you, too. I hadn't even been fully aware of that last one until you forced me to doubt it.

I don't like seeing you cry, dad. I know you tried to hide it, but I could hear you sniffling and howling and sobbing like a pathetic little pony when you thought I was already asleep. When you cried in the same way over my corpse - when I became the reason for your suffering. I just wanted to climb on your back like I used to and tickle that one spot behind your left ear until you started laughing again. I just... I just wanted you to be happy. Like you'd been before Constantine died. Before that hole inside your soul I could never fill no matter how much I tried.

But then you stopped.

You stopped. And you bowed before Call, a boy who had no memories of his past life, as I had already told you. You bowed before him and you thanked him and you looked at him with the love and adoration only reserved for Constantine's corpse.

You bowed in front of a stranger mere minutes after he killed your kid. After he killed....me.

I always knew I was never as important as the cause. Couldn't even dream of being as important as Constantine. Call. Whatever. I thought I knew it. But it still hurt. It still felt like a betrayal.

And then you go and build a shrine. For me. Iaskfiuahehrjfud

WAIT WTF ARE THEY DOING TO THW MAUSOLEUM

WAIT ARE THEY ACTUALLY

OMG

THE FUCKING. THE FUCKING FORTITUDE AGAINST DEATH?!?! THE BUILDING THAT STANDS FOR EVERYTHING WE ARE FIGHTING FOR?!?!?!?!?!

WAIT IS CALL ACTUALLY

OH MY GOD

CONSTANTINES HEAD?!?! ALDKFUSJRKFIFUAUKEFOUAJFJFBDJSJF WTF WTF WTF

#magisterium #the copper gauntlet

12 notes · View notes

anniezsecretz · 11 months ago

Text

Replacement ★ (Ch 3) OC x Simon "Ghost" Riley

HELLO! I AM BACK! :D I had to take a short break due to school, but I have chapter 3 hot and ready for y'all! I'm SO sorry I disappeared, but I should be staying. :) thank you for reading as always!

you can find this chapter of replacement on ao3 here first chapter ★ prev ★ next

★★★★★★★★★

chapter tags:// anxiety, older brother price, captain OC, OC x Simon “Ghost” Riley, light trauma mentions, emotional support pup, OOC Ghost (for a reason), spiteful Ghost, enemies to lovers (enemies), vague mentions of death, canon deviation, angst/comfort, alcohol mentions, drunk squad, bonding

★★★★★★★★★

bite-sized synopsis: trick is finally starting to feel like part of the squad after a mission success and goes out to celebrate

・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・ A knock on my office door, and I invited whoever was there in with a, “Get your butt in here if you wanna talk.” I was busy filling out some of the mountain of paperwork we were given after our missions every time. But hell, it seems like these documents are double what I’d have to fill out with my old squad. Well, John and I decided to just call them the 1-4-2 instead of my old squad. It fits in more than I thought it would.

But I had an unexpected visitor at my door: Gaz, with Soap and Roach at my door frame. “Hey Trick! The mission went well soooo…” he drew that out like he expected me to know. Instead, I gave him a blank stare from behind my slightly tinted goggles with a shrug.

He huffed. “We’re heading to a pub to celebrate, all of us. Even Price. We also have a spare seat ‘n were wondering if you’d wanna come with?” Gaz’s invitation was unexpected, and I felt myself practically light up. Light up into a million fireworks that go off in my office like the Fourth of July, probably burning everything around me.

I bit my bottom lip underneath my mask, a bad habit of mine to help me think. “Y’know what? Sure. I can see if y’all can handle yer alcohol like I can,” I said with a slight muse in my voice. “I’ll be there in 5, lemme do these papers real quick. Parking lot?”

Gaz gave me a thumbs up with that smile of his before dragging the boys with him away. I could hear Soap’s excitement about going to a pub and Roach’s small question about it. A laugh escaped my mouth while I moved my fountain pen on the papers I was signing, being very careful with my writing.

I haven’t done these kinds of papers in so long. Usually, I’d be working on them with my 1-4-2 officer— who was surprisingly not Xiomara but instead Jackson, Callsign Falcon.

Jackson would critique me for my messy writing and leave me laughing about it, then letting him rewrite it in nice legible cursive. He was my most trusted officer; he’s saved my life a few times too. He and I were both heartbroken by Xiomara’s… loss. The entire squad was, we all wanted to pack up and run away.

I heard he’s still on recovery leave. That’s what John had told me, at least.

Speaking of the devil, John’s knuckles wrapped on my office door frame and invited himself in, standing in front of my desk with a light smile overshadowed by his mustache. “You ready, Ver?” He asked in his usual father-like voice, but I think that’s just the oldness in him really showing at this point.

