#ironically umbrella didn't end the world | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

granddaughterogg · 9 months ago

Text

You Let Me Complicate You - Part 3

SUMMARY: Simon "Ghost" Riley is a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job. You - the Reader - are a cynical, world weary girl with a penchant for one night stands. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. Tags: From Sex to Love, Flirting, Random Encounters, First Impressions, One Night Stands, Dirty Talk, Swearing. So. Much. Swearing, Reader Gets Harassed By Assholes, Simon Beats Up An Asshole, Rough Sex. It's all fully consensual tho!

PART 2 HERE

Music pulsated in your temples, but you've completely lost the will to dance. Streaks of murky blue light cut across the dance floor, where the crowd rippled along with the rhythm. You made yourself comfortable on the plush sofa and watched people for a while. Fortunately, this mass of heads, arms and legs in motion was dense enough to hide that wired fucker from your sight.

You hoped to never see him again.

The one you wanted to see has vanished into thin air like Cinderella. A Cinderella who was six feet four, great at chatting women up and built like a wrestler. Who smelled like a heady mix of drugstore cologne, expensive whisky, sweat – and for some fucking reason also like fireworks.

Could it be that his ride has turned into a pumpkin? You would start to ask yourself whether you've imagined him – the man was larger than life after all – but you could still taste that smokey, alcoholic kiss on your lips.

A kiss which was deranged and therefore unforgettable.

You'd have to wipe your brain with a Scrub Daddy to get rid of that memory.

Son of a bitch.

Disappeared, but left the bottle. He clearly had money to throw around.

You ignored the liquor, pouring yourself a healthy glass of water instead.

It seemed that life had offered you an abrupt comedown from this short, all-consuming high. You sat and swallowed tasteless liquid in a sober – and sombre - manner, considering your options.

Option 1. You could go ask that bartender with the face like a slapped arse whether he's seen your beau around. Which surely would be Humiliating.

Option 2. You could give up on vanishing hunks and go home. Which was probably the sensible option, if one you didn't feel like taking.

Option 3. You could do what you usually did whenever life served you with a plot twist: have a smoke break.

You were a woman of culture and therefore perfectly aware that those days, smoking is bad form – almost as much as admitting that one does not intend to go vegan. But then, you were also sensible and knew what kind of end awaits persistent cigarette enthusiasts. A cough which sounds just like torn cardboard, a tracheotomy, or death.

The thing is, you've always considered the spectacle of smoking one of the sexiest feats for a man to perform, while the taste of nicotine soothed your nerves and restored you to the state of being serenely one with the universe. All those vapes smelling of fucking strawberries felt as appealing as Boris Johnson's ass.

So you let out a sigh, finished your water, threw on your jacket, grabbed your umbrella and marched across the club, guessing that smokers have been traditionally banished to the outside.

The iron door creaked open like the hatch to a bank vault.

Your suspicions were correct. Nicotine hostages stood around the entrance, some on the grass, others on the cracked concrete path. Milky serpentines of smoke blew away quickly in the night wind. Fortunately, the rain had abated somewhat. Instead of an icy wave splashing in your face, you were greeted by a cold drizzle.

That you could deal with.

Unfortunately, fate had yet other things in store for you.

You've managed to pat all your jacket pockets, fish out a box of cigarettes, experience relief, because it wasn't soggy, pat your pockets again, find a lighter, and stick a fag into your mouth...It would take in this damp air, so for a moment there you focused on the wobbly little flame instead of your surroundings.

Which was a mistake.

"Need help with this, beautiful?" Asked some stranger's voice.

"Jesus on a stick", you grumbled without even bothering to meet his eye.

"I said", the voice wasn't to be deterred easily, "Do you need help?"

You looked up. Some dude has obstructed the light coming from the small bulb, hanging above the entrance in its industrial iron casing. He was big, even stocky - not as big as your fleeting masked acquaintance, naturally, but quite thick in his own right. Had a pudgy face that you wouldn't be able to describe even at the police station. The patchy beard didn't help either. That's all you could say about him because he didn't spark your interest.

"Nope", you said flatly.

"What do you mean, nope?"

The man leaned over you, hanging his head unpleasantly close. He smelled like beer and Axe body spray.

You sighed. "I mean it in general. Go away."

"But I've just come here", the dude grinned, as if he'd said something truly brilliant.

"That's not my problem."

The tip of your cigarette finally took hold of the fire. You shielded it with your palms, taking half a step away from the persistent bloke. Only a half, because the door was right behind you.

Unfortunately, your new friend wasn't about to take a hint.

"Oh come on now", he whined. "Don't be rude to me like this. Let's have a talk."

You never had a lot of patience, not even on your best days. Now it was running dangerously low.

"I don't have to be nice to you", you hissed right into his stupid grin. "I don't have to talk to you either. Go bestow the gift of your company on someone who'll enjoy it."

You've made two mistakes. The first one was assuming that gassed pick-up artists understand sarcasm. The second one was using words and not just your boot instead.

He leaned forward and grabbed your arm. It was not a firm grip, but the touch of this stranger's sweaty fingers on your skin made you nauseous.

"You don't understand how much you're fucking yourself over" - he went on in that slow, obstinate manner of a drunkard, sizing you up with a glazed look. " You're depriving yourself of a chance...yes, a chance. For something better, something to elevate that sad, lonely, fuckless life of yours! A man walks up to you like a gentleman...chimes in with utmost tact and gets mauled. Women of today don't understand -"

You didn't find out what is it that women of today don't understand. You hurled your lit cigarette straight into his panting mouth and pressed your elbow against the handle of that cursed door. It swung open with a groan - not loud enough to drown out the surprised yelp of your aggressor. He let go of your hand. You jumped inside, trying to slam that door right in his face, but even an agile woman, one well aware of her surroundings is much weaker physically than an average man.

It was a long time since you had to grasp that bitter truth because you had avoided places like this. Well, that was your reminder.

The dude broke in when you were already halfway into the dark club premises, walking as fast as possible without just bolting it.

Music blared from the speakers, making the walls tremble, but you were still aware that he was coming after you. Slow but tireless, like fucking Michael Myers. You didn't have to look over your shoulder to know. Every woman has this radar installed.

You hauled ass, pushing people aside and collecting bemused looks. You headed straight for the bar like a sailor towards a lighthouse in a storm. You intended to chain yourself to that bar; to make Geoffrey call the cops if necessary.

Eventually, you managed to come ashore. You pushed your way through the crowd of patrons queuing for a drink, ignoring their shouts of disapproval. You climbed onto the first available stool and set your elbows on that cold concrete counter. The bartender was nowhere to be seen. Ain't that just the way.

"Hey, Governor!" you hollered towards the row of glittering bottles behind the counter. "We have a problem!"

"Why hello there", said a high-pitched voice to your left. It didn't sound particularly friendly.

You jumped as if at the push of a spring, spinning around on that stool. Your heart jolted abruptly. For in the dim light, you spotted this long-haired fuckhead from the dancefloor. He sat there, measuring you with a glassy look and sporting a wide, deadpan grin.

You took a long swig of air. This was a fucking nightmare, a Halloween special, and you were drowning in it. Drowning in the waters coming up to your chin, black as ink. A woman who went out simply to have fun.

"I thought I'd find you here", he continued, his voice eerily flat, his gaze pinned to yours. "You ugly slut."

"Geoffrey, shake a leg!" you yelled into the void behind the counter.

"Think you can just walk around and kick people?" asked the long-haired man as casually as if he'd wanted your opinion on the weather. He leaned closer, adding in a low voice:

"Rabid bitches like you shouldn't be let off the chain."

From what you could gather he wasn't that muscular, but you'd already met men with such hollow eyes and a flat affect. Getting into a tussle with one of them was always a bad idea. Whatever fueled this fucker – illegal substances, his own charming personality or both - you didn't feel like dealing with it.

You jumped off the stool, putting him between you and the guy, spun on your heel...

... only to run face-first into the armpit of that specimen from the front of the club. It turned out he didn't stop his TED Talk this whole time.

"...men and women ought to be friends, there should be a sense of CAMARADERIE between them, a sense of friendship, not this, whatever this is. I am being FRIENDLY to you, I am treating you with reverence, yes, REVERENCE and what do I get in return? I swear -"

Two gorilla arms pawed at you, pressing you against his chest. Your nostrils filled with his nauseating smell and the odour of Axe. You couldn't breathe.

"...this war between the sexes must end, or you will all die alone and you'll be so UNHAPPY, you hear me?" He panted into the top of your head. "You will cry your eyes out, surrounded by sex toys and CATS instead of children -"

You gathered all your strength and pulled yourself away from the numbing stench, driving your nails into your assailant's chest. The dude yelped and let you go. You fell back, parting the crowd. Suddenly two capable hands held at your shoulders, firmly but without causing pain.

You got enveloped in the familiar mix of scents - man, cheap cologne, expensive whisky, fireworks. Oh, thank god.

"One can't leave ya alone for a minute, eh?" said Skullface, calm as ever.

You almost burst into tears of relief - and into tears of anger, too. He's left you all alone in this shithole and let it happen.

You jumped back, darting your head up to look into those dark peepers of his. There he was, all composed, towering effortlessly over everyone in sight. Tall like an unconquered mountain.

"Where the fuck were you?! I'm being harassed by creeps!"

"Plural?" The skull mask tilted in amusement, but you've noticed how his eyes swept the perimeter, and his hold on your shoulders loosened, but not to the point of release.

"You sure are popular."

You scoffed.

"This shit ain't fun. But seriously, what were you doing?"

He shrugged. With shoulders like his it was a pronounced shrug.

"Pissing."

"For that long?!"

It was an undignified squawk, but you didn't care. You were stressed. You felt scared and fed up.

The man fell silent for a moment. Then he scratched the back of his head.

"If you really need to know, I also laid a brick."

You stared at him in disbelief, but that covered face betrayed nothing, and his eyes seemed sincere.

"What? You asked", he added.

It was as if some lever had been pulled inside your stressed mind. Suddenly you no longer felt like tearing him a new one. Instead, you wanted to burst out laughing.

"Alright then. I hope you washed your hands", you murmured, stepping forward and touching the front of his hoodie. He cupped your much smaller hand in his big one, tracing over its back with his long fingers. They were so warm.

You both smiled. His eyes looked strangely charming when they creased under all that eyeshadow...or whatever that black stuff was.

"You don't have much faith in the opposite sex, don't ya."

"That's EXACTLY what I've been saying!"

The stocky dude from before emerged from the fray, pushing people aside and beelining to you as if the three of you were good friends.

"I'm trying to explain to her how DETRIMENTAL this hostile approach towards men is, but she won't listen -"

"That's Creep No. 1", you murmured.

Skullface got visibly alert. He put you right behind him, blocking access like a guard dog. He straightened up to his full impressive height, but you stuck your head out from his armpit anyway. Now that the danger has dissipated, you felt curious as to how this shit would end.

"You." Said the masked man, pointing his finger at the idiot. "Get bent."

"The fuck you saying to me, mate?" The TED Talker was clearly an obstinate drunk.

"I'm a free man, a citizen of a free country! Can do whatever and talk to whoever I please, including this stuck-up bitch right here and you can't make me -"

Skullface's long, bulky arm shot forward, hand closing around the neck of this champion of men's civil liberties. You watched, transfixed. Your eyes have barely registered movement.

"The lady doesn't want to talk to you", Skullface explained, his tone almost friendly. "You better apologise."

The other dude stared at him with bulging eyes. Then he glanced at the large hand, gripping him like a vice. He tried to swallow – not an easy feat when your airways are being compressed – and finally tapped at Skullface's hand with his own shaky fingers.

