#meanwhile: ghost is pressed to the glass of the front door your food in hand like ‘yes please let me in I am so so normal’

[last-starry-sky]

another a+ youtube video inspo pull: Uber eats bike delivery Simon.

imagine ordering some greasy delivery at the ass crack of morning (after a night out/sick/just wanting to treat yourself) only instead of sneaking downstairs to grab your food, you run right into your delivery man: all six feet, 200+lbs of him. You’re spiraling because you’re hungry af and absolutely certain this man in all black, gloves, and a fucking mask is a commando sent to kill you if you open the door. In reality, the second he saw you lurking around like a skrunkly stray cat in last nights clothes and sweat-mussed hair; he was in love.

[cali-holland]

Love Bug- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: Tom's caught the love bug- well, actually it’s just food poisoning.

Word Count: 1700

Warning: swearing, food poisoning aka vomiting, mentions of sex, secondhand embarrassment

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

*Gif is not mine*

A/N: kinda inspired by a part in Interview Troubles part two (but unrelated!!)

~~~

“What are you looking for?” Tom asked Harrison as the blond rummaged through their fridge. Tom took his last bite of the leftover chicken, clearing his lunch plate.

“I’m dumping out the old food before I leave.” He replied, taking out the week old spaghetti leftovers from the fridge along with a few other things, like salad that had definitely sat in the drawer for too long.

“You know I’m still gonna be here, right?” Tom reminded his friend. He set his plate in the sink before starting to unload the dishes. Harrison was going out of town for the weekend, and he wanted to make sure no rotting food would sit in their fridge because both he and Tom were awful when it came to making sure their fridge wasn’t harboring month old leftovers.

“Where’d that chicken go?” He asked as Tom let out an untamed burp, “The lemon chicken?”

“I just ate that.” The brunette replied, “Seemed fine enough to eat.”

“Mate, that was almost two weeks old!” Harrison exclaimed with a laugh, and Tom went red in embarrassment.

“Well, shit, if I die, I die.” He reasoned with a shrug. He could only hope his stomach could bear the old chicken he’d just eaten.

That hope didn’t last long though.

“Hey, darling.” Tom smiled, fighting back the oddly sudden urge to belch in front of you. He greeted you with a kiss, welcoming you into his place.

“What movie are we watching tonight?” You asked as the two of you made your way into his living room.

“I don’t know. What do you wanna watch?” Tom flopped down on the couch, happily pulling you into his arms. It had been far too long since you two could comfortably cuddle on the couch without Harrison interrupting (he didn’t like getting sexiled from his own living room), which is why Tom was quick to invite you, his girlfriend of six months, over when his housemate left.

Once you two had chosen a movie, it had barely gotten through the first ten minutes when Tom started to press kisses to your shoulder, a telltale sign that he didn’t intend on just cuddling you throughout the movie (hence another reason why Harrison would cockblock you two in the common areas). You turned around in Tom’s arms and his lips were on yours instantly. His hands were on your back, pulling you impossibly closer to him. Pressing up against him, you moaned into the kiss. Just as your hands started to snake their way up his shirt, he pulled back.

“What is it?” You asked in confusion, opening your eyes to see the rigid look on his face. Tom was silent as he uncomfortably turned enough that he wasn’t facing you anymore. He let out a loud burp, before turning back to you sheepishly. The intimate scene quickly turned humorous to you.

“I’m sorry.” He laughed nervously. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“Thank you for not burping in my face.” You teased through your own laughter.

“I should go brush my teeth.” Tom admitted, and you bit your lip to refrain from giggling at the embarrassed look on his face. Tom shuffled off the couch, basically rolling over you in the process. As he left the room, he called back out to you, “I’ll be right back!”

You watched the movie by yourself for the next few minutes until Tom came bounding back into the room. He smiled, sitting back down beside you, “Minty fresh. Where were we?”

“Hm,” You pretended to think about it, shifting into his lap, leaning into him, “I think just about here.” You teased before kissing him.

As you continued to kiss him, Tom started to feel strangely warm, but not the usual ‘making out’ warm, instead it was the ‘kinda sick’ warm. With his hands on your waist, he pulled you in tight to him and deepened the hungry kiss. Your fingers tugged on his at the back of his head, and he moaned, never wanting it to end.

But then, he felt his stomach turn abruptly and a wave of nausea washed over him. He knew then that he was going to be sick and here you were making out in his lap. He reluctantly pulled away, and you took that as a sign to kiss his neck.