“Mm. Yeah, I think I’m ready. I got a good chunk down; I’ll get the rest done later in the evening.” I stood up and went around my desk to John. But I felt compelled to do something. I just stood in front of him awkwardly, looking right up at him with my hands awkwardly down at my sides. I lifted up my goggles on top of my hat to look at him properly.

I wrapped my arms around John and hugged him. Shit, I could barely wrap my arms around him but I managed to still, barely. He stood in shock momentarily before hugging me back and gently patting me on the back. “I’m proud o’ you, Ver. You’ve been through so much, ‘n here you are. As strong as a boulder, eh?”

The words coming from his mouth made me tear up. Fuck.

I have been told “you’ve been through so much” as a pitying phrase. As a “oh you poor thing” phrase. But never in the way John told me, he told me he was proud of me. And not even my own brothers would say that they’re proud of me. They’d say I’m just getting the short end and eventually, it’ll get better, but John is acknowledging more than just the past. He’s acknowledging my strength.

I’ve never squeezed someone harder while he pats my back. “Thanks, John. You know how to tug heartstrings.” I pulled away from the hug and crossed my arms, straightening my back again. “Now let’s go ‘n shotgun some coldies; maybe I’ll make you take a shoey from Soap’s boot.” I gently nudged him with an elbow while wiping my cheeks of my tears with my other hand.

“Yeah, let’s go ‘n get shitfaced,” he joked as he gave me a pat on my shoulder and led me out to the parking lot. Everybody was there before us and about to pile into John’s truck before I noticed that I… wouldn’t be able to fit in.

John caught on soon after me and started counting everyone, then the seats. “Okay! We need volunteers on who’s gonna go in the truck bed.”

“What?” I nearly broke my neck when turning to look at John. “What the fuck do you mean by goin’ in the truck bed? It’s bad if all of us are piss drunk ‘xcept one, but worse if we have someone in the bed o’ the truck vomiting all over themselves.” I shook my head a bit while considering what we can do.

“We can put Trick in the front, then have Roach share a seat with Gaz.” Ghost hasn’t spoken to me much since the fight he had with Price over me during training, even if we sleep in the same room together. He always sneaks in after he thinks I’m asleep.

Price nods with a grunt of agreement. “Well, everybody pile in. We don’t have all night.” I could feel the stare in the back of my head from Ghost while I got into the front passenger seat, scooting the seat up to give the boys in the back some legroom. Price got in next to me in the driver’s seat, and instantly stared at me for no discernible reason.

He blankly stared at me with his mustache slightly twitching.

“Whuh- what? Do I have something on my face?” I lightheartedly joked while brushing my mask with my glove, eventually bringing my goggles over my eyes.

Price gave me that condescending stare with both of his brows furrowed at me. “Is the first thing you do ev’ry time yer in my truck, you mess my seats?”

I rolled my eyes at him while the boys got rowdy in the back, Price pulling out of the parking lot to get to the pub. I got off first and opened the back doors of the truck for the boys, letting them practically fight amongst themselves to get out of the truck. ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

Inside the pub, it was cozy, I guess. I felt like it was a bit too rowdy with some guys watching American Football. Eugh. Why’d we have to be in America of all places?

Price hands me a dirty shirley temple with a straw in it. “Thanks, mate. I’ll pay tonight, a’ight?” I told him, but he just shook his head.

“Nah, it’s on me. You proved yourself to be a good leader so far, I’m glad.” He pats me on my back as I grab my drink and feed the straw underneath my

mask to drink. Yet when I looked up, I noticed a dirty look from the bartender. Oh shit, I need to pull out my ID.

I give my military ID to the bartender. “Sorry, forgot to give this to you.” I even have my mask on in the photo, my identifiable mark being my mask I guess. I don’t know how I was legally allowed to keep anybody from seeing my face; I guess it was some of Price’s doing, knowing how he constantly saves the country from destruction here and there.

I got my ID back pretty soon after him staring at it. “Wow Price, naughty ain’t cha? You didn’t show the bloke my ID, eh?”

Price stared at the bartender then back to me with confusion. “I thought I did; I swear I did. I think he mighta been caught off by the mask; he was the same with Ghost.”

The acid building in my throat and my mouth salivating was the worst feeling. The thought of being compared to Ghost was the worst, just because we both have masks on and hide our faces constantly. I mean, Roach does it too, but he only ever has a surgical mask on. I just have my cat-skull print bandana, how is it that different?

Now I’m overthinking. But that bartender is definitely still staring at me like I was a criminal. Eugh. ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

I sat with the boys again while they talked and reminisced about missions.

“Say, cap’n. What’s a mission you went on that you like talkin’ ‘bout?” Soap’s voice hit my eardrums like a balloon popping, my attention going straight to him as I realized what was happening.