Your masked friend released him. The bloke staggered, massaging his throat and breathing heavily. He was anything but frail, clearly possessing some strength of his own. And yet there he was, reduced to an ungainly, panting mess.

"Alrighty then", he gasped. "Sorry..."

"Not to me." Skullface's already deep voice dropped a notch, dark and metallic. You felt a sudden chill licking at your spine. " To her."

The other dude cut you a quick look, his eyes wide and scared. Drunkedness has clearly been choked out of him.

"Yeah yeah, sorry to you both. Jesus, mate. Chill.."

A snigger tore out of you while you watched that asshole slink away. It felt great.

"Having fun?" Skullface's tone dripped with amusement.

"Yeah!" you admitted, stepping past his wide frame and looking him in the face. "I wish I had popcorn!"

He blinked at you. Slowly, like a pleased cat would.

"Let's go," he ordered and began pushing his way deeper into the club. You followed suit.

You two found yourselves back in that corner near the dancefloor. Skullface reached for the flask of whisky.

"We're leavin', eh?" he asked.

"Let's," you agreed. "That's enough clubbing for one day."

You looked around, searching for your jacket, but it was nowhere to be seen.

"Fuck," you hissed.

He raised his head. "What's goin' on?"

"I left my jacket at the bar. Don't disappear on me again, okay?”

"You got it."

He sat comfortably and poured himself some more liquor, downing it promptly. You wondered about this man's incredible alcohol tolerance but didn't have the time to ponder on it.

You squeezed your way back through the crowd, grappling with rapidly growing irritation. First, you'd shout "Excuse me!" again and again and then you'd just work your elbows.

You told him the truth; you were fed up with partying, with the crowd and with the noise. Wherever this masked man was going to take you would be an improvement.

You finally made it to the bar, threw your jacket on and turned on your heel, starting the journey back immediately, like a ferry connecting two shores.

"Excuse me, excuse me, oh, fuck, sorry, excuse me -"

You stumbled over someone's foot, fell face forward into their T-shirt, pushed yourself away with both hands and then got grabbed by the wrist, which someone held at and jerked it so abruptly that you heard a crunch. Your whole body pivoted, led by the force of inertia. You tried to break free but to no avail. The man twisted both your arms and pinned them to your back, his breath right in your ear, hot and stinking like beer. His words were a searing sludge of intoxication and malice.

"Sorry's not gonna be enough."

You looked up - right into the blank face of that psycho from earlier. His pupils were two black holes. Icy panic flooded your veins, raising little hairs all over your body. He was dragging you somewhere away from the bar, his grip strong and painful. He was elbowing his way through the fray, and nobody around you in this densely populated club seemed to care – or notice for that matter. If they did, they cast you both one glance and decided that they don't want trouble.

You tried your darnedest to fight him, tensed all over in an attempt to break out of his hold, but with your arms twisted there was not much room for action. Or the guy was simply stronger than you.

Every average man is so much stronger than an average woman, after all. A reminder of this truth came back to you in a bitter wave while your unwilling feet scraped over the concrete floor.

In moments like these, you saw everything in razor-sharp HD. The dregs of intoxication evaporated from your system while you gained a cool, detached view of the mess you were in.

You looked in all directions, trying to find something that could aid you. It crossed your mind to call your new friend for help. But what name were you supposed to use?

The attacker dragged you into some dark corner and threw you onto an armchair standing there. Its aged springs groaned under your weight. The man pressed both hands into the wooden backrests and leaned so close that you smelled his sour breath.

"I'll put you back in your place", he promised, undoing his belt buckle.

To do this he had to let go of you. It was a small opening, but you took it.

You sat up, reached quickly into your loose chignon, slipped out the hairpin, clenched your hand around it and swung, aiming for the gut -

"The fuck you doing?" he sniggered, grabbing at our hand and stilling it mid-way. "I'll cut you open, you daft cow -"

He did not, in fact, cut you. He didn't do shit, because a dark mountain shaped like a man appeared behind his back.

This time Skullface didn't engage in Manly Posturing. He struck your assailant once, somewhere between the ear and the jugular. The bloke staggered, fell forward, but regained balance, turned on his heel and pounced. Skullface dodged, fast like a bullet, grabbed the other man's arm and twisted it downwards with a profound crunch, at the same time driving his other fist into his stomach.

The dude let out a stifled groan. For a moment he sagged like a rag in your companion's grip but came to quickly and began thrashing around, emitting some unintelligible, high-pitched noises.

Skullface picked up the floundering man as if his opponent was a rowdy cat. Then he held him at full arm's length, clearly considering the way forward.

"He's on drugs!" You offered. "I don't think he feels pain!"

"Figures," he said. "Should've gone down already."

"Then take him down!" You asked, growing impatient.

Skullface shot you a look from under creased eyebrows.

"S'not that simple,", he explained. "If I hit him again, it prob won't cut the mustard. Bloke's foamin' at the mouth, see? But if I hit him real hard, he might stay down for good. And then Price will yell my noggin' off -"

"SUCK COCKS IN HELL!!!" Chimed in the subject of his deliberations.

Skullface shook him a little.

"Who's Price?" You asked.

"My boss. He's a real stickler when it comes to those things."

"What things?" Your head was swimming. " Killing people?"

Skullface rubbed his nose with his free hand.

"He says we have an image to uphold...that we need to inspire public trust. Some such tosh."

He noticed the hairpin, which you were still holding.

"Gimme that. I got an idea."

You handed him the pin and watched in a stupor as he hurled the guy to the floor, using a kick to stretch him flat. The man spat, snarled and threw himself around like a fish out of water, but it didn't do squat. Your masked companion grabbed him by the forearm, pressed it against the wooden backrest of one of the armchairs - and drove the sharp end of the pin right into his outstretched palm, literally pinning him in place. Blood gushed out.

You held your breath. The man howled like a thing possessed, but Skullface had already turned away.

"You broken?" He asked, hunkering down in front of your armchair. His eyes scanned all over you, seeking for signs of injury.

"What?.."

He sighed and shook his head.

"Nevermind. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, he didn't have the time to do anything..." You moved your affected hand and squirmed, seeing a fresh bruise. "Apart from fucking up my wrist, maybe. but I'll live."

"Good."

He stood up and helped you clamber out of the armchair.

"Let's go", he said.

You followed him while he shouldered his way through the club.

You two arrived at the bar, where Geoffrey The Pinched Face begrudgingly poured someone a tequila.

"Geoff, call the coppers", instructed Skullface, putting both forearms on the counter. His voice was low and confidential. "You've got quite a specimen in here. Mad as a badger, bein' a nuisance to the ladies. Careless with sharp objects, see. Went and nailed himself to a chair."

"Nailed himself?" Geoffrey raised his eyebrows. "On his own? I swear to god, Ghostie. If I didn't like you so much..."

"Then you'd have casualties here every fuckin' Friday." Skullface extended a hand. "Gimme the key. We'll wait this out upstairs."

Geoff silently handed him a small key. The masked man set off across the dark hall. You had to run to keep up with him.

" Ghostie? Should I start calling you that?"

"It's Ghost", came from behind his broad back.

"What kind of a name is Ghost anyway?" you inquired, but he didn't grace you with an answer.

You've reached the foot of a winding, narrow staircase made entirely of wrought iron.

"Up there", he ordered. "Watch your step."

You did as you were told. Your boots raised sharp echoes in the steps. The stairs winded upwards for what felt like forever; finally, you stood very high above the dance floor, in front of a black door. The paint was peeling away. A red neon reading HELLO adorned it, but the O had gone out and HELL alone remained.

Fitting, you thought. I'm following a stranger into an unknown place. A man who is darkness, yet somehow I am not afraid.

You were hardly the naive, virginal Persephone. But hey, even myths need to get on with the times.

"That was seriously cool what you just did," you said, turning to your companion, walking right behind you. " Stab! Right between the metacarpals!"

"He'll stay put until the law arrives." He didn't seem to be impressed by your high praise.

"You've sharpened it, didn't you”, he added. "The hair thingie."

You shook your newly freed hair and shot him one incredulous look.

"I'm a woman who's endeavoured a solo night on the town in a tiny dress. What do you think? Of course I've sharpened it."

Ghost nodded slowly.

"A woman after my own heart..."

"Aw, thanks!" you sent him your best seductive smile and invited yourself into his personal space, your back almost leaning on his warm chest and head tilted upwards.

He only pulled you closer.

"Can we go back to having fun now?" You asked. "I'm fucking tired of being hunted for sport."

His long forearm settled across your chest, hand drawing small circles on your opposite shoulder.

"Yeah", he said softly. "We can."

He had to loosen his embrace to insert the key into the lock. The door swung open, creaking ghastly. Your nose filled with the scent of wood and rooms long un-aired. It looked like a typical attic with slanted wooden walls and a small window just below the ceiling. When Ghost turned on the light - which was faint red - you saw low tables and soft futons scattered across the floor.

Music from the dancefloor reached in here too, although it wasn't as loud.

Truth be told, you wouldn't care if they stored onions in there.

Your attention was fully on the man.

His mask went up again. He slammed the door behind you with a kick, hand already cupping your chin. Then he leaned down. The rough cotton of his mask rubbed at your cheek, followed by the silky flutter of his eyelashes.

You opened to him without hesitation, but this time the kiss was slower, more deliberate. His lips traced over yours, tasting you, discovering this fairly new sensation, nipping and sucking at your mouth with delighted curiosity. He's clearly had a lot of practice.

You tried to fall into this fickle rhythm, but impatience got the best of you. You bit at his lower lip.

A low noise reverberated in his throat – not quite a chuckle, almost a grunt. He turned you to face him, embracing you tighter than before and gave you his tongue. You nipped at the sensitive tip and that's when he lost it. Suddenly your mouth was full of him, claiming you voraciously, setting your blood on fire once again, and you heard your own breathless moan. Somehow your fingers traveled under the back of his mask and ran through cropped hair at his nape. It was butter-soft. He groaned with pleasure under your touch and that sound pierced right through you, making your insides soft and wanting.

"Oh my god", you panted right into Ghost's mouth, holding at his nape. "Can we just screw already -"

"That's the plan." Could that rough voice of his get any deeper? Smile tapered the edges though, like a glimpse of gold in gravel.

You weaved your wanting fingers into the longer part of his fade, sliding the mask further up.

He stilled your wrists.

"Hey. Hey", he whispered cautiously into the bridge of your nose. "Don't even think about it."

"So...the mask stays on?... Like, all the way?" You inquired breathlessly between nipping at his mouth.

"Yes."

You looked this peculiar man in the eyes, now gleaming with fun, but dark and puzzling nonetheless. What was he hiding? Scars? Being a plain ol' butterface? Facial deformity of some kind?

You examined this thought thoroughly and found out that you don't care.

"All right", you said. "But tell me one thing. Are you Deadpool?"

He snorted softly. "I'm just Ghost."

"Ghost?.."

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me."

And kiss you he did.

Holy fuck, he was so good at this. Even when he let himself loose, abandoning all fuckboy moves in favour of feral lust.

And maybe especially then.

Your tongues entwined in a blind dance, devoid of any rhythm. It was as un-romantic as humanly possible and you liked it that way. That frenzied, rushed approach of his told you that the man was truly starving, losing himself already in this newly acquired flavour, in your feminine warmth. His desperation set your blood ablaze.

Because you were hungry too.

Ghost finally broke contact, but before leaning away he glided his tongue over your half-opened mouth. It was as if he just couldn't part with the taste.

"Hold on...fuck, you're something else." He sighed and put both of your hands around his wide neck.

"Hold tight, love", he cautioned as if you two were boarding a ride.

When you did as told, he grabbed at your ass.

You yelped when his hands pressed into the soft flesh under the thin velvet of your dress. He effortlessly pulled you off the ground and lifted you up.