“Darling, wait.” Tom said, feeling your hands start to creep their way up his shirt, ghosting over his abs.

“You alright?” You asked, pulling away from his neck to look him in the eyes.

“I know it’s a buzzkill, but I- uh, I have to go to the bathroom.” He wanted to groan, as if this night couldn’t get any more embarrassing for him.

“Hurry back.” You laughed, shifting off his lap so he could get up. Tom stood from the couch and leaned down to give you one last kiss.

“Be back before you know it.” He promised. As he was walking out of the room, he realized he had an unusual dilemma. Normally when you were over, he’d just use the half bathroom next to the living room because it was right there, but now, he definitely didn’t want to use a bathroom within earshot of you. He hurried to his own bathroom, far from the living room, hoping you wouldn’t think too much about it. It was one thing to accidentally burp in front of you, it was another to have you hear him shit or even vomit (he wasn’t sure yet which one was coming)- and he didn’t feel like you were at that stage yet.

Tom knew he loved you, but he just didn’t know how to tell you that. Neither of you had said those three little words, and it was terrifying to him that he might say it too early. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, and he was going to do his best to not accidentally mess it up, even if that means he’ll hide his nausea to not ruin this date.

Meanwhile, you were sitting on the couch, watching the movie, thinking about your own feelings. You definitely loved Tom, that was a given. You were just waiting for him to say it or for you to at least have some absolute proof that he loved you too; you didn’t want to say it before he knew it himself. After a few minutes of waiting, you realized how long it’d be and you felt a wave of awkward pity come over you. You contemplated telling Tom something came up because he obviously wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want to admit that to you out of embarrassment, but then again you didn’t want to leave him if he was sick. As you sat there, continuing to figure out what to do, you heard the recognizable (and gross) sound of vomiting.

You quietly got up and made your way over to Tom’s bathroom. The door was closed, and you lightly knocked on it. 

“Be out in a minute!” Tom called back to you, flushing the toilet quickly.  His throat sounded dry as his voice shook a little.

“Are you okay, Tom? I heard-“ You paused, not really knowing what to say exactly. You wanted to help him, but you didn’t know if he felt like you two were at the point in which he’d let you help him when he’s sick like this. Slowly, the door opened and you were met with a pale Tom.

“I’m sorry.” He frowned, leaning against the door for support.

“It’s alright. How are you feeling?” You asked, pressing a hand to his forehead. He was hot, but not fever hot. Tom opened his mouth to respond before he shut it just as quickly, rushing back over to the toilet. You sat on the edge of the tub, rubbing his back as he emptied out his stomach. When he finished, he flushed and you spoke up, “What did you eat?”

“Two week old chicken.” He admitted and you grimaced.

“Why did you have two week old chicken in your fridge?” You laughed lightly.

“Because I’m shit at remembering to clear it out.” He sighed, leaning against the wall as he prayed he was done puking. He was in too much discomfort to really feel humiliated by the fact that he three up in front of you, but when you stood up from your spot and made your way to the door. Tom felt his heart drop. He really had just completely made a fool of himself, “Are you leaving?”

“What? No, I’m getting you some water.” You told him, and he smiled weakly at you, a sense of awe coming over his face. “Go lay down, I’ll be back.”

As you went to the kitchen to see what home remedies Tom had, he brushed his teeth (again) and left the bathroom, stumbling his way to his bedroom. He laid down with a heavy sigh, a hand holding his stomach in pain. You got him a tall glass of water and some saltines from the kitchen and made your way into his room.

“You really don’t have to stay.” Tom said weakly as he took the glass of water from you.

“No, I want to. You need someone to take care of you because you and I both know you won’t do it yourself.” You teased, padding across the room to grab his trash can, which luckily was empty except for the plastic bag wrapped in it.

“I think I’m done puking for a while.” He laughed awkwardly, still feeling bad about the whole situation.

“Good. Want some cuddles then?” You asked with a smile, and he nodded.

“Please.” He mumbled. You got into the bed and he loosely wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” You replied, pushing his curls out his face, trailing your fingers on his jaw lightly.

“I love you.” Tom whispered quietly, not fully aware that he had even said those words aloud. When he realized it, he tensed a little and you smiled softly at him.

“I love you, too.” You told him softly. “If you didn’t just throw up, I’d kiss you right now.”

“Yeah, it’s probably best to hold off on that.” He laughed lightly, cuddling in closer to you. 