“Eh? What?” It takes me a second of thinking to get my bearings on what was happening around me. “Oh, uh… missions. Uhm.” I tap my glass with my nails while I think. “My old squad, Taskforce 142,” I look at Price with a grin, “we had a few rodeos. We were put in Limmen; we called it Operation Down Under, ‘n people said that Task Force Boomerang was in town.” I laughed while looking up at the rest of the squad. Soap was listening intently while doodling in his leather journal, Gaz leaned in while listening, while Roach was tilting his head when listening. Ghost refused to hear or look at me, as usual.

“I thunk Price would remember this operation too. Paramilitary group with military weapons, the usual. Some cringey name like Crimson Vipers, remember?” I looked at Price laughing at the name. “There were hostages bein’ held, ‘n a few were military personnel as well. But when we dropped in, Xio accidentally landed on another soldier ‘n nearly compromised us, if she wasn’t sneaky with the takedown.” I had to think back a lot to remember what happened on that mission.

“Diaz! Get your fucken head in the game, you nearly got us compromised,” I yelled at Xiomara as she yanked her parachute down, but I couldn’t help lingering my eyes on her face a few more seconds than I should’ve. I shot up and fixed my vest and nodded towards Jackson. “Approach silently; Chen is taking care of the video systems.” I hold my M-tar in both hands.

We maneuver through the unlocked emergency exits, but there were a dozen more than I would have ever thought there were. Who the hell has the time to be in a shitty wannabe military group? I direct forward, being the first to silently take their soldiers down and into the dark. Jackson assisted me by taking down a few others whilst we covered Xio to start some controlled explosions on their vault door.

I hear the vault door popping open. I always trust Xio to do a good job at getting the vaults open fast. But, I wasn’t predicting the alarm blasting the second Jackson fully opened it. “Chen? Mind getting on that?”

“I know, Captain! Alarms going down in a few seconds, prepare for a few soldiers coming to check,” I hear Chen say over our wires while reassuring me. Chen was one of my second lieutenants, helping Diaz with her platoons whenever needed whilst I oversaw them. But now, she was the one going to save our lives.

Jackson and I take out some of the stragglers that come to investigate, the alarm turning off quickly enough and Chen’s voice coming over the intercom.

False alarm, soldiers. Return to your stations. She says to all the soldiers trying to get to us.

“Diaz, Winny, infiltrate. I will watch ahead.” I stand guard at the vault with my silencer on, watching over them. There were only a few on their rounds to grab before they talk to their walkie-talkies, fairly easy.

“ANNIE!” Yelled Xio’s voice from inside of the vault.

I turned around whilst reloading my pistol and saw Xiomara and Jackson compromised, the Crimsons’ soldiers trying to wrap tape around their mouths. After that, I kind of don’t remember anything except when we had to return months later.

I had to be in the infirmary for a few days for a few bullet grazes; Xio and Jackson were prisoners of the Crimsons. And when I returned with a whole brigade, they would never have stood a chance in a million years. I brought the weapons but when Xio saw me, she said I had “hell flames” in my eyes for how they took my best soldiers from me.

I look up from my glass to the boys all looking at me. Not Ghost, of course. “And well, we took the group down ‘n got Xio ‘n Jackson back. When we were at the extraction point, Xio handed me the laptop rigged to the explosives and told me ‘your call, captain.’ And that’s kinda what kept me in the ADF and Royal Strayan Air Force for so long.” I lean back in my chair to gauge the boys’ reactions better.

Price was proud and grinning, nodding with familiarity like when I told him the story. Soap was amazed, I could practically see stars in the man’s eyes. Gaz was intrigued, his body language being much more open than before. Then Roach was just listening intently while fidgeting with his hands.

I kinda laughed at their reactions. “Any questions?” Price raised his hand. “Yes, Price?”

He stifled a laugh before asking. “Wasn’t your callsign then Viper, Annes? Instead of fucken Trick?” Then he let it rip, knowing how much that callsign haunts me to this day.

“Shit yourself, Price.” ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

We were all a few drinks in when I leaned against a pool table, playing a game of 8ball with Soap. “Soooo, bonnie, what do ya think of yer new Taskforce so far? Sure, we ain't Taskforce Boomerang, but I'd think we're close.” I laughed at his joke while looking up at him.

“Thas sweet, Johnny. You guys come quite close, y’know. Some of the best I’ve seen in action, except Ghost when listening to my instructions.” I lined up my cue stick with the white ball, not paying much attention to which ones I was hitting. I was more focused on the smile on Soap’s face.

“L.t is rough, y’know. He’ll warm up; he always does.” Soap got off the pool table and patted me on my shoulder. “I don’ see why he wouldn’t be so intrigued by the great Captain Ver, y’know. You’re an amazing leader.” I watched him line up his cue with the ball as well.