"Wrap your legs around me", he asked.

You were not a dainty lady. When other guys attempted such stunts, you usually started to fear for their backs. But not for Ghost. This guy was born for heavy-duty activities. You recently watched him sweep the floor with a grown man.

He could take you. You suspected that he'd carry you out of a battlefield as well.

You pressed both thighs to his wide waist, crossing your booted legs over the small of his impressive back. You felt his firm core underneath you, covered with a healthy layer of soft flesh. That width of his didn't come just from muscles, and the discovery excited you. You liked your men strong, but not starving.

"That's right..." Ghost slid his large hands under your thighs, tearing another yelp out of you, followed by a stifled moan as he pressed your ass against the nearest wall.

"What are you doing?" you breathed, holding on for dear life.

"Keepin' a promise." That low gritty voice reverberated in your bones.

Right, he had said this earlier. I could pin you to a wall if you ask nicely.

The next moment all thoughts - the very ability to think - drifted away from you, for he glided his tongue across that space behind your ear. You moaned, your head falling back as if electricity had just pierced you. He chuckled into your collarbone and was already going lower, kissing, licking and sucking the sensitive skin of your throat. His tongue felt like a flame.

"Jesus Christ...", you breathed. "You're gonna fuck me like this?"

"If that's what you want".

"I dunno. It's kinda – aah! - uncomfortable..."

You tried really hard to rein your thoughts, but they fell apart while this impossible man held you against a wall.

It felt like being sandwiched between cold wood and a living furnace.

As if trying to make the thought process even harder, Ghost dug his fingers deeper into your buttcheeks, bunching up the fabric. It slid up your thighs, eliciting a high-pitched squeal from you.

"This fuckin' skirt is in the way", he murmured. After some more finagling, he got away with the velvet and stroked at the sheer pantyhose underneath. His long fingers nudged the lacy elastic, keeping your stay-ups in place.

"Stockings?" He asked, as if unable to believe his luck.

"Yep", you grinned at him.

" Fuckin' hell."

That came out low and guttural. You felt a sharp tingle within as if someone tugged at a string attached to your core.

That narrow strip of lace awakened something in him. He stepped away from the wall and threw you onto the nearest futon. You landed on your back with legs splayed out, but you didn't have time to collect yourself because he was already on top of you, pressing you to the ground with that huge torso, obscuring the dim light, filling up your whole world. He put his arms over your head and pressed them against the soft surface.

Then he leaned over you and dragged his mouth across your cleavage, biting on the skin on your throat, eliciting another moan, and then he let go. You moaned again, protesting this abandonment.

"I know, love", he murmured into your mouth. "But we need to get rid of your knickers."

A breathless, joyful noise tore out of you when he was pulling up your dress.

Ghost's hands pressed firmly into your buttcheeks, sliding the soft cotton down. Yeah, it was your everyday cotton. You preferred stockings over tights simply because they didn't gradually slide off you, creating that abysmal webbing situation in the crotch. You didn't leave the house tonight expecting to get lucky.

He threw your underwear away and held at your hips with more force.

"Listen, are you gonna...", you asked and got quiet mid-sentence. He was already putting your thighs on his shoulders.

His hot tongue glided along your fun parts, making you almost choke on air. He licked you up and down, parting your folds with the tip of his long tongue, tasting you, exploring you, driven by the shameless joy befitting a kid in a toy store. His hungry lips have found your swollen clit and sucked on it as if it was candy. When you answered with a prolonged, ragged moan, his mouth curled up against your pussy. He was smiling.

"You know what I dreamed of at night, sitting out there in some shitty safehouse in the desert?" he asked all of a sudden.

You had no idea what was that about, but you didn't have the bandwidth to process it either, for he sucked at you again. Your synapses flared up with pleasure.

„Of what?...” you panted with your head thrown back, all tense and wanting.

He looked up, his stare mischievous.

"Of a girl in black stockings, but with no panties on".

"Hey...you got your wish."

Ghost tilted his head and pressed his face against your pussy. The tip of his long nose parted your pubic hair. He stilled, taking in your scent like a yearning animal.

"Fuuuck, love. Need to taste you."

He licked at you again, across the slit and slid his searing tongue inside of you. Your whole body yanked up, suddenly electric. He was exploring you shamelessly until he found that special point within your wet inside. He pressed his tongue to it, forcing a loud, ragged sob out of you. And then he pulled out.

Cool air licked at your moist, swollen, exposed pussy. The unfulfilled desire in your veins surged with fire. You felt like screaming in protest. Instead, all that came out of your mouth was an uneven, helpless, rather embarrassing moan.

He slowly licked his lips, savouring your taste.

"Need me inside you that bad, huh?" He asked, his voice thick and heady. He slurred over his consonants even more than usual.

"Yes!.." you cried out in frustration. "Will you spare the ceremonies and fuck me already?"

Ghost tilted his head and lowered you onto the futon. You could see a thought forming beneath the black cotton, under that surprisingly soft hair of his.

"You don't like being eaten out?"

"Nah, not really. It's usually boring..." you admitted. "Nothing ever comes out of it. It feels like a waste of time."

Ghost leaned over you, his massive body obscuring all the view. His masculine scent tinted with sweat filled your nostrils, your mouth - and now probably your nether regions as well. You were keen with desire, wanting more of this. More of him.

"One day I'll show you how it feels when it's done right", he murmured.

"Mhm". You cared little about empty promises.

You cradled his head, pulled his face close and kissed him deeply, relishing his heat and his musky taste, now mixed with yours. Your tongues intertwined again in this dance without fixed steps. For a while all that you heard were the sounds of kissing and your rushed breath.

Your hips raised on their own, moving up to press against his.

Ghost grunted in appreciation and ground onto you. You felt his tantalising hardness poking through the fabric. He rubbed onto your exposed sex and you lost yourself in the sensation. Dissolved into this big man tending to you as if you belonged to him. As if he was never about to let you go.

He sold this illusion so well.

"You got a condom?" you whispered into his mouth.

„Always. ”

He sat up, reached into the pocket of his jeans and produced a shiny metallic rectangular.

"Allow me", you offered, sitting up as well. He kneeled right in front of you, those powerful tights splayed. You sidled closer and met his gaze while opening his fly. Thankfully the zipper didn't put up a fight. He let you do it. Watched with his lips curled up when you palmed his hot bulge, clothed in plain black cotton.

"Holy fuck", you breathed, pulling his cock out of its confinement. It sprung out half hard, not as ginormous as you were imagining, but decidedly girthy. You sighed in appreciation, sliding your fingers up and down its pale, hefty shaft. It was enchantingly warm and as smooth as fine suede.

You got reminded how much you love dicks. Beautiful, supple creatures.

"It's so shapely. May I...?" You raised your eyes at Ghost again.

He nodded and repositioned himself on the futon to be more comfortable. Those legs of his seemed to just never end when he sat with them splayed. A smile glinted in his eyes.

You curled your fingers around his root, placing your other hand on his thigh. Then you leaned down, giddy from want. His pink tip felt smooth like porcelain – if porcelain could be alive and searing hot, that is. You noticed a shiny bead of precum and licked it away.

Ghost sighed when you wrapped your lips around him.

He tasted like all men tasted, but also uniquely like himself. You detected a day's worth of sweat, a note of fresh laundry, the faintest whiff of that woodsy-citrusy cologne of his - and salt, for he was already leaking into your mouth.

Greedy boy.

You didn't try to perform any feats worthy of a porn star. You just sucked, licked and rubbed your tongue at that tender bundle of nerves right under his crown, enthralled with the sensation. He was so smooth and robust and expanded by the second.

You've always preferred to give head than to be given.

He hardened in your diligent mouth. You could feel his large thigh tensing under your touch, too. You glanced up – he was watching, eyes wide, blinking slowly, those featherlike white lashes of his giving him an ethereal look.

He seemed entranced.

You smiled around his cock and sucked harder, giving it all you've got.

A long, ragged sigh tore out of him.

And that's when you pulled away. A string of saliva bridged his glistening tip and your open mouth, gleaming under the red lights.

He stared at you, dumbfounded.

"Not so fun when it's being done to you?" You gave him a shit-eating grin. " You're lucky that I'm really, really horny. Now give me that rubber."

Ghost snorted, handing you the silver packet. You made short work of it and then used your fingers once again, this time to roll the condom down nice and easy. It slid effortlessly over his stiff manhood.

He swallowed loudly somewhere above you.

"Hands-on approach."

"Yeah." You held at his nape, pulling him closer until you were breathing each other's air.

"Fuck me, Ghost", you asked.

You didn't have to tell him twice.

He leaned over you, forearms pressed into the futon on both sides of your head, positioning his hips just the right way. You watched his eyes, wide, dark and fixated while he pressed his tip to your entrance, already swollen, tender, open and begging.

He didn't tease you anymore. Just rolled his hips into a slow, measured thrust.

"Oh riiight", you called out, your insides being parted by his hot, rigid, indomitable presence.

He wasn't crazy long, but he was wide. Thick. Sizeable. It didn't outright hurt because he only went halfway in - but you sure felt stretched. You buckled your hips, trying to make him go deeper.

"You okay?" he whispered hoarsely, visibly tense from trying to contain himself. "Fuck, love, you're so tight - "

"Yeah!... Go for it. I can take you", you pleaded, your stare locked onto his.

His eyes were two starless skies when he plunged into you for real. You both cried out when that happened.

"Oh god!"

„Oh fuck.”

He withdrew almost completely, but before you could raise your voice in protest – thrust all the way back into you, sliding in and out with more and more ease each time. Your insides softened rather quickly, letting him claim as much space as he needed. Letting him fill you with his delicious, delicious dick.

You needed this so badly.

But so did he. For a moment neither of you said a word. Music still played somewhere beyond on the club floor, muted and unimportant, while you two screwed on the dusty futon, creating your own melody. One consisting of ragged moans and rushed breathing, which quickly fell into a rhythm of its own.

The undone zipper of his jeans chafed painfully at your exposed underbelly, but it was a problem for future you. Right now you didn't have a care in the world.

Not when this enormous man took you, groaning through gritted teeth right into your ear. He licked it from time to time and then took it all into his mouth like a mango slice.

You sobbed out loud when he did this.

Ghost let out a breathless, rumbling laugh.

"Enjoyin' the ride?" He asked, sounding way more drunk than before.

"Yes. Go harder..."

Next thing you knew he grabbed at both of your wrists with his one hand and pinned them over your head.

You cried out in sheer delight.

His eyes glinted. That unwavering stare of his saw right through your kinky soul.

"You like being manhandled, don't ya", he murmured, clearly enticed by his discovery. His other hand reached down, slid under your long-suffering dress and fondled crudely at your breast. His fingers found your nipple and squeezed it without mercy. You moaned again.

"You like to be made...helpless." Dark delight laced his words.

"Yes", you admitted, shameless and staring into the skeleton mask.

Ghost grinned at you like a wolf. "We're gonna have so much fun."

He amped the tempo. You started moaning nonstop while his cock viciously slammed into you, producing obscene wet sounds.

For you were now loose and dripping. He fit snugly into that warm space while your juices trickled out of you. All for him, the burly stranger. You were being fucked with vengeance, that little poach of flub on his stomach meeting yours with a rhythmic slap. He had you pinned down. There was nothing you could do but let him use your body the way he saw fit.

And that's just what he did. He satiated his gnawing hunger with your body, your warm presence, with your mouth, which he would claim one time after another, covering it with sloppy, fervent kisses. Sometimes he didn't even use his lips at all, just pressed the flat of his tongue to yours. It felt so raw, setting your body and your mind ablaze.