~~~

Tag List: @viagracex​ @theamazingtomholland​  @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart​ @joyleenl​ @t-o-m-holland​ @lonikje​ @sleepybesson​

Tom Tag List:@quaksonhehe​ @tomkindholland​

[halequeenjas]

Hell in a Gift Basket || Jasmine & Michael

TIMING: Yesterday afternoon PARTIES: @coldbloodedkaehler & @halequeenjas SUMMARY: Jasmine goes by to see Michael with a bit of a welcome to town gift. She finds out a little more than she bargained for from the ghosts in the house.  CONTENT: Food poisoning mention

Despite the absolute insanity that was the town of White Crest, Jasmine was able to make a respectable living in the field of real estate. Even with the sky high levels of property damage in the town, she found she could still find clients willing to buy and sell in the area. A large part of her success was due to her own work ethic and determination. She’d always had good connections in town and she worked hard to nurture them and build new ones. Part of that entailed checking in on her customers. She had a whole system with birthday cards set up, but she was always sure to check in on a client soon after they moved into their new home, typically with a nice, branded house warming gift. After all, today’s condo sale or rental could be tomorrow’s house sale. It was why today she found herself checking in with one of her rental customers. Michael had recently moved to town with his family and she had the perfect little gift basket set up for them. There were some wine glasses with her logo on them, a bottle of red and a bottle of white, a nice wooden cutting board with her logo, and a lego set for the little one. She’d let him know she was stopping by so she was sure her knock on the door didn’t come as a surprise. When he opened, she smiled widely and greeted, “Hello, Mr. Kaehler!” She was a bright and cheery as ever as she entered the apartment. She took a glance around and commented, “I love what you’ve done with the place. How’s it been treating you so far?”

A semi-impromptu visit from his realtor had found its way to the bottom of Michael’s list of things to look forward to for the day, and he’d pressed the top of his mobile to his forehead when he’d read Jasmine Hale’s message and sighed deeply into it. A gaggle of forever bitching ghosts hanging around near 24/7 was enough intolerable company, but when up against the vultures in human skin who proudly called themselves members of the National Association of Realtors? He was sorely inclined to pick the dead any day of the week.

Heading down the hall to the front door as he heard the door rap, he ignored Ellie and Chase perched in his living room armchairs and watching him keenly, drowned rat and slit throat respectively arousing not an ounce of alarm. Pulling open the front door, he smiled as he stepped aside to let the woman in, letting it widen as he took in her compliment. “A damn sight better than our old place back in Sedona, I’ll tell you that much,” he replied with half a laugh, crossing his arms and shaking his head at the mere falsified memory of it. The old place back in Sedona had done just fine by them all, but lying came as fluidly to Michael as mercury. His eyes flicked down to the basket, bundled in the realtor’s arms. Ms. Hale could feel pleased with herself in return for whatever garbage in the guise of a gift she was about to set upon him.