I chuckled, feeling a bit of blood rush to my face. “Oh hush with yer flattery; you just wanna try ‘n make me blush, eh?”

“Oh please, if I were tryin’, you’d be as red as a cherry tomato!” He leaned against the table while I lined my shot up, of course, missing the ball I was going for completely.

I raised a brow at Soap before chuckling. “I have no doubt, sarge. I’m sure ladies think yer a catch,” I complimented. “I know plenty o’ old ladies who would love a young guy like you flirting with them like they’re 20.”

He laughed while hitting a full red in the pocket, then lightly jabbed me with the cue stick. “Would love to meet ‘em! I’m sure they’re sweet.” ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

Midnight.

God, I love midnight; it’s so gorgeous seeing everything around us. But they were all kicked out of the bar for being rowdy, except me. I sobered up a while ago because I was expecting that I was going to drive once I saw Price taking shots.

I shoved the boys into the truck slowly, Price in the passenger with the boys toppling over each other in the back. Everybody was knocked out the second they were all in the car, leaving me laughing at their dumbass sleeping faces. I got in the front seat and adjusted the seat again.

“Don’ touch muh fucken… seats…” Price mumbled in his sleep as he passed back out in a matter of seconds.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Pendejo.” ・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

The drive back home was peaceful, all the boys sleeping until I hit a pothole right by the base, when all of them startled awake.

We all got to our rooms safe and sound though, which I’m glad happened. I wasn’t sure if Ghost would even get in the same truck as me when he was drunk, but somehow he was compliant when I shoved him in. I had to help him get back to our room though; he was heavier than I would’ve ever anticipated when he leaned onto me.

“I don’t need helpff… you fucken… bloody bastard.” I was shocked at him drinking himself into a stupor; he didn’t seem like the type.

“Don’t get your panties inna knot, I’m just makin’ sure yer fine.” I dropped him down onto his bed. “Just don’ fall off yer bed ‘n we’re fine.” I turned away from him to the bathroom, changing real quick and brushing my teeth.

When I got curled up into my bed all comfy and cozy, I heard Ghost’s slurred sleep mumbling.

“I fucken… hate you… Captain Ver.”

“I fucken hate you too, Lieutenant Riley.”

“Shithead.”

・┆✦ʚ★ɞ✦ ┆・

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! RAAA! Also, I'm going to open requests soon :) Thank you for reading this chapter! and if you'd like to help me beta-read this story send me a note! pls

#modern warfare 2 #ao3 author #fanfiction #call of duty mwii #call of duty #cod oc: annette “trick” verdano #simon riley x oc #captain trick #oc stuff

2 notes · View notes

letmewanderinyourgarden2022 · 2 years ago

Text

NEW CHAPTER

“So, Jane, where shall we start?”

“Gee, not sure, Jimmy. But first off, I have to tell you how surprised I was by your note. Gorey! How did you know?” The perplexed look on his face announced he didn’t know. “I mean. . .uh. . .Gorey is a particular favorite of mine.”

“Ahh. . .I had no idea,” he hesitated with a still-puzzled smile. “I. . .uh. . .quite like his work myself – wry and very dark.”

“And a bit bent. . .Yes, that’s what makes it so good! Guess it's just. . .uhm. . .a wonderful coincidence then,” I chuckled. “What is it with that blue ink? I have a beautiful fountain pen in my possession from your manager’s office – gifted, I might add, not stolen – with that same color ink.”

“Ha! Yes, I know.” He took a second before he continued. I wondered if it was to make sure I registered what he just said, which I did, or if he was thinking about what to say. “Ah. . .I use it occasionally for more. . .uh. . .personal correspondence.” I noticed a hint of uneasiness as his index finger quickly brushed his cheek.

“And legal documents, too, it seems," I joked. "It's such a rich color! I may need to start using it myself. . .Uhm. . .As I said, it was pleasantly unexpected. Just thrilled and flattered, really - that you took the time. Thank you.”

“Well then, it had the desired effects.” He smiled sweetly.

“Soooo. . .are we on any kind of schedule?”

He sat back on the bench, resting his hands in his lap. “My day is yours.” His eyes gleamed.

I thought we'd have just an hour or, maybe just maybe, two! I may not survive an hour let alone a day.

“Well, in that case-” Avoiding his gaze for my forthcoming confession, I concentrated on the path my finger traced on the table’s wood grain. “I. . uh. . .have a list I’ve been compiling of all the things I would ask you if I ever had the opportunity. I’ve been making it since- you really don’t want to know how long, trust me.” I peeked at him quickly, tingling with the realization that Jimmy Page was sitting less than two feet from me; he was flesh and blood - not a phantom. I had to return to my inspection of the tabletop.

The opportunity is now! Try not to sound like some star-struck idiot!