"Fuck...you feel so good." His voice right in your ear was a presence of his own, low and gritty and commanding. " Eyes open. Don't you fuckin' look away from me now."

You blinked. His semi-masked face materialised in your field of vision.

Right now you couldn't put a lucid thought together if your life depended on it.

"I love your cock", you confessed dumbly.

His stare got downright manic.

"You like being fucked hard? Like a fuckin' whore?"

Usually, such terms of endearment made you want to kick the idiot in the face, but not this time. Not with this idiot.

Somewhere inside your soul sizzled a shameful flame of submission. You could be a whore for Ghost, and for Ghost only.

"Come on my cock, sweetheart", he ordered, voice low and dripping with authority. Maybe he heard your thoughts. "Come for me."

He reached between you two, pressed his thumb to your clit and started massaging it, going along with the punishing rhythm of his thrusts. You splayed your pantyhosed legs shamelessly wide, crying out from overwhelming pleasure.

"That's right", he rasped into your neck. "Come for me, ya slag."

"Yes", you wailed. "Yes, oh god – Ghost, don't stop – don't stop – don't stop -"

The sounds that came out of you after that weren't words. You dug your nails into the expanse of his firm back.

Ghost didn't seem to mind one bit.

"Fuck yeah", he growled. "Dig harder. Fuckin' hell!"

A wave of hot, sticky sweetness was rising fast, drowning your wits, washing away all your senses except for touch. Except for this sensation of being taken, being possessed without mercy. You were full of cock. You were full to the brim like a jug of water, ready to overflow. The wave came crushing over your eyes, so you grabbed at him blindly and cried right into his mouth, cursed, and moaned.

Or maybe it was a prayer.

Maybe all of the above.

He held you through it, anchored you while you felt weightless, pressing your chest flush against his - so hard and wide and still fully clothed.

When you came down from this high, he still held you for a while before letting go and falling flat on his back, long limbs splayed.

"You crazy thing", he muttered in delight, slurring the words.

"Ghost...", you breathed, lying flat like a pancake. That futon must've dented under you. Your throat was sore from all this screaming. " I have a question."

"Right now? T'better not be about maths..."

You chuckled and turned to the side to look him in the face.

Fuck, those eyes, you thought. People shouldn't have eyes this big. Eyelids this heavy. I'm never recovering from this man.

"Can we do this again?"

He smiled at you, half-lidded, relaxed. Then he reached out and traced his fingers over your jawbone. Like back then in the beginning.

"M' not in a hurry tonight. You?"

~~to be continued~~

311 notes · View notes

itstheghostofmypast · 6 months ago

Text

Help me, Help you.

Highschooler Choi San x (f)Reader

Summary: Sometimes, its nice to help others, sometimes, its even better when someone helps you.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.7K

Est. Read Time: 8 min

Warnings: None

Rating: SFW

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @san-network @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: @edenesth if you know, you know

Of all the days it could've rained, it had to be today. It all had to happen today, the one day she overslept, was late to school, forgot her project back at home and had to run to the school infirmary after lunch- who knew that milkshake had gone bad? Either way, the moment the final bell rang, she was about to bolt out, only for her teacher to call her over, wanting to talk about something- That something had her grumbling to herself as she came to a standstill, staring at the empty grounds, only the fresh scent of wet soil had her whining to herself, it had to happen today, didn't it?

Bag over her head she jumped onto the step of the bust stop, skipping a step in a hurry, though her muddy shoe ensured to ruin her day even more. A small yelp escaped her as her world tilted, eyes clenching shut, waiting for the blow, hands instinctively letting go of the bag to grab onto something, anything-

"Careful there." His words had her eyes snapping open, only to realise that the warm, fuzzy sensation came not from the anxiety, but the warmth of his hand in hers- oh.

The two sat quietly, the rain filling in the empty silence as she wiped the mud off her bag pack, still too dazed to even speak up, though she'd give him quick glances, only to find the blonde glancing back, before quickly looking away covering his not so discreet behaviour with a fake cough.

Choi San, the great athlete of their class. Choi San, apparently the sweetest guy in class. Choi San- Honestly she had no other information about him other than those two things and - oh yeah, he had just gone blonde recently, so that was new. Wasn't a bad change though, just caught her off guard. Not that she'd be gawking at him, but he did sit in her line of vision, and the hair change did cause news to flutter around, curiosity being an innate human nature had her peaking up from her book that day, glancing in his direction; only to be feel the world around her come to a stand still, focusing on that dimpled smile, twinkling feline like eyes, only to gasp when she realised those eyes were now focused on her, causing her to fumble with her book, lifting it to bury her nose in the textbook once more.

Sighing he leaned back against the bench, his bag seated between them. He had been sitting here for almost an hour before she had arrived as well, it turns out that due to the heavy rain, the bus schedule was disrupted, which meant he had to sit here, without an umbrella and hope either a bus arrive or the rain stops. How would he know he would end up saving the girl he'd been pinning over for the past term. It wasn't always like this, he didn't notice her right away, she was but part of the background of his world, but that was because San was busy making sure his world was perfect, and his world was happy, which meant making sure everyone around him, teachers, friends, classmates, all were happy. So, did he join the football team because someone asked him? Yes. Did he join the baseball team because the coach asked him? Yes. Did he end up staying back on cleaning duty most days when his friends asked? Yes.

It was ironic how he would help everyone, or everyone would come to him for help, he liked helping, it made him feel valued- but she was different. He'd never helped her, not because he didn't like her, no, but because she didn't ask. That is until last term, on the last day of class, after the final bell had rung, he walked back to class, yet again on cleaning duty, only to freeze at the door when he saw her in class, asleep at her desk- why had no one woken her up? He had walked over to her, deciding to wake her up, only to freeze mid-action when she abruptly sat up, blinking at the empty classroom and then up at him. To avoid looking like a creep he cleared his throat, "Class finished...you should go home."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Me? Oh...I uh...I got cleaning duty."

"Oh...need some help?"

That was all it took for Choi San to fall to his knees, for his chest to feel all warm and fuzzy and for his heart to go pitter-patter, bouncing around to the symphony of her presence, wanting to escape the confines of his body and nestle in the pocket of her coat, all because she offered him help- no because she was the first person to ever offer to help him, rather than ask him for help. A 'yes' had escaped past his lips quicker than he could stop himself, and fotunately for him, she had quietly begun to clean the class with him, brooming one side quietly, leaving him standing there in all his jittering nervousness. As soon as he had grabbed the other broom, the two had begun to sway to their own mundane symphony, one so simple, one so quiet, one so natural. From that day onwards, he had done almost everything to get her attention, even going as far as going blonde- Hongjoong did say go long or go home and his forever home was only with her, no matter how delusional the highschooler sounded, his friends had agreed and only encouraged his extremely unsuccessful efforts of attracting the - as Wooyoung had dubbed her- orange cat of the class.

"I like your hair."

The words sliced through the hissing rain, causing him to turn around and look at her, all wide-eyed, all flustered, all a nervous wreck. She gave him a small smile, at the sense of his unease, great, he probably thought she was a creep, clearing her throat she corrected herself, "Thank you...for earlier...I was dead sure my day was only going to get worse, but then you came!" she smiled, only for the words to settle in, oh god, why did she say it like that, judging by the way he was now shaking, she was sure he was trying not to laugh at her, trying not to run away.

Okay, one more try, "W-what I mean is...thanks...I was having a bad day, and you made it a bit better."

"I...can't tell if you're flirting with me or..."

"I really am not...it's just coming out this way-" she paused, noting the way he had averted her gaze, a small pout gracing his features as he let out a small huff like a grumpy cat- oh- nodding she continued, "Unless...you're...okay with it?"

Letting out a dry laugh he shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, an act that had her heart tingle with a strange sensation, "No...I mean...I finally thought you picked up on my advances...I've been trying all term."

"What?"

"I...you really didn't know, did you?" he whined, turning to face her completely, "I tried all term to get you to realise I have feelings for you- I even dyed my hair so you'd notice me more and talk to me!"

"But I do notice you," she mumbled, "Though you're often surrounded by people so-" cutting herself short she changed topics real quick, letting the intrusive thought win- mind you, this was a pressing matter, " hey, do you know anyone who doesn't have a partner for the history project? Mr.Kim said there was someone but he couldn't remember who."

"You're looking at him." he pointed to himself, "I wanted to ask you but everyone kept asking me so I got busy saying no to....oh..." Her first half of the previous statement rang in his ears, hitting him like lightening, she wasn't in the background because she wanted to be, she was in the background because he was always surrounded by people.

"So uh...if you need a partner, I'd love to help-"

"Yes." he cut her off, "Yes, I need your help, yes, I'd like to partner up with you, yes, we should start working on it right now." Standing up, he wasn't going to waste any more time, he wasn't going to let anything or anyone distract him anymore. Grabbing his bag he took a step closer to her, giving her a dimpled smile, which she returned with an adorable little smile of her own, making it difficult for the lad to not squeeze her in a hug.

"Gimme." with that he took her bag from her, ignoring her quizzical look when he swung it over his other shoulder, before turning to look at the rain pouring down on the earth, much like his feelings, well then, no more fooling around then. Turning back to her he smiled, "Ready to help me out?"

"Jee...I guess if you're that desperate," standing up she dusted off her skirt, then looked up at him, "Sure, I'll help you."

"Good, remember, no takesies-backseies," He announced, offering her his hand, his smile growing into a boyish grin, eyes crinkling with glee when she placed her hand in his, nodding in agreement,

"No takesies-backsies."

The two looked at each other, she never really did get a good look at the sharp-featured softie, while he'd be lying that this was the first time his eyes had wandered across the face of her map, drinking in every feature so pleasant and pretty. An air of something new settling between them, merging with the scent of the summer rain, like a rainbow waiting just around the corner, like a little bud ready to bloom and flourish once the clouds decided to part, letting the sun shine down on it, helping it grow and prosper, to embrace its simple, yet, unique potentiality.

With that, he sprinted out of the bus stop, her right behind, hand in hand, as the two ran towards whatever was on the other side. Her squealing and his laughter complemented the droplets dancing around them, gracing them with a new beginning, watching them run into the new chapter, to find their happy ending.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @spooo00oky @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp

112 notes · View notes

nottoxicfr · 11 months ago

Text

This is, tentatively, Rize.

She is the combination of Nagoryuki (Guilty Gear) and Rachel Alucard (Blazblue). Relating to the concept of a data-Backyard, she has the role of a program meant to ensure the integrity of the physical world through Intervention. However, overuse of Intervention causes cracks in reality, therefore its use is controlled strictly.

This relates to the thematic idea of her character as “the Observer Who Averts Her Eyes." Nago's long meditation after the events of the Crusades combined with Rachel's nature as an Onlooker, cursed not to intervene in events, resulted in Rize's fitfully slumbering nature. Rather than Observe the events of the world, she wishes to sleep until the world has no need of her and is cursed by nightmares of terrible memories and future possibilities. Her story is about finding meaning in Observing individuals, rather than viewing the world as a single disastrous story.

(I'll talk more about her personality and her design below the cut)

I had a really hard time creating her! Honestly, I really didn't want to anything mess up. I feel happy with this art, but I want to draw her more and really get a grip on who she is. She looks really elegant, but I think there's more to her than that!

I mentioned before that fighting game characters are adjective filled, with Nago and Rachel being no exceptions! Rize is more focused on Rachel's style than I originally intended, but I hope parts of Nago still shine through. His older appearance is why I designed her around the age of 20, rather than sticking with Rachel's younger look. I'm not super comfortable with the type of character that is very old, but still looks young!