“In any case,” he quickly added, “come in, make yourself comfortable.” He smiled, gesturing for her to head into the living room. “The wife’s at work and the girls are back at school, so you pulled the short straw and just ended up with me.” Meanwhile, Ellie was craning her neck from the couch to get a gander at the gift basket. “What’d she get him?” he could hear her ask Chase. Death couldn’t get a good snoop down, and Michael didn’t even blink to acknowledge he’d heard her. Continuing on his way to the kitchen, he glanced back over his shoulder. “I was just about to make myself a coffee. Should I get another mug out?”

One thing Jasmine learned over her career was just how much better homes looked once they were filled. Even if the decor wasn’t quite up to her tastes, it had a home-y feel to it. She could easily picture Michael’s girls running around or his wife enjoying a glass of wine on the couch. With an easy smile, she responded, “That’s great to hear. Glad it’s working so well for you and your family. I do pride myself on finding good fits for my clients.” And ridding them of any ghosts which was why the slight chill going through her threw her off. No, it couldn’t be. She was just still on edge after Constance’s exorcism. That was all. 

When he mentioned it was just them, Jasmine nodded along and said, “Well, there’s some stuff in here they may enjoy, too.” Then she heard voices and it sounded like they were asking about what she’d brought. Michael had just said they were alone so that couldn’t be right, but in this town, she knew better than to doubt her sense at this point. “Oh, funny. I thought I heard someone. Must be the TV or something,” she blurted out quickly as she craned her neck to get a good look around. It dawned on her she didn’t want to look like an insane person in front of her client, so she returned her focus back to him though she still had that nagging feeling they weren’t alone. Maybe she could sneakily place some wards up before she left. “A mug would be great,” she added, “It’s definitely a day that calls for lots of coffee.” She followed him in toward the living area and her eyes landed on the ghosts. Shit. She needed a way to get Michael away so she could talk to the ghosts she’d heard only a moment ago. “So have you met the neighbors yet? And have you been leaving the faucets dripping with the freeze warning?” Not smooth and very unrelated, but she needed a moment alone here. 

 There was a sudden… shift in the woman, and Michael didn’t know what to make of it. He couldn’t stop the slightly perplexed look that crept on him as Jasmine mentioned hearing someone, and for a moment, his heart stumbled out of step before he immediately quashed the feeling. The tell-tale heart would fall deaf on his ears. “Must be,” he agreed, the pause before his answer taking perhaps a little too long. Of course it was the TV – what other options were there?

Entering into the living room with the realtor close behind, it was just as expected. There were no blood curdling screams – no quick dashes to the front door that would necessitate a violent, unplanned end on an otherwise unremarkable afternoon in Maine. All was as it should be – the two clearly dead ghosts were visible to no one but the man who had snuffed out their lives like a match. He shook his head at Jasmine’s question about the neighbours, shrugging. “Not yet,” he replied. “Work’s just been throwing me some weird hours to begin with. We’ll invite them all over sometime, make sure they know they can rely on us, that kind of thing. Not that we’re planning on renting forever,” he added with a smile. He paused for a second as he thought about the taps – faucets – as his wife and everyone else in this country called them. It was a good point. “You know what?” He clapped his hands together, rubbing them together. “I’d better go take care of that now before I forget. Been awhile since I lived any place where you have to look out for these things. I’ll be back with the coffees in a minute.” Already on his way out, he glanced behind him before disappearing from view. “You take milk and sugar?”

Meanwhile, on the couch, two pairs of eyes watched the realtor curiously. It was Chase who spoke first, the flaps of his severed neck jiggling as he spoke. “Hey El? Did you just see this lady just look at us? Almost as if we’re actually… here.”

 There was a small sense of relief that washed over Jasmine as he agreed he did in fact need to go get those faucets going to avoid frozen pipes. The ghosts in the room needed to be addressed and she needed to do that without someone else present in the room who would just think she was some sort of psycho talking to herself. “Good call,” she said as nonchalantly as she could given the circumstances, “Black coffee is fine for me.” Healthier than typical cream and sugar as well as being much less complex than her normal coffee shop order. Once he was out of the room, her eyes fell back on the ghosts who were still just chatting it up. 