“Uhm. . .fortunately for you, I left it at home in my desk drawer. . .but I have memorized all the questions.”

“Ha!” He slapped the table’s edge, causing me to jump in surprise. “What an exquisitely dry sense of humor you have! I bloody well like that. Well, the opportunity has presented itself, my dear.” He spoke seriously as he leaned forward on the table, hands hugging his elbows. “But. . .before we start. . .the. . .uh. . .inquisition. . .” He cleared his throat, briefly touching a knuckle against the tip of his nose. There was an earnestness in his demeanor. “. . .I believe I. . .uhm. . .owe you an apology, Jane.”

“An apology? Whatever for?”

Another flick, this time with a finger, “Perry’s. . .umm. . .vetting might have been a bit intrusive, you know, into your private life. . .” His voice trailed off as he waited for my reaction.

“Jimmy. I understand ‘vetting.’ I expected your folks would look into my details. Honestly, you don’t need to apologize. But. . . thank you. . .again.”

Oh my. . .he is too much! Not the Dark Lord at all – yet?

He further narrowed the space between us, with a slight smirk. “Even though I’ve given you a mea culpa – that I do sincerely mean, Jane – I’ve got to pry further. I must pick your brain a bit. I’m eager to hear more about the very interesting details Perry dug up. Forgive me, but I am curious.”

I studied him for a moment. “Okay, Jimmy. You pick a little; I’ll pick a little and we’ll see where we end up. And there’s always an option not to answer. What do you think?” I questioned, lips curling into a smile.

“Sounds like a fair bargain. Let’s get to it then. One for you, one for me, and so on.” He clasped his hands together, pointing to me with steepled fingers. “You first, love.” His words rolled off his tongue sweetly as he leaned back smugly, arms tightly crossed against his chest.

I had to laugh to myself. Looks like his armor is in place! Well, then, here we go.

“Okay, I’ll start with the stupid, mundane stuff first,” I said as a sort of apology of my own – in advance. “Umm. . .let’s see. . .how did firecrackers get to be a thing at Zep concerts?”

Immediately, I experienced my first, supremely endearing, full-on Jimmy Page laugh.

“Ha, ha - ha, ha, ha! Is that actually on your list?” I nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that! You traveled all the way to London to ask me about bangers?” A giggle erupted.

“Oh, I’m just getting started and yes, Mr. Page, it is on my list. I mean, listening to your gigs, it’s annoying as hell.”

“Yeah, yeah." He settled back to the table. "It was and certainly a challenge to the concentration, to be sure. It became more of an issue as the venues got bigger.”

“It must have been kinda terrifying at the same time.”

“Yeah, sad to say there were some moments like that over the years.” His expression softened as he considered those memories and I waited. After several seconds, he became quite animated as he spoke; arms no longer crossed; hands occasionally dancing before him to accentuate his words. “We always felt terrible for the people in the crowd. . .you know. . .who had to deal with that. But I did get hit by one – in the face no less, during our. . .uhm. . .last tour. It didn’t explode, just by luck, mind you. It flew off onto the stage. No one was physically injured but I. . . I mean, that. . .that was it, you know? I wasn’t going to come back on until they found the wanker and threw him out on his arse.” He huffed; hands now quieted. “But we finished the show. It was occasionally very disconcerting, believe me, even later when Robert and I were touring.”

Trying to imagine that scene, I muttered not quite under my breath, “Fuckers! . . .Oh!” My hand flew to cover my mouth, realizing my filter had failed. “Sorry, Jimmy. I have a ‘sailor’s mouth’ by the way. I’ve been trying to be good but that just popped out. . . sorry, sorry.”

“Ha! So do I, my girl. I suppose we no longer need to be on our best behavior, yeah?” he asked with a sultry, sly smile.

“Guess not,” I half-whispered, unable to resist matching the veiled implication of the smile and tone. Suddenly aware I may have agreed to some unknown bargain, I broke the spell. “Assholes with a testosterone rush. . . nothing worse!”

“Ha, ha. . .an overabundance of that, without a doubt.”

At that moment, I had an inkling of his journey’s magnitude. “How did you cope with all of that, I mean, going from a pretty insular world of sessions to the craziness of the Yardbirds to literally the biggest band in the freakin’ world - almost overnight? It must have been – geez – I don’t even know what word to use.”

“I believe that’s two questions in a row, Jane. It’s my turn now, but keep that one on the ready.” He deflected; his fingertip quickly brushing his cheek.

Shit! There it is again. A tic? Is he nervous? Interesting. . .

“Busted. . .Okay, it’s in reserve. Your question, sir?”

“This is a question in multiple parts. I wonder-”

“Hey, wait just a minute! That’s not fair, Mr. Page.” I protested.

“Yes, it is cuz I informed you first.” He argued.