She's a gothic, lolita-inspired vampire, but I had more of Nagoryuki's "noble" personality in mind when I drew her. I imagine that she would offer advice to the people she meets, but sometimes the advice might be, "Don't wake me up from a nap." She can be a bit thorny, which draws on Rachel's "rose with thorns" tsundere motif to reshape the kindness both vampires possess.

There are parts of her that seem very childish in my mind, like the idea that she can sleep until the world ends or her grumpy reactions to others, but her deeper personality indicates that she's incredibly guilty about the events she witnessed and simply at a loss in what else she can do. It seems most of her childishness comes from a lack of sleep more than anything else. Her eyes are Nago's Blood-Rage mode, which implies she's also pretty hungry.

Originally, she was going to be named Arisu (Alice), with Bloodedge (Baiken x Ragna) being a Cheshire leading her to the source of the plot's problems. If this was a real game, I think that would still be the case as a relationship. However, with a different name, the allusion isn't nearly as prevalent...

Instead, Rize comes from Riza, from E-riza-besu, an homage to Elizabeth Bathory. It's supposed to be from romanji so it calls to mind the idea that it might be a translation she preferred. That’s not how you convert Eliz-a-beth into romanji, but I thought it was an acceptable break from reality for style. That’s the running idea for ArcSys, generally.

Rachel has servants named Nago- which was ironic- and Gii, who frequently take her wrath. Rize's servants are Tama (Ms. Umbrella in the art) and Chester (Mr Plushy next to her). Chester is a stuffed creature in the form of a Jester, meant to put her in a better mood after a nightmare. Tama, as mentioned in another post, is a joke about how you can take the first syllable of Excalibur, Ex, and say it as Eggs (Tamago). It's a really stupid joke, but it indicates that Tama is actually the sword of myth simply transformed and given sentience via old age. I don't think she takes her short temper out on either of them, but if she does then it's probably Chester. Lots of people punch pillows to feel better, so I don't think Chester minds as long as someone fixes him should he be damaged. She also has another servant, but they aren't created yet.

Gameplay wise, she'd be difficult to balance. Every small movement would inch her closer to a true Blood-Rage, which would significantly drain her health. To get around this, the player would have to use Rachel's Wind Drive to maneuver either Rize or her opponent into her range. To offset the difficulty of that, she has quite a lot of power. It might actually end up making her a grappler-type of character. Rize is the kind of character who changes the color palette of an anime when she shows up. Super strong, y'know?

Anyway, this is probably my favorite of the "ArcSys Singularity designs" that I made. I also tried out Slayer and Rachel as a combination, but it wasn't quite as fun. I feel very excited with Rize! I wanna draw her more.

#toxic talks about #guilty gear #Blazblue #Rachel Alucard #nagoryuki #rize

163 notes · View notes

trulybetty · 1 year ago

Text

Stood Up | Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 1,668 Warnings: being stood up, torrential rain (always bring an umbrella), mentions of alcohol, a difference of opinions on Top Gun and some could call this fluff Summary: Stood up for a date that left you in the pouring rain, you seek refuge in a sports bar and before you can change your mind the man next to you strikes up a conversation AO3: Linked

A/N: so, I was supposed to be working on Bookstore Frankie as per the WIP poll the other day and technically (in my head at least) this is Bookstore Frankie, we're just meeting him a long time before he becomes Bookstore Frankie lol.

Also, consider this is my entry for @pedrostories’ celebration, enjoy! xx

Stood Up

The Seattle rain was relentless. It wasn’t even supposed to rain that day, the forecast ironically calling for sun and highs of warm heat, which had meant you’d left the house in a maxi dress and your flimsy denim jacket. So that meant no umbrella and certainly no practical footwear for the torrential downpour you found yourself in for the date you’d left the house over an hour ago for.

You'd been stood up, and now, thanks to All-Star Week, cabs were impossible to find.

You checked your phone once more, Uber was a wait of over an hour, said date had left you on read and Cat, your friend with a text. One that promised as soon as she could get out of dinner with her husband and his parents, would come and get you with a bottle of wine to commiserate the evening over at your place.

The door to the dimly lit bar slammed shut behind you, cutting off the relentless sound of rain pounding the pavement. You were soaked to the bone, rain dripping off your hair to your face, and in a less-than-stellar mood.

As you settled into a barstool and ordered a stiff drink, you tried to shake off the frustration. The bartender served you with an understanding smile and you were just beginning to relax when a voice from the end of the bar cut through the chatter of the bar.

“How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?”

You looked up, and some guy in a ten-gallon hat made eye contact with you with a flourish of said hat and a wink. Based on the accent and the Texas Rangers shirt he was certainly from out of town.

Your eyes rolled at the cheesy attempt, dismissing it with a casual brush-off. The downpour seemed to amplify the irritation simmering within you. Tonight was not the night for clichéd pick-up lines, especially from individuals who seemed to believe they had some inherent right to your attention.

As you took a sip of your drink, you exhaled and began to second-guess coming into the bar. You prayed for Cat to show up soon and get you out of there. Looking through the window, you thought about downing your drink and fleeing for somewhere else less crowded. You were already drenched; what more could the rain do?

But before you could think on it any further from the other side of you, a deep laugh resonated, and you glanced over to find a guy wearing a ball cap labelled 'Standard Oil', a beer resting in his hand, his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“Can't believe that line didn't work. What's this world coming to?” he joked, raising his glass in a mock salute.

Despite your mood, a reluctant smile tugged at your lips, “A horse did me wrong once, a cowboy and I would be destined for heartbreak from the get-go,” you replied, playing along.

“How about a pilot?”

You raised an eyebrow, you hadn't missed the aviation logo on the shoulder of his shirt, “I feel like I’m being set up for a Village People joke here,” you eyed him wearily, “how often does that line work for you?”

He laughed into this glass as he took another sip, “A lot less than you think.”

You took another sip of your drink, “What a surprise.”

“Frankie,” he said, extending his hand.

You took it, his grip firm and warm and gave him your name.

He gestured to your soaked clothes, “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you admitted.

Despite your initial want to just drown your sorrows and maybe scroll through Instagram while you waited for Cat, you found yourself in conversation with Frankie. Turned out he was actually a pilot, a little elusive on the details of what exactly he did in the military, but a pilot nonetheless. That and he was currently stationed temporarily out of McChord Field, in Pierce County. He was up in Seattle for the weekend to meet up with some friends coming in from their own deployments.

Frankie's face turned playfully serious, his eyes widening as he said, “You're breaking my fucking heart, baby.”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, come on! You’ve got to agree with me?!”

He grinned, shaking his head. “I never thought I'd meet someone so smart and yet so wrong at the same time.”

You playfully swatted his arm. “I could say the same about you.”

Frankie's eyebrows shot up in genuine disbelief, and his lips curved into a playful half-smile as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Not like 'Top Gun'? That's almost sacrilege in my line of work!” His eyes sparkled with amusement, revealing his lighthearted take on the situation.

When he’d mentioned he worked in aviation within the military, you’d jokingly asked if it was all like Top Gun and if he was a Maverick. Frankie had laughed at the question as he’d flagged down the bartender for another drink for you both. That had been before you’d voiced your true feelings on the 1986 cult classic.

You shrugged, sipping your drink. “I don't know, maybe it's the cheesy one-liners, or perhaps I just don't get the appeal of fighter jets.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. “The appeal of fighter jets? Oh, you're really twisting the knife now.”

You giggled at his antics. The more you talked to him, the more you liked him. He didn't take himself too seriously. It was refreshing, especially considering your recent string of bad luck in the dating department.

“I'm sorry, I just don't get it,” you admitted, shaking your head.

Frankie's eyes softened, and he reached over to gently touch your arm. “It's okay. We can't all have perfect taste.”

“You think your taste is perfect?” you teased, enjoying the banter that had been flowing between you two all evening.

“In some things,” he winked, making your cheeks heat furiously.

When your phone buzzed with a message from Cat, signalling that she was outside, you found yourself a little reluctant to leave. It was strange, feeling a connection with a stranger on a night that had started with disappointment, and a part of you wanted to hold onto that feeling a bit longer. Frankie seemed to feel the same way, his eyes lingering on you as you gathered your things.

“Well Frankie, thank you for being a bright light in what was almost a terrible evening.”

“Pleasure is all mine,” he replied, his voice warm.

The two of you paused for a moment, the atmosphere suddenly more serious. He'd already mentioned that he was stationed temporarily and had hinted at an upcoming deployment. And though the good company and the buzz from the drinks had lightened your mood, you were still reeling from being stood up by the man you'd really thought you'd had a chance with.

You waved goodbye to Frankie and headed outside, the rain still falling heavily. As you approached Cat's car, thoughts of Frankie lingered in your mind, leaving you with a strange mixture of excitement and melancholy.

You were just about to open the door to the passenger side of Cat’s car when the noise from inside the bar broke through over the sound of the rain. Turning around Frankie was coming out of the door, you watched him look around before his eyes settled on you with a smile.

Throwing up the umbrella he had in his hands he dashed the short distance over to you, “Look,” he shouted to be heard over the traffic and the storm that was now brewing, “I thought maybe,” he paused looking a little at war with himself before he spoke again, “we could do this again? Maybe without the rain and the cowboy.” he joked and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sure, I’d like that.”

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and pressed a napkin into your hand. Under the cover of his umbrella, you opened it to see his name scrawled with his phone number and you shot him a smile.

“Call me?” Frankie asked, his voice suddenly softer, more intimate despite the storm raging around you.

“I will,” you assured him, tucking the napkin safely into your pocket.

With a final smile and a lingering look, Frankie dashed back towards the bar, and you climbed into Cat's car, your heart still pounding in your chest.

Cat, ever the observant friend, was already eyeing you with curiosity. “Okay, spill. Who was that guy? And why are you smiling like you've just won the lottery?”

You looked over at her, your grin widening. “That is Frankie. We just spent the last few hours talking in the bar.”

“Frankie?” Cat's eyebrows shot up. “Also, you stayed in that bar with a stranger for hours? That doesn't sound like you.”

And it really wasn’t, even going out for the date that eventually stood you up had been a push outside your comfort level.

Cat narrowed her eyes. “You sure you're not being catfished by this guy?”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping your lips. “Cat, that means online, not in person.”

“Same thing,” Cat retorted, not missing a beat as she started the car. “You never know these days.”

“Anyway, he's only here for a temporary assignment between deployments. Not like anything really is going to happen.”

Cat glanced at you, her expression softening. “It's okay to have fun here and there, you know. Doesn't have to be serious all the time.”

You sighed, leaning against the window. “I know. It's just… different.”

“Different is good,” Cat said, her voice softening as she pulled away from the curb, knowing all too well your past relationship history. “Different can be very good.”

You looked at her, realizing how much you appreciated her support, even with her teasing. “Yeah, maybe.”

Cat's smile widened as she focused on the road. “Of course I'm right. Now tell me everything about this Frankie guy.”

#pedrostories1k #frankie morales/f!reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier fanfiction

245 notes · View notes

mncxbe · 1 year ago

Text

Jimmy,Jimmy cocoa puff☆

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff♡/ slice of life/ Dazai in Greece <little warning for mentions of scars> kinktober is here so ofc I serve Dazai fluff

Escapism.

That's how this could be called. On a deserted beach somewhere in Greece, far away from home. With you under a cheap umbrella bought from a store nearby.

Colours seemed to have been sucked out of the world: the jade green and deep blue of the sea and the sky above were replaced by silver grey. Even the golden sand had a muted colour, the shade of oat milk, and rain poured down from the clouds; steadily, never ending.

But you... you were as radiant as always. Even now in this pearly light your face was bathed in glow.

Your features stood out on the dulled background. The mocha brown of your hair and eyes; the latter dotted with specs of gold, your tiger stripe red nail polish (a silly design you picked as a joke after your visit to the Kanazawa Gardens back in Yokohama, two weeks ago) and the charcoal black of your bathing suit were all so vivid.