“That’s because I can see you,” Jasmine responded to the ghosts in the room, “Which means you must be El… and you are?” She looked at the other ghost as she tried to keep this formidable. Working with ghosts required a fair amount of understanding as things worked out much easier for her if they moved on without her intervention. Still, it was odd they were just hanging around here. They definitely weren’t at the property before so she had to wonder if they were connected to Michael somehow. She placed her hands on her hips and asked, “Do you care to tell me why you’re here? I checked this place up and down for ghosts before I even showed the property.” 

 If ghosts could be struck by lightning, then it was as if the pair had just been zapped stone cold the second the realtor revealed she could see them. Twin expressions gaped at the woman, instantly scrubbed of any previous candour. Ellie’s hand tucked around Chase’s beside her and she squeezed it tightly whilst the other flew to her empty chest. It was the teen boy who actually had the wherewithal to speak, and fury stained his features as he quickly rose to his feet, jerking Ellie up beside him. “Because that guy killed us!” he blurted as he gained the wherewithal to speak. “He’s a fucking serial killer!” Wide-eyed, he quickly realised he was speaking much too loud and he sunk down back onto the couch with Ellie in tow. “Chase,” he replied to the woman’s first question, voice still crackling with shock. “My name is Chase Dunlap. This,” he gestured towards Ellie beside him, “– she’s Elizabeth Matarazzo.” The female ghost beside him gave a light shake of her head as she leant forward. “Ellie,” she mouthed, nodding and scrunching her face in a small giddy smile as she squeezed Chase’s hand again. He ignored her. “How the fuck can you see us too? Are… you like him?” he enquired, speaking slowly. “You kill people? Are you a murderer?”

No sooner than the question was out of his mouth did footsteps return to the kitchen just on the other side of the living room. The clatter of mugs filled the air and no more than a few moments later Michael came back through the door, two steaming cups of joe in hand. Setting Jasmine’s down on the coffee table, he nursed his own. “Faucets are now safely dripping away,” he informed the realtor with a smile. “Oh, and thanks for the gift basket, by the way,” he added as he took a sip of his coffee. “You bring out the welcome wagon for all your clients? Or just the ones from out of town?”

Almost immediately, Jasmine wanted to be anywhere else but this living room. How the hell had she ended up alone with an actual serial killer? He’d seemed so normal and not at all like the random bone lady on the internet. Then again, this was White Crest and things were hardly ever what they appeared to be at a surface level. It didn’t change the fact her heart was pounding against her chest. She took a few steps back from the ghosts and quietly muttered, “He what?!” Her palms felt entirely too sweaty and she found she couldn’t stand still. She needed an exit strategy here. She still had her bag on her and the iron rods could come in handy, but she’d come back to that. If she could get more information from these two, maybe she could actually do something to help. “Chase and Ellie. I’d say good to meet you but…” She trailed off before the next question hit her. Her face twisted up with disgust as they implied she was a murderer. “Excuse you,” she retorted with the offense evident in her voice, “I’m an exorcist not a murderer. I save people, not kill them. The only red shoe bottoms I want are Louboutins thank you very much.” 

With the revelation that her client was a serial killer, she’d been too focused on the ghosts. Michael re-entering the room startled her and she jumped a bit on her feet. “Michael, hey!” Smooth, Jas, smooth. She did her best to recover and put some distance between herself and the ghosts. The smile on her face was almost convincing. “Good, frozen pipes can be quite the expensive and lengthy repair,” she explained. At the mention of the gift basket, she answered, “Oh, I usually like to do something for new clients around the holidays. Especially if they’re new to town. Plus, I’m a sucker for kids so you know, I had to give them a little something.” She glanced back at the ghosts before mentally cursing herself. “I totally don’t mean to interrupt your day though, so I’d be happy to take my coffee to go!” 