"Pfft! You changed the rules – but, after all, you’re the rock star here. So I guess I’ll give you a pass. Exactly how many parts are in your question?” We were both enjoying the repartee.

“As I said – multiple.” He emphasized with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Your letter’s closing – Che Sera, Sera – not the familiar spelling. Marlowe?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s from Doctor F. Is that multi-part number one?” I couldn’t resist a tiny smart-assed comeback.

“Jane. . .come now, let me continue.” I shrugged with my own smirk. “I was struck by your middle name – Elsinore. Unusual. . .Your parents were fond of Shakespeare? Hamlet, I suspect.”

“Ding, ding, ding! Very good, Mr. Page! Yep. Anglophiles through and through.” I was pleasantly surprised at his interest but not at all by his knowledge.

“I think Elsinore suits you. It has a regal quality to it.”

“Regal?” I paused, letting the word sink in. “Hmm, I don’t think of myself that way. Ha, ha! That must be why Jane stuck. . .but. . .thanks. Uh. . .yeah, I kinda like it, too, but it wasn’t to be. Members of my family do use it sometimes when they're pissed at me, though," I laughingly admitted, glossing over his compliment.

“Hmm. Well, that's a shame. . .Such a waste. . .It's rather singular, I think. . .So, what about Jane? A very historied British name. . .Jane Grey?”

“Um, maybe. That would be unfortunate,” I snickered. “But I think it was Burden. . .Morris, I mean, or maybe Austen. My mom did tell me once, but I don't think she was sure - so maybe both.”

“Jane Morris, really?” He seemed delighted. “So, they appreciated the Pre-Raphaelites as well?”

“Yeah, and they still do, in fact. It’s another thing they passed on to me.” I mirrored his pose and sunk into my arms crossed on the tabletop. “I don’t mean to be disagreeable, but how many parts does your question have? I think we’re at four and counting.” The distance between us significantly lessened in a sly stare-down.

“Mmmm. . . You resemble her a bit, you know. I think. . .maybe it's your hair."

"Oh, really? You think so? I don't know about that. . .I don't fancy myself anyone's muse."

"Well, we must continue the conversation about your art indoctrination at some later point.” He briefly glanced away as he reached for the wine bottle and topped off our glasses. “I believe you reserved a question, my dear,” he said as he took a sip.

“Yeah, but I’m going to save that one a while longer. New question – multi-part of my own – since you changed the rules – do you hum when you play? It looks like it to me when I watch the filmed concerts.”

He smiled, chin in hand, absentmindedly running his finger slowly across his lips. He didn’t answer at first, again puzzled. “You got that from watching the film?” I nodded. “Very observant, Jane. Uhh. . .yes, I do sometimes. . .uh. . . vocalize. Another novel question.”

“Sorry, I’m a minutiae kind of person. . .”

I rattled off the remainder of my multiple-part question. We discussed the homes he had owned over the years, my Craftsman house, and his adventures in Atlanta; a bit about sessions, some of the artists he’d worked with, and those he counted as friends. Another hour plus sped by.

“Wow! So sorry I hogged the last – however long it's been.”

“No, no. I’m enjoying our conversation - so far. You’re very perceptive. . .Uh. . .My go, yeah?” I nodded in agreement. “So, your firm in Atlanta – MacGregor. . .uh. . .Hamilton and Mott – you’re the Mott?”

“Oh, more vetting questions, hmmm?” I scoffed.

“Maybe. . . maybe not. We’ll see.”

“Well, yes. MacGregor is my cousin, William. . .Bill. My mom is a MacGregor. Sandra Hamilton met Bill in law school and they formed a partnership – professionally and, uh, personally, back in the dark ages to represent all sorts of artists. I joined them in the ‘80s and brought along some record company experience and contacts, hence ‘Mott’ in the firm name. Eight of us, all totaled, have been together for many years. A close-knit little family that fights like cats and dogs. That’s it in a nutshell.”

“Unique experience - that. It was for me.”

“It’s similar with bands, for sure. I’ve seen it play out in my office many times. I’m not surprised in the least that you understand. Musical passions and all. Oh, and we have an intern, Jen, from Berklee College. . . You know Berklee?”

“Yes, I do. Boston, right?”

“Yeah. We send her the music online or on a drive and she sends it back with her evaluation, you know, as another factor in our decisions to represent. And the other plus is she’s a pretty spectacular bassist! She’ll be joining us after she graduates from law school in a few years.”

“That’s an interesting setup. Tremendous experience for the student. I would quite enjoy that myself, I think.” He suddenly rose and stepped over the bench. “Sorry, love, I need to move around a bit. Old bones, you know,” he winked.

“Old bones? Hardly, Jimmy.” I laughed.