He watched as you rose a bottle of green tea to your lips and took a sip.

"So... what do we do now?" you asked suddenly, your words muffled by the sound of falling rain.

Dazai only shrugged in response, gaze scanning his suroundings. The sky seemed to melt into the sea before his eyes, lines of droplets connecting the above and below, forming a capsule around the two of you. And behind, the rocky road that went back to town, which seemed to be flooding.

"Leaving certainly isn't an option" he replied, pointing at the swamped road and you turned your head to take a look; letting out a disappointed huff.

"Guess we gotta stay here for a while."

You moved your deckchair closer to his in attempt to shelter yourself from the rain and reached for your bag, checking to see if your belongings were still dry.

Dazai watched your every movement the same way an artist looks at his muse; with adoration, longing and just a shadow of sadness. Still, he couldn't deny how ironic this whole situation was:

"Don't let the rain upset you bella. It'll pass soon" he cooed "Plus. It could've started raining when we were in town or something."

"Oh spare me love" you chuckled in response. "It's cold and my book and clothes got wet"

Despite your complains you didn't seem mad at all. There was a certain aura of peace surrounding you at all times, especially now.

"It is beautiful tho." you added, pointing a manicured finger towards the horizon "It's like the world caved in and now it's just us left."

The brunette reached for your hand and took it in his own, softly running his thumb over your knuckles. "That wouldn't be bad at all actually"

Suddenly you got up from your chair at tip-toed towards the water, pulling Dazai after you. Your boyfriend's lips curled into a playful smile as you stepped into the water.

"Bella... you know I can't-"

"Shut up 'same. Your bandages are gonna get wet from the rain anyway. Come on"

And indeed, the humid air and droplets of rain made his loose shirt stick to his skin and he felt his bandages dampen.

And so he followed you into the grey sea, water rising around the two of you with each step you took. Ankel level, knee high, to your thighs and hips and soon enough waist. Still, you didn't stop until you were almost completely submerged.

Just then you turned to face him, hair moist and sticking up from place to place, a wide smile stretched on your lips. Wrapping your arms around his neck you pulled yourself closer to him as his hands instinctively came to rest on your plush hips.

Before he got a chance to say anything you closed your eyes and tiled your head back, allowing the cold rain to dapple your skin.

And oh how beautiful you looked. In this very moment Dazai stopped paying attention to his slowly loosening bandages, to the cold breeze that made his skin tingle; it was only you and him now.

Soon enough you began humming a tune, a nostalgic melody he recognized but couldn't remember the name of. Lulled by your song he closed his eyes, lowering his forehead to yours.

Sweet minutes have passed like this, the two of you completely absorbed in one another until Dazai finally opened his eyes to meet your own and his heart sank.

Your expression conveyed an image of pure adoration and devotion which made his blood rush to his cheeks, a soft blush tinting his face.

"What you looking at me like that for?" he teased, doing his best to cover up his emotions but failing miserably.

"Like what?" you responded in the same mischevious tone, nails lightly grazing the back of his neck.

Dazai sighed deeply, inching closer to you until his lips were touching yours and he whispered.

"Like you love me"

You smiled against his lips. "Well I do love you Osamu". You spoked those words in a matter of fact way, like it was the most natural and obvious thing in existence. But they meant so much to him. No one had told him they loved him. Ever.

Closing the distance between you your boyfriend pulled you in for a gentle kiss, cold lips lingering against your own as he uttered a hushed "I love you too Y/N"; like a promise made to the Gods.

Just then a loud rumble sounded from somewhere above, causing you to pull away and swiftly swim towards the shore.

"Shit. Maybe we should get out of the water. I heard people got struck by lightning here."

"There's no way that happened." he chuckled but followed you close by.

"I mean technically it could happen. It's an open space"

"Whatever you say bella." he said back, amused by your pointless worries.

When you got back to the beach Dazai wrapped a towel around your bare shoulders and began pulling at the ends of his unraveled bandages.

"Guess that's it for them"

You watch him pull the soaked strings of cloth through the holes of his sleeve and did your best not to look at his skin which was painfully visible through the translucent material of his shirt.

Instead you handed him a towel and reached for the bottle of green tea.

"Want some too?" you asked when he took a seat on his chair, towel draped over his shoulders.

"Sure"

The rain showed no signs of stopping so you simply laid back and made yourself comfortable in the mesh fabric of your chair, gaze lost somewhere in the distance.

Dazai took a sip of the tea, the taste of synthetic sweetener and fresh tea lingering on his tongue.

He watched you watch sea, the horizon, the mass of grey that your world was and wished, for only a split second, that this moment would last forever. That the two of you could spend the rest of eternity on this forgotten beach, far away from your actual life, in this sanctuary of nature.

And by the look in your eyes when you finally turned to face him, he could tell that you wished for the same thing.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai bsd #dazai x reader #osamu x reader

121 notes · View notes

averageanonymous · 11 months ago

Text

Summary: After thwarting the End of the World for the second time, Aziraphale and Crowley take a walk in the rain.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

It's over.

It's over, and the world is still standing.

It's over, and the world is still standing, and they both made it out the other side. Together.

Aziraphale turns his face to the dark sky as the first drops of rain begin to fall. He holds his hands out to catch them. He smiles as they dampen his hair and roll down his face, and he's not sure, but he thinks he might be crying.

"Are we going to stand out in this all night?" Crowley grouses, squinting up at the rain. His hair, at some point, came free of its knot and frames his face in a picture of perfect disarray. Aziraphale smiles at him, too.

"Apologies, I didn’t bring an umbrella," Aziraphale teases, "I'm quite sure there's an awning around here somewhere, if you like." And, not allowing himself time to second-guess, or wonder if it's the right thing to do, he takes the demon's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. The rain falls harder, and Aziraphale laughs and begins to walk. He doesn't make it more than two steps, though, before Crowley's suddenly-iron grip on his hand hauls him to a stop like an anchor off a ship.

"My dear - " Aziraphale turns back, and his words stick in his throat. Crowley's vivid yellow eyes are wide, and his red hair has lost most of its volume as the ever-increasing rainfall plasters it to his head. The street lights highlight every angle and edge of the demon's features, and for the first time, Aziraphale truly lets himself admire how striking Crowley is. He doesn't have more than a moment to appreciate it, though, before Crowley, in a single determined stride, collides with him. His arms enfold him like wings, holding him so tight it borders on crushing, and he buries his face in Aziraphale's neck.

Aziraphale’s heart fills his chest, a feeling coming over him that's so pure and beautiful, he's not sure that it can actually be contained or defined by words. He wraps his arms around Crowley, returning the embrace and holding him like he is the most precious thing in the world because, truly, he is.

They stand like that until the rain has well and truly soaked them through, and it's only by virtue of a small miracle that they're not freezing in the rapidly cooling evening air. Finally, Crowley loosens his hold, but it's only to shift Aziraphale under his arm so that they, side by side, can keep walking towards the bookshop, which is somehow still standing despite it all. Aziraphale keeps one arm firmly around the demon's waist, his free hand once again finding Crowley's where it hangs over his shoulder and folding it within his own.

"You know," Aziraphale mentions as they walk, "There actually is no Richard Curtis film where two characters realize they were made for each other in the rain under a canopy," He eyes Crowley slyly, "I checked."

"Hnngh," the demon makes a non-committal noise, "Point, angel?"

"Well," Aziraphale says, "I can't help but recall that you and I had a...moment...in the rain...under a canopy of sorts..."

"Oh, come off it," Crowley objects vehemently, but Aziraphale doesn't think he's imagining the flush creeping up the demon's neck, "Didn't even like you back then."

"You did," Aziraphale counters, and for just a moment, leans into Crowley's side. He feels Crowley's head dip down, feels a quick pressure of lips at his temple. An altogether unfamiliar sense of ease, of unfettered happiness, settles on him. The bookshop comes into view, light spilling from its windows onto the wet pavement.

"I think this all calls for something truly special. I have a bottle of 1945 Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Grand Cru. I've been saving it, you know, since it was given to me..." Aziraphale starts to recount how he acquired the bottle as they reach the bookshop. The angel opens the door and follows the demon inside, and the door closes and locks behind them.

They settle in to enjoy the evening together as outside the rain continues to fall, washing the world clean.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

Thanks for reading!

#good omens #crowley #aziracrow #aziraphale #fanfic #aziraphale x crowley #writing prompt #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands

72 notes · View notes

disappearinginq · 15 days ago

Text

I hate that people on a whole don't understand a narrative. Like...your English/literature teacher should've flunked people over this.

Probably the people who understand it best are the ones marginalized in life, because hey, we see ourselves in those characters. Other people have the luxury of just going "eh" and moving on.

But when hugely popular shows and movies and even books keep killing off their marginalized and suffering characters as the "only way this could've ended" I want to reach through a screen and choke them out because stop telling me the world is better without me in it., Or I will take you with me, and we'll see who's mourned.

It's not even just Bury Your Gays. In Outer Banks, they kill of the kid who is told from season 1 that you'll never make anything of yourself. You will always be poor, homeless, unloved, and alone. And then spend three and a half seasons showing you that this character absolutely will beat his own narrative - he finds friends that are his family, he finds a life he loves with the people he loves and they love him back, and then - they kill him. BUT THE RICH BITCH FUCKING PSYCHOPATH GETS A REDEMPTION ARC? I don't care how good the actors are, the narrative has now wildly swung from 'you can make it if you don't give up' to 'don't even bother - life will find a way to beat you down to where you belong' and airing two days after the catastrophic American elections - where the billionaires and greed and hate win?

The Umbrella Academy had three seasons of fun, quirky, broken people who tried so hard to fix their mistakes, to fix what they broke, and canonically, are representing marginalized groups that never get the happy endings. But dammit, this family tried. They didn't always get along, they were dysfunctional, but they still came together in the end, and loved one another despite the bad they have done. And then - the narrative again spins a wild one eighty and the story ends with "the world is better without you in it - die". Which is a very real narrative a lot of us live with.

The MCU - kills off Iron Man/Tony Stark, one of the very first popular characters who suffers from extreme CPTSD along with an alphabet of mental disorders; Loki, who is the adopted child and queer across the board, loses absolutely everyone and everything; Steve, who while he isn't dead, his character most certainly is because he goes from the one who does sacrifice everything to making a selfish, personal decision that winds up fucking over everyone; Bucky, who again isn't dead but he is openly blamed for the things he did while he was a prisoner and a mind-controlled assassin for the bad guys against his will by his mental health professional. And the narrative is "no, you should sacrifice yourself so the rest of us who treated you like shit can live a better life."

The stupidity of wanting to punish your audience who is punished enough in the real world often enough we don't need it or want it in fiction is just...mind boggling. And when those are the real words used by writers to justify their shit decisions?

I hope your death serves a narrative purpose, since you seem to think that is the noblist way to go.

#I am all for grim dark fanfiction #I am okay with pretty much everything in fanfiction because we are a niche audience and is a million different ways to write something #but to have the CANON storylines always tell you you're broken beyond repair #that you don't deserve a life at all never mind a happy one #That's some straight up bullshit #If at the end of your story the story itself didn't matter then it's a shit story #if nothing would've changed if the story didn't happen that's some lazy fucking writing #I hate that death is the noble sacrifice #and I can only think of 3 shows right now where they actively go no that's stupid #one is stargate where Jack is repeatedly asking if they can possibly make a plan that doesn't involve dying #second is discovery where the writers realized their mistake in killing off one half of the gay couple #and bring him back with the explanation of the power of love or willed back alive by his husband #Third is surreal estate where the characters have multiple opportunities to change their 'weirdness' for normal lives and they refuse #but seriously #where the fuck is my narrative of I will live to spite you #I will love to spite you #My very existence is an open rebellion against what you want me to believe

9 notes · View notes

smolsleepyfox · 2 years ago

Text

On Luis seeing himself as Don Quixote:

Idk how many of you have read the book and not just absorbed the plot by cultural osmosis, but throughout it, it is made abundantly clear, again and again, that the title character is a complete crackpot, and everybody he interacts with sees him that way. (Minus his sidekick, to a degree.) This goes far past the well-known "fighting against windmills" plot point. Don Quixote lives in a fantasy world, where he interprets everything in line with his fairytale.