 Michael’s hand instinctively tightened around the steaming mug of coffee as he watched Jasmine, listening to her carefully. There it was again. That shift. He was practiced enough to detect when a smile wasn’t quite a smile, and the realtor’s was almost Stepford-esque. But why? His gaze slipped to Ellie and Chase, noticing for the first time that they were staring at him like they’d seen a ghost, but when Jasmine prattled on about taking the coffee to go his attention instantly went back to her. Something, he felt, was off here. Wrong, and he was someone who preferred things to be right at all times. “It’s no interruption,” he said evenly, shaking his head. “Besides, don’t have any take-out cups handy. Trying to cut down on waste, you know. Save the trees and all.” Another sip of coffee. Another swallow. “Though if you’ve got somewhere to be, then…”

As he trailed off, it wasn’t Jasmine who had the first opportunity to talk. Silent though the ghosts had been since Michael came back into the room, it was Ellie who chose now to speak up, her face knitted in puzzlement as if she’d just spent the last minute thinkingly deeply about something. “By exorcist…” she began, “doesn’t that mean you kill ghosts? Doesn’t that make you a murderer, too?”

 This was hardly her best performance. Then again, this wasn’t karaoke. Jasmine had never been good at lying and typically saw little point in it. Seeing as she was with a serial killer who had no idea she’d just found out as much, it was better for her to keep a level head here unless she wanted to become his next victim. “Oh good,” she said with some faux cheer, “I know a lot of times people just offer coffee when people stop by for the sake of being polite.” She laughed along with the mention of reducing waste. While she had no qualms with recycling, this was definitely a moment where she was hating the whole green movement. “Being environmentally conscious is always a good thing. I always do my best to recycle myself and you know, not litter. I love the beaches far too much to leave them littered with my leftover hard seltzers.” She took a sip of her coffee and tried to shake the thought it could be deadly coffee. “Not at all,” she responded letting some of the apprehension slip away. “How are you liking it here so far?” 

All was going back to how it should be until Ellie was speaking again. Without realizing it, she shot Ellie a dirty look with an eye roll, “I don’t kill ghosts that’s not how that-” Shit. That was decidedly the absolute worst thing she could have done in that moment. She turned back to Michael with an apologetic glance. “Sorry, I’m not sure what came over me there. I think I must be a little under the weather. I really should go. Just in case I’m coming down with something contagious.” 

 Everything Jasmine was saying was going through one ear and out the other – not even because of the situation at hand, but because Michael really couldn’t care less. He feigned interest, nodding as he pretended to listen to her. Really he was searching her face, trying to pick up on any more cues that she was ill at ease, and when she indicated she had no issue with staying it began to seem as if it were all in his head. Before he got the chance to reply with his thoughts on the town, Ellie interrupted. And for once, it didn’t seem like she was talking to him or even Chase. It was like she was talking to Jasmine.

Michael tensed and then there the realtor was, shooting Ellie a look and responding like she was any old person in the room with them. He no longer felt the heat of the mug, couldn’t taste the bitter aftertaste of the coffee on his tongue. His heart quickened in his chest and his eyes didn’t even need to dart to the lamp on the lounge-side table beside him. He saw it clear as day in his head, saw himself grabbing it, pummelling her face in, tightening the chord around her neck as her feet kicked uselessly into the carpet. If she really could hear the dead, what had they told her? How the fuck was it even possible? But then, maybe he was getting too ahead of himself. Needed some time to think about how far ahead of himself he was getting, at least. He set his coffee down. If there was an issue, he knew how to take care of it. And even if there wasn’t? He could take preventative measures to put his mind at ease. “Should I ask?” he joked. Offering out his hand to take the coffee from her, he smiled reassuringly to make it seem like he wasn’t too weirded out. “No problem,” he said. “Maybe another time? With Risa, I’m sure she’ll want to thank you. Alcohol always comes appreciated in this house, far as she’s concerned.”