“MacGregor happens to be a name near and dear to my heart – for several reasons. It’s been my . . .uh. . .sobriquet many times over the years, you know, in my travels,” he said stretching his arms above his head, grabbing a wrist, leaning one way and then another. His exercise completed, he walked away from me around the long side of the table.

“Really? Hah!. . .Now that you mention it, I think maybe I recall reading that somewhere.” I watched him wondering where in hell he was going, until he towered over me, his hands sliding into his jeans pockets.

“All right, Jane. Next question on your list?”

“Let’s see. . . so many to choose from. . .uhm. . .your stage clothes – they fascinate me, even back to the Yardbirds. Sorry. . .the fan girl is creeping in." We both smiled at the obvious. "Your style has always been. . .what is the word I want? . . .so perfect for you. . .no, that’s not right. . . it’s more than that. . .Anyway, did your Zep clothes come about because of the stage show – you know - projecting yourself to such a large audience, or was it more than that, more ritualistic - like the symbols, the Dazed bow section - that stuff?”

“Well, that is an interesting question,” he said matter-of-factly as he straddled the bench and sat facing me.

He was very, very close; his knee was just a hair’s breadth away from mine. It took all of my willpower not to innocently make fleeting contact.

“Yes, it was, in part, to provide a show. You remember what it was like then – well, at least around the time Zep came about – some bands wandered off into meandering jams trying to figure out how the fuck to get back to the main – everyone off in their own little trip, you know, playing to the drummer, backs to the audience like. . .uhh. . .statues with guitars for the entire gig,” he said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I mean, there was some brilliance, don't get me wrong, but sometimes, they were so fucking laid back, the audience fell asleep, believe me; I saw it happen. Who wants to pay good money for a gig where you’re out like a bloody light?”

“Yeah, I do remember. Happened to me before. I think ‘trip’ is the operative word.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you may be right!” His intensity returned. “That style of playing wasn’t in our DNA, in any way, shape, or form. We wanted to be a. . .a. . .punch in the gut, you know.” Again, his hands were busy; the love for and pride of the band floated around us in the breeze. “We might lull you for a while – but it was only temporary, then bang. Uh. . .we decided early on that we would do a proper stage show. I guess it was a part of us. . .uh. . .from the bands we grew up with. And I think, well, I know, that our shows were fully experienced – the music, the visuals, the energy. The fucking floors and seats shook in the house from the sound we put out," he sighed with a satisfied smile. "At any rate, our shows certainly were a ritual. . .for us as well as the audience, you know. It allowed us to jam as we did. And in the big arenas, even if some bloke in the back couldn’t see all that well, he had an idea of what we were doing because there was a. . .a familiar framework. As far as the symbols-” he leaned against the table's edge, with the hint of a smile, “I think you might already know the answer, yeah?”

I tilted my head, scrunching into a tight-lipped smile, not sure that I wanted to tell him what I thought. “You know, I wish I could sit like that,” nodding to his position, “it looks comfortable.”

“Why can’t you? Here, give me your hand.” He reached out.

“Ha, ha, Jimmy. I’m not dressed to straddle the damned bench. Not at all lady-like considering what I’m wearing!” I stood anyway twisting to take his hand. I struggled to keep my shawl around me and gather the skirt with the other. Attempting to navigate the bench as best I could, more of me was exposed than I had intended. It did not go unnoticed.

“I wouldn’t object, Jane,” he quipped with a dangerous gleam in his eye, that I tried to ignore as I sat.

Stretching my legs in front of me, ankles crossed, I eased back with my elbows on the tabletop. “Ah, that’s so much better,” I groaned, letting my head fall back to stretch out the tension in my spine. “Mmmm, yeah, better.”

“You. . ." His quiet voice cracked slightly. His finger grazed his cheekbone as he cleared his throat. "Ah, you didn’t finish, Jane. The symbols?”

I lifted my head to look at him, still hesitant to answer. “So, is that a formal ‘your turn’ question?”

He looked at me sternly with a lifted brow, “Jane. . .”

“Okay, okay. . .I. . .umm. . .think the symbols are not just for 'a show'. They have some meaning. . . some power, but how or over what, I’m not quite sure.”

“There’s a name for it, you know.”

Okay. . .Jump in the deep end, Jane. . .

“Yes. . .I know. . .talismanic magick, right?” I was very impressed that he was wheedling information from me in a rather innocent way and astonished that he appeared to have a list of his own.

“Hmm,” he said noncommittally. “On to my question. I meant to mention before – I’m quite taken with your attire. The pieces appear to be authentic. What era are they from? Victorian, I’d say.”

“You’re really interested?”

“I think you know I appreciate vintage things, as well,” he said with a slight smirk.

“Okay, well, yes. . .the blouse is a Victorian mourning piece; the color is from a chemise. . .uhm. . .under; the skirt is vintage velvet that I made into the skirt - a poor choice for today, it seems; the shawl and boots are also Victorian from an estate sale, found years ago when you could still get the good stuff. That’s about it.”