Luis identifying himself with Don Quixote then must be self-ironic. Luis knows what he has done can't be reversed, there's no giants to slay - the giants in question being his own guilt, and what he has created for Umbrella and Los Iluminados. Even if they take down the literal giant, Saddler and his lackeys, it won't undo what Luis has already done. He knows that he's playing pretend, that his salvation is nothing but a fairytale. Just like Quixote, he was a man led astray by dreams of heroism and doing good.

And another thing - at the end of the book, Don Quixote dies, regretful he didn't see the error of his ways. And Luis dies the same, trying to make amends. He follows Don Quixote's path till the bitter end, knowing that there is no way out.

#luis serra #luis serra navarro #resident evil 4 #re4make #foxy speaks

87 notes · View notes

honeyandbloodpoetry · 2 years ago

Text

Catharsis - Resident Evil OC Snippets Part 2

Carlisle is a young transgender man that worked at RPD as a receptionist and was recovered from the rubble that fateful night in 1998 after being separated from the rookie cop that had rescued him. Saved by a scientist fleeing the city, the young man is offered the chance of a lifetime--to be involved with experimental rapid and completely transformative testosterone HRT. Carlisle gives himself a new name and accepts to be part of the study, falling in love with His Doctor (Spencer Stevens) along the way and watching as his dreams come true. Things are not always as they seem though, and it seems the good doctor did not have his patient's best interests at heart...and Carlisle soon discovers he is Umbrella's newest BOW experiment. This small snippet is an excerpt of Carlisle's journey after escaping Umbrella captivity and living in hiding with an old friend as they desperately hunt for a antivirus.

My hands cross over his, my nails like sharpened iron, skin rough and hopelessly dry beneath hair so thick it is almost like fur. He is fast asleep, bare chest and small breasts moving softly with each breath, the moon peeking through the blinds making his nipple rings glimmer. I like how he sparkles even when his eyes are closed.

I reach up and brush the hair from his forehead. It's warm. Still a little sick. It's likely from the stress. He told me he used to get them all the time as a kid, both when he was homeless and in his foster homes. He told me it didn't happen too often anymore until after what happened to him in Spain.

My feet hang off the ends of the bed, but I don't care. Gently, I pull him to me. He is well muscled, yet so impossibly soft. Irresistibly soft. He feels delicate in my arms, though I know he's not. I remember the way his eyes shined the night we met in Raccoon City. They don't shine like that anymore. The boy I met that night and the man I lay with are two different chapters. And yet, as my eyes fixate on the soft stubble of his chin, I know it is the same story, a book I am hopelessly lost in.

I'm changing. The doctor who did this to me... He said he wanted to help me. He promised me metamorphosis. I wanted to be a man, but as the days progress I turn more and more into a monster. I was happy with him once...but Leon helped me escape when the doctor became less of a lover and more of an owner. When I became less "future husband" and more lab rat. Leon has kept me safe and hidden in the two years since. Within the past few months, physical changes have begun to happen more rapidly. It makes me sick to my stomach. Leon tries to help me figure out how to cure it, he uses all his resources to try and seek an antivirus, he assures me we'll fix me before the mutation progresses too far, promises that we'll get me proper healthcare and not some "wackjob science experiment".

Leon understands me in a way no one else does. He is...like me. My doctor gave me the word, but Leon gave me the truth. Transgender.

And yet, I feel like it is already too late.

I'm crying without realizing it, fat rivers of tears coursing down my cheeks. I only realize my eyes are closed--imagining the man I could have been...and oh god, the nightmarish thought of living as a woman, of having repressed everything I am forever, but oh fuck, what am I turning into, what the fuck am I going to do--when Leon's hand cups my chin. His hands are tiny and kind against my jaw. He is strong and reassuring, his eyes dark with concern.

I blink against the stream of tears, ready to apologize, but he places a finger to my lips and then pulls me in close. He's so much smaller than me, and yet he feels like my whole world.

He's kept me so safe, and yet...we've never said it. The L word. It terrifies both of us. We sleep in the same bed. But we're not dating. Just saving space. Being economical. When we cuddle or fuck...boredom. Loneliness. Desperation?

Well. I'm desperate at least. Always have been.

I sob into him, let him run his fingers through my hair until I am weak, until I slump down and pull him into the crook of my chest, feeling him relax against the iron wall of my stomach. A thread of hunger pulses through me, and I grit my teeth, angry. I think of the dog from the other day...the thought of all that blood makes my stomach hurt. I try to not think about it at all. I try to focus on calming the predatory beat of my heart, on lowering my blood pressure.

He sighs softly, pressing his back into me, filling up every inch of space between us. "It's going to be okay." He says. He says more, comforting words and promises that ease me into sleep, gentle lullabies that bleed together and make a soft hum as I fade.

I believe him.

I believe him with all my heart, even as my skin starts to split and bloody pus drips onto the wooden floor. I believe even as disgusting red pustules form on my skin, breaking open into weepy new eyes, the sight from my true eyes beginning to leave, bright and painful as looking at the sun. Even as my spinal pain makes it difficult to stand upright. Even as my knuckles drag on the ground like some sort of beast. Even when I begin to lose my mind, when I forget words, when I keep getting bigger and need more and more meat.

Even when I'm losing everything that makes me me, I believe him. He smiles the same way he did that night in 1998. After everything... Even when the light in his eyes is dark, he still smiles. Always something to say. Just the right thing. How can I not believe him?

I believe him until I'm nothing.

I wonder if he still believes?

I don't think I'm waking up this time.

#trans leon #trans leon s kennedy #trans resident evil #resident evil #resident evil oc #resident evil x reader #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil 2 #leon s kennedy #spilled thoughts #spilled ink #lgbt #lgbtq #transmasc #trans #resident evil 4 #re4r

8 notes · View notes

autumnbrambleagain · 2 years ago

Text

Yhelm p9 - readmore for full

Drizzle hadn't left Flyhhnemonia yet. This was day eleven of constant rain.

Rumors had it she'd gotten into a tiff with another god--most said Solid--and was hiding behind Flyhh until the fight was over. Others were saying she'd fallen in love with a mortal, who'd finally died, and she was taking comfort with the Heir of Love. Whatever the truth was, it was day eleven of her stay in Flyhhnemonia, and day eleven of constant rain. The Guild of Porters and Fishermen were already busy enough keeping things from washing away. Yhelm had to help dig a literal ditch last night to help with the run-off.

And now some idiot had gone and gotten herself arrested and now it was Yhelm's problem. Which was fun.

She was currently dripping in the entrance hall of the Cabdrydal courthouse. The ceiling was tall and arched, each marble beam decorated with little iron-work statues Yhelm couldn't even make out from all the way down here on the ground. But each drop of water from her soaked-through tail onto the colorful tiled floors echoed far deep back into the building and it made her feel just a bit self-conscious.

"Umbrella didn't do you much good did it?"

There was an adversary sitting at a little booth off to the side of the entrance. Of course Yhelm's umbrella wasn't going to protect her from the rain--using a narrative reassignment to turn umbrella into sword meant sword couldn't keep you dry. "I don't see why it should," Yhelm said. "I had to swim half the way here."

The security-dog laughed, but he also stood up and stepped out of the booth. "You ask me, Drizzle needs a good, hard dicking."

"Wow," Yhelm said. "In times like this, the world mourns our lost Apat."

The security-adversary checked Yhelm over for weapons, and found none, because her umbrella was a weapon but only for her, and so she was let through. At the end of the hall was a tall, rounded wooden desk, a single contiguous piece at least twenty feet long, very impressive and very expensive. Two clerks were seated there, their pen-scratchings echoing out into the vast cavern that separated them from Yhelm.

Hopefully one wasn't her little brother?

She started the long walk over. Why was it so long? Was it to facilitate lines? There were benches along the sides of the entranceway, and more statuework lining the walls. And there, hanging from the ceiling on heavy wires, a great iron-cast statue of Cabdrydal herself, some winged breacher lawyer of ages past. She was kinda hot. Yhelm wondered who would be in blamed the day the wires inevitably broke and the statue fell and crushed some poor person. Maybe it'd be a criminal and everyone would say Cabdrydal got one more.

She decided to not walk directly under it.

And. Well. Fuck.

The desk was divided into several booths for several lines, but Yhelm was the only person here. There were two clerks here, and that mean she could have her choice of which one she wanted, and one of them was some freeperson she'd never met, and the other was her little brother. Fuck. It'd be worse to go to the other one and ignore him, right? It would probably be worse.

"Heyyyyy baby brother," Yhelm purred.

Bodo looked up. There was a split-second of recognition in his face where he saw her as his sister first and that was a real nice second and after that he caught up to his own opinion on her and now he was looking at a criminal, a disappointment to the family. "How can I--what do you want, Yhelm."

Fine we can be business like Yhelm couldn't do business she was here for business. "A gaitsbird was arrested last night for assault and public what-have-yous."

"I'm not at liberty to discuss any on-going--"

"Yeah that's nice," Yhelm interrupted, and she clacked her umbrella-tip on the tiled floor and it echoed a good long second. She could be shitty to family too watch her go. "This is a Guild issue and I'm here to take her into our custody."

A demented smile broke over Bodo's face and even his coworker stopped and looked over in concern. "Haha. Hah! And you really think I'm just going to let a criminal go free because you asked nicely? Really?"

Yhelm sighed. "No, you're going to entrust the criminal into our custody so we can punish her by Guild laws."

"Guild laws!" Bodo looked over at his coworker. "Do you hear this? Criminal laws. Criminal courts. She wants me to believe that!"

Yhelm glared at the coworker. He'd obviously been working here much longer, because he said, carefully, "Ah, s’ent, I can send for the lawizard on duty for you?"

Bodo's face fell. Yhelm just smiled thinly. "Yes. That would be appreciated."

The clerk turned to what Yhelm had assumed was another sculpture, set up behind the desk, but oh, those great brass tubes were some kind of… instrument? Giant bells? The other clerk picked up a padded hammer and struck a few with slow, deliberate gongs. Everyone's ears flinched at it. Clearly no one liked this.

"The lawizard on duty will be with you as soon as he can, s'ent," the clerk said. "You can have a seat while you wait if you like."

Bodo huffed. "She's a criminal, we shouldn't be giving her what she wants."

"Dude, it's not our call," the freeperson said.

They slowly turned back to their work. Yhelm didn't sit. She stood right where she was dripping. "So," she tried. "How long do you have until you become a lawizard?"

Bodo's pen stopped scratching. "I'm at work, Yhelm."

"So am I."

"No, no you are not."

"Pfft. My boss told me to do this it’s work."

Bodo's coworker looked up from his paperwork with a sort of 'what is going on' expression.

"He's my brother," Yhelm whispered, which, no, whispers didn't work in this oversized hall they just echoed as loud as anything else.

Bodo didn't take the bait and the coworker went back to his work with a sort of 'wow okay not my business' expression. Yhelm contented herself to stand there right next to her baby brother and drip all over his floor. Bodo did an amazing job of ignoring her, though. It was sad. They used to get along really well? He'd been so happy when she'd come back home from the Cazirizahd. Of course now he resented her for it. That was neat. That. Was. Neat.