Though she kept her face as neutral as she could, Jasmine couldn’t control the way her heartbeat picked up considerably after her slip of words. Her eyes remained fixed on Michael. Based on context clues, she had the feeling he also knew the ghosts were in the room. If he figured she knew something, she didn’t want to chance that she was the next ghost occupying his living room. She reminded herself to take deep breaths and not get too carried away. Then his joking tone came out and she felt herself relax slightly though she was still on high alert. “Probably not,” she said with a nervous chuckle. Then he was mentioning his wife and she wondered if she knew about all of this. The thought alone made her stomach churn, but she smiled brightly anyway. “Of course. That’d be lovely. I do hope she enjoys the wine. I’ll catch you and Risa again soon.” As she left, she was still looking behind her every few steps to make sure she wasn’t followed. All she knew was that she needed to be far away from here before she decided what she was supposed to do with this newfound information about a serial killer in town.

[svtsweet]

Good Boy

A/N: First a dom Vernon and now a sub.....give me a minute before my head explodes. Whew I’m going to need a break after writing all these!! And welcome to the app!

Vernon x Reader

Summary: Vernon’s sour attitude begins to ruin a night out with the Hip Hop Unit so you take matters into your own hands to relieve the bitter tension. 

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Sub Vernon, Public Sex, Oral Sex (male receiving)

Word Count: 1700+

Eating with Vernon had never been more fun. The rest of the Hip Hop Unit joined you and soon the five of you were seated at a booth in a Korean barbeque restaurant. The lighting is dim and the chatter that erupts between Mingyu and you adds to the noise surrounding you. Mingyu directs a question at Vernon who had stayed quiet almost the entire night. He’s stiff besides you as you make eye contact with him for a moment, but then he breaks away and shrugs his shoulders. You’re set back a bit by his response and shake your head, going back to talking to Mingyu. Wonwoo throws himself in and you laugh at a bad joke he says. You glance over at Vernon to catch him laugh as well but to your surprise he’s going through his phone, a single earbud resting in his ear. He was fine earlier that day, even suggesting this whole outing to you. What was causing him to be in such a bad mood? The waitress comes by to take your order simultaneously ending your thought process.

“Vernon, is there anything specific you want?” you ask as the waitress holds out a pen and paper.

He shakes his head, eyes fixated on the small screen in front of him. In the end, you give out your orders to the waitress and she leaves. The five of you are left in awkward silence that Seungcheol tries to break by asking you some questions about your job and how it’s treating you. You try to answer but Vernon cuts you off.

“It’s going great.”

Seungcheol leans back in his seat, Wonwoo and Mingyu obviously uncomfortable with how everything is going. Vernon needs to be taught a lesson, you think. You reach over and place a hand on his knee, the table a perfect cover.

You give Seungcheol a complete answer. “It was a bit rough last week but I toughed it out and now it’s all good.” You squeeze Vernon’s knee, smirking when he abruptly sits up in his seat.

Seungcheol smiles and carries on with to the prank Seokmin tried and failed to pull on Jihoon. Mingyu and Wonwoo laugh along with him and you smile as they stray into a different conversation, hearing their bizarre shenanigans. Little did they know that you smiled because they had no idea your hand was inching higher on Vernon’s leg.

Vernon still hasn’t put his phone down but you know his attention is anywhere but the bright screen, the way he tenses beneath your touch evidence enough. You continue stroking up and down on his thigh, your thumbs occasionally pressing into his clothed flesh. The waitress comes back to deliver your drinks but with the how Vernon jumps in his seat, she might as well be holding a knife to his face. You chuckle into your other hand at his reaction, the others eyeing him suspiciously.

“Vernon,” Mingyu inquires, “are you feeling okay?”