“Mmm. . .lovely. The stockings are lovely too, particularly the lace there at the top. Seen twice in one day, I might add. Not such a poor choice, after all." He quietly said with a luscious tinge and a gleam in his eye.

“Fuck, Jimmy. I didn’t intend. . .”

“Jane, stop now," he interrupted. "You know – I wasn’t wrong when I said Elsinore suits you. Whether you know it or not, you are a regal creature – there’s an air about you - even with the sailor’s mouth. It was. . .uh. . .definitely. . .apparent from your writing.”

Hmmm. . .creature never sounded so. . . so. . .enticing. “I’m not sure what to say, so I best leave it at thank you. I think we’re veering off topic here.”

“No, we aren’t. You know, Perry and I. . .uhm.” Another brush of his fingertips on his cheek. “I. . .ahh. . .named you ‘Lady Jane’ months ago. It seemed appropriate once I read your letter. Prescient, I’d say.”

I was sure he could see all the secret thoughts let loose behind my eyes. “You guys had a nickname for me?” I looked out to the safety of the yard but took a peek at him from the corner of my eye. “No beheadings, right?” After confirming his grin, I returned my focus to the greenery. “That’s a lovely compliment, I think, and pretty good as far as nicknames go.” A pleasant silence settled over us. As I imagined the two of them together chortling over 'Lady Jane', my hunger decided to announce itself with a loud rumble, to my embarrassment.

“Oh fuck!” I whooped, doubling over in laughter that echoed around the yard. “How embarrassing! Sorry, no breakfast.”

“No, damn, I’m sorry, Jane. We are to have lunch. I just lost track of the time.” He popped up from the bench. “I’m off to see a man about a dog. . .and lunch. I’ll be back in a bit, love.”

As he walked the path back to the Inn, I couldn’t take my eyes off him and the easy, fluid way he moved - his open jacket swinging with his gait. My gaze followed him until he disappeared behind the garden door. He was truly more perfect in the flesh than in my imagination. Self-assured and cool – like he owned the world – except - when he wasn’t. I was not sure that all was as it appeared on the surface. There were the tiny hints - not because of his words, but from his ‘tells’ - that there was a fragility underneath.

Hmmm. . .He must know he does that. . .Why am I making him nervous? . . .This. . .this is. . .so much more than I anticipated. . .even when I let my imagination go to places that were pure fantasy. . .not so sure they are that now. . .Fuck, I need a cigarette!

I scoured my bag for the pack and lighter. Out of curiosity, I checked the time on my phone. It was way after four – the hours had flown by.

Light the damned cigarette, Jane!

The breeze lifted my hair across my face, so I had to turn in circles to find the best place to light the cigarette. Finally successful, I grabbed my glass from the table.

Two glasses of wine and virtually no food - not a good idea. But no help for it.

I paced back and forth trying to get the proper perspective on the events of the day – sipping and smoking, cigarette in one hand, glass and pack in the other; unaware that the shawl slipped from one shoulder along the way. Diverting for just a moment to top off my glass and turn the bottle upside down in the stone cooler, I let the thoughts pushed down into my psyche bubble up and be dealt with. Regardless of any fantasizing, I allowed myself over the years, I had never permitted the idea of a sexual attraction – well, a potentially mutual one – into the equation of this trip. It seemed totally unrealistic to even go there and fraught with disappointment.

Damn. Unless my radar is totally out of whack, there is something. OR - Maybe this is how he always is. . .seductively charming. . .No, this is not just charm or the run-of-the-mill type of flirting – there’s something more underlying the whole afternoon.

I decided to take the path of living in the moment. It was an absurdly rare position that I found myself in. I vowed to enjoy every minute of it – whatever it was or was not. Pulling the shawl around my arms, I sank down on the bench having made the decision - a good idea since I was a tad bit drunk and had the full intention of finishing off the glass in my hand. As I lit another cigarette, the garden doorbell jingled. A smiling Jimmy strode down the path to me.

“You caught me!” I called out to him as neared.

Title Art: A Young Maiden with Pan and Cupid, in a Wild Garden - Harry George Theaker, pencil and watercolor

Dante Gabriel Rossetti Pandora 1871

@firethatgrewsolow @foreverandadaydarling @laluxea @lzep @sassybouquetrunaway-universe @jimmysdragonsuit13 @jenyj89@jonesyjonesyjonesy

#jimmy page fan fiction 2022 #jimmy page #zoso #jimmy page fanfiction #silver fox jimmy #old man jimmy #led zeppelin fanfic #let me wander in your garden-chapter six #lmwing 22 #let me wander in your garden 2022

6 notes · View notes