The lawizard finally arrived. Try not to laugh but he was an honest to goodness meadow deer. Tall antlers and red tie and black jacket and nothing else. The absolute stereotype. Yhelm was an adversary criminal, though. Meadoe wasn't a very original writer, Yhelm considered.

"Ah?" he announced into the room.

Bodo stood up--was he standing on his chair? He was kind of short. Or was there just a platform there for height-challenged races back there anyway? "Ah, Prim'ent Apples. This uh, adversary wanted to speak to you about a recent arrest." Look at him go, all business when the game was on. Yhelm was proud of the little bastard. He wasn't actually a bastard she was technically a bastard but like whatever.

The lawizard swung his head back to Yhelm.

"Dentsiles," she said. "I'm Guild of Porters and Fishermen. You have a gaitsbird, Lastsong, in your lock-up. She started a fight in a Guild of Brick Layers and Ditch Diggers bar and stabbed a Guild of Lamp Lighters and Wood Cutters member most-of-the-way-to-death. Which sounds like the lead-up to a joke but the punchline is she's in a lot of trouble."

"Ah, ah," the lawizard smiled. "We expected you much earlier you know. We almost had to start process on her ourselves."

"Yeah well so long as Drizzle keeps crying gopaf has our hands full keeping the docks from flooding out. I'm running on three hours of sleep." Which was normal for her, but don't tell anyone that.

The lawizard nodded and Yhelm had to take a step back to not get stabbed by his rack. Apat preserve he was actually kind of handsome. What deer didn't look good in a suit though? That was cheating, God was a deer in a suit, of course it was a good look. "I don't envy her," he said. "I need to confirm you before I can hand her over."

"Yep."

Red lights of Law sprang to life from the lawizard’s very body, twisting into a picture-frame that settled in front of Yhelm's face. The color bled and spilled out into neatly-written words floating mid-air, within biting distance. Someday Yhelm was going to bite a Law construct. "All right, S'ent Machato--hah! Machato! I wonder if there's any relation to our own S'ent Machato behind the desk there!"

The lawizard smiled but Bodo just looked up miserably.

"He's my brother," Yhelm said.

"Oh. Oh! Really! What wild things life holds for us all. I hope you two can still get along?"

"Of course," Yhelm said, and Bodo sat up like he wanted to say something but probably not in front of his boss. "We good though?"

"You check out," the lawizard said, dismissing the inquiry spell. "I'll go grab S'ent Lastsong and transfer custody."

"Wait!" It was Bodo, now fully standing on top of his seat, Yhelm could see it he was actually standing on it. "Wait, you're actually handing a criminal over to criminals?"

Bodo's coworker was giving him a look like 'holy shit dude stop' but he didn't say anything.

"Isn't that a bit of a rude thing to say to your sister? She hasn't been accused of anything. If she had been I would have seen it when I did the inquiry, you know."

"No--but--wait--I don't understand." Bodo was now scrambling over the desk to join them on the floor. Adorable. He was basically still twelve years old in Yhelm's head. "I'm sorry, Prim'ent, but, I don't understand how this is legal? Isn't it our duty to, to put her on trial and punish her for her crimes?" The way he was saying that, Yhelm thought, he was probably talking about Lastsong but she could feel an argument could be made he was talking about Yhelm herself. She wondered if Bodo realized that.

But the lawizard was just chuckling. "I'm sorry, S'ent Machato, he--well I don't have to apologize for your own brother do I? No, Bodo, the Guilds have a Legal Authority in their own prescribed jurisdictions, and their jurisdiction takes full precedence over ours here. Don't imagine she's getting off free. She'd probably prefer to be tried by us?"

"Ooh yeah," Yhelm agreed. "You'd put her in jail or proscribe behaviors or something right? Oooour boss is probably just gonna. I don't know. Break her arms? Pull out her teeth? I dunno. Criminal stuff." She winked at Bodo.

"This--this is Legal," Bodo said, dumbstruck. "This is actually Legal-legal?"

"Don't like, hold this against him," Yhelm said, gesturing to All Of Bodo. "He's still upset I used my college education to become a guild academage instead of, I don't know. Sitting in a tower writing self-congratulatory essays all day? What do wizards do. This apparently I'm a wizard and this is what this wizard is doing right now."

The lawizard was smiling but also clearly running out of patience. "If you'll excuse me then," he said, and he left Yhelm and Bodo there to deal with one another while he got Lastsong. Except Bodo just stood there staring up at her in confusion, and Yhelm just stared down at him with a little bit more smug satisfaction than she'd have liked but it wasn't like she could help every feeling she had all the time.

"I had hoped you wouldn't be working today," she finally said. "Like. I don't want to actually cause problems for you."

"You're doing a good job of it," Bodo huffed. "I, I just." He looked down at his wrist and little lines of Law flowed from his fingers and wrapped into a red wristwatch. "I have ten minutes before I'm done for the day anyway. Let me finish up my work."

"Wanna escort the prisoner with me?" Yhelm offered.

"No," Bodo said, clambering back over the desk and into his seat, "I want you to be gone before it's time for me to leave."

She'd tried. No one could blame her for trying, Yhelm thought.

Finally Lawizard Apples returned, leading a yellow gaitsbird on chains of Law. As custody was officially transferred--wow okay now the chains were on Yhelm's wrist and they felt really weird and warm--Bodo apparently finished up his work and he was already speeding down the hallway to the exit without even a goodbye to Yhelm. Sort of rude, but okay. Whatever.

"So like if she runs does this give me the power to like, do something to her?" Yhelm asked, holding up her end of the chain.

"Yhelm I swear to Aiax I'm not going to run!" Lastsong said, and everyone braced themselves because she'd done the dumbest thing and swore to Aiax and yep here was the sudden rush of pressure constricting everyone's chests and the light in the room for just a moment was blindingly red as the Heir of Law took special interest in the situation to make sure the oath was fulfilled. Yhelm snarled and bopped Lastsong on the head. Not especially gently.

The lawizard laughed. "I don't think that's going to be a problem now. Is Bodo already gone? Lucan? Did he already leave? I wanted to have a talk with him."

"Hey," Yhelm said. "Really don't hold it against him. Mom never let it go that I became a gangster-wizard and now all of the family's disappointments are his to fix. He does good work when I'm not here, right?"

"All the same," Lawizard Apples said. "Nice meeting you, S'ent Machato."

"Yup," Yhelm said. She gave an experimental tug on Lastsong's chain and the poor thing stumbled. "Seriously Song I can't get over how bad you fucked up why did you stab him?"

Yhelm started into a walk and Lastsong hopped to keep up. "We--Yhelm we were playing cards, okay, and--"

"And he cheated?"

"N-no. He. He was winning. A lot. So."

Gaitsbirds, Yhelm sighed. She was sure somewhere Bodo was sighing and thinking the same thing about adversaries, though. It didn't matter she had a job to do and even if Lastsong was a workplace friend Yhelm was an enforcer and she had to actually look intimidating when someone was in trouble and she could do that pretty well at least. She gave a nod to the adversary at the door and then they were back out into the rain.

Bodo was still here. Out in the rain, by the statue of Aiax. There was another freeperson with him, young looking, tall and in patterned clothes that weren't native and they were talking. Yhelm really, really didn't actually want to interfere in her little brother's life and she was literally in the middle of a job but she still slowed down to make sure things were cool and that's when the tall freeperson hugged Bodo?

Huh. "Huh," Yhelm said, not realizing she'd stopped walking.

Bodo spun around and his loafers couldn't make angry stomps like hooves could but they splashed at the puddles and got his pants even more wet all the same. "Yhelm! Are--can you--can you just leave!?"

"Yeah it took a bit to get--" Yhelm rattled the Law chains but they didn't rattle. Lastsong swung her arms to keep up with the movements. "This sorted out. Not even a good-bye for me? And I think your boss was kinda upset with you."

The tall freeperson, his hands holding themselves in front of his lap and trying to make himself look small despite being taller than Yhelm, whispered, "Lottle, war saet dar?"

Haha holy shit. And here was Yhelm in the pouring rain looking intimidating with her fucking leather jacket and umbrella that was secretly a sword, holding a gaistbird by a set of chains, staring down poor Bodo and this poor--poor fucking soul was here having no idea what he'd just gotten himself into.

"Ehs sesster," Yhelm answered, before Bodo could find the words himself. Holy shit. "Arest dayr et loozah at myrs bretter?"

The freeperson stammered. "Ah--sait."

Bodo sputtered. "How--how, how do you know, where did you even learn--"

"I went to magic fucking college, Bodo," Yhelm said. "Do you know how many theses come out of Upper Retlay? Traverse's sake I soft-dated a Retlayn while I was there. So."

Yhelm had intended to have a dramatic pause, but Lastsong whimpered, "It's, it's raining all over us can we not be standing out here please? I'm getting soaked…" Everyone ignored it, though, and Lastsong just warbled miserably to herself.

"… so. Do you want to introduce me to your boyfriend?" Yhelm asked.

Bodo groaned. "Yhelm this is Latyzell, Latyzell this is my sister Yhelm, okay, that's fine, we're done here?"

Latyzell leaned in again and whispered to Bodo, "Why are we angry?"

"It's--a family thing," Bodo huffed.

Don't be an adversary don't be an adversary don't be an adversary, "Does mom give you guff for being in a non-productive relationship?" fuck she fucked it up.

Bodo didn't answer right away, which was actually an answer.

"Oh no," Yhelm said. "Oh you haven't told her yet. Because you grew up seeing how much she hated me dating a phanteasel."

Bodo stared. Yhelm stared back.

Latyzell and Lastsong watched on helplessly, the rain pounding at their shoulders and heads. Roped in to a sibling-stare-down, prisoners to a conflict no one wanted to actually be a part of, especially the siblings forced to carry it out.

Bodo blinked first. "Don't tell her."

"She won't talk to me. And fuck her anyway. Mom can go up to Princess Flyhh and complain and see how far that gets her. You two look cute together. Don't let her ruin it for you."

Bodo huffed.

"Bring him next time we do coffee. We can welcome him into the family when we aren't standing out in the middle of a rainstorm."

"N--next time," Bodo started, but Yhelm didn't give him the chance to get around to declining.

"The forty-third. We'll see you then, kid. Latyzell, al mat myr svitch darit. Groop dayr carr ruber myrs bretter. C'mon Song."

Yhelm tugged Lastsong with her and started off, hooves splashing on the soaked stone walk. Behind her, Bodo stammered. "Wait--wait what did she say that was too fast for me to get it?" Yhelm glanced back just enough to see Latyzell kiss Bodo's forehead in answer. Freaking adorable.

"Your family's kind of messed up?" Lastsong offered.

"Haha yeah," Yhelm said, "you almost killed another guild, Song, you are so screwed."

"I knoooow! He was winning though!" she whined. "Do, do we have to go right to Prim'ent Pio? Can, can we get like, can we stop by Alzzard's Curry first? You know? Like a last meal? Before he plucks and cooks me?"

"Yeah that's fine, I could eat," Yhelm agreed. "Just a little bit though. I don't want to spoil my appetite. I hear we're having roast gaitsbird tonight?"

"Yheeeeeeelm that isn't funny! We're friends pleeaase!"

"Yeah but I'm not your friend when I'm working," Yhelm said. "What kind of sauce do you think you'd go best in?"

"Aaahahaaa someone save meeee!"

#autumn writes things #autumn draws things #series tag yhelm #yhelm 9 #fiction #writing #furry art #?#i don't know how to tag this so more than 3 people ever see it #i've been off tumblr too long

9 notes · View notes