Vernon nods vigorously. “Yeah, just thirsty-” He squeaks suddenly as your hand hovers over his crotch. Throwing a glance your way, he pouts and goes to tap at his phone, with little interest you had no doubt. It does nothing to stop you. Taking a sip of your drink, you rub his growing bulge and smirk when he props his forehead on his hand, face down so that his bangs would cover his eyes.

“Are you going to drink your water?” Wonwoo asks.

Vernon nods slowly, refusing to make eye contact. Watching intently as Vernon takes a small sip from his glass, your meager attempt to hide your snicker wears thin as you increase the pressure on his cock. The glass almost tips over as he tries to place it back down, whimper threatening to spill the liquid in his mouth when your palm touches his sensitive tip. The other boys eye him curiously but return to their conversation. Speeding up the rate of your ministrations, Vernon can’t help but lay his head into the crook of your neck.

“Don’t make me cum here,” he pleads below his breath.

Smugly, you tilt your head so that your lips brush against his forehead. “You deserve it though.”

Vernon whines softly. “I’ll do anything, please.”

Deciding he’s had enough, you remove your hand from his now hard erection but keep it on the inside of his thigh. “Go and wait for me in the bathroom like a good boy.”

You can feel him grit his teeth, protest on its way, but you drag your nails up his leg, palming him until his legs start shaking. “Okay, okay,” he concedes, voice strained.

You give his thigh one final squeeze and kiss his hair. “Good boy.”

There’s no way his walk to the bathroom is comfortable, not with his dick almost ripping through his pants. The thought has you giggling, Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Mingyu giving you a look. You distract them start a new conversation though, waving off Vernon’s strange behavior when they ask. Spending a good ten minutes chatting with them, you finally excuse yourself to follow through with your plan. You walk into the mens bathroom quietly, breathing a sigh of relief when you see no one else inside. That is besides the familiar pair of sneaker at the last stall. You knock on the door and grin at Vernon’s flushed face.

“Did I keep you waiting?” you tease.

“Why did you do this?”

You push him further into the stall with a firm hand on his chest and close the door. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same question. Why were you acting that way out there?”

He furrows his brows and looks to the ground. “Watching you laugh and smile because of them,” he motions with his head to the trio still sitting at the table, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you leaving me for someone else, someone better.” He shrugs. “I guess I...I got jealous.”

Your hand goes limp on his chest, heart burning with the desire to cradle him in your arms and make those awful thoughts of his go away. “There is no reason for you to feel that way. Ever. Because I love you and only you Vernon.” You massage his shoulders gently, urging him to get his eyes off the floor and back to you. When it doesn’t work, you drag your hands up and around his neck, twirling the strands of hair at your reach tenderly. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Vernon lets out a silent gasp as you kiss him, lips moving slowly on his and tug him lower. He hesitates but returns the kiss, his hands hovering around your figure. Just as it gets heated, his tongue sliding into your mouth and body solid on yours, you pull back and trail your lips down to his neck. Sucking until you find his sweet spot, your fingers ghost over his abdomen. Vernon groans at the feeling, his hands finding comfort in your lower back. But you don’t stop there. The cold floor of the tiled bathroom hits your knees but that doesn’t compare to the wide eyes staring down at you. He stammers a protest when you tug his sweats down but you shush him by kissing up along his shaft, causing a low curse to stumble out of him. He whines when your thumb grazes the sensitive vein under his cock. He’s practically coming undone already and you haven’t taken him into your mouth yet. Your free hand soothes the tense muscles of his thighs and you take the moment to gaze up at him.

“You’re going to have to be quiet baby. Can you do that for me?”

Vernon gulps and from your angle, you can barely see his lips parting and tongue dabbing the corners. He nods quickly, placing a hand to the back of your head yet you tut at him, moving it to the wall on your left.

“You haven’t been a good boy.”

He bites his lip, releasing it with a heavy breath. “Please, I’ll be a good boy for you. Fuck, I’ll be so good.”

His impatience fumes an excitement within you that allows you to let him bring his hand back. He leans his remaining hand on the stall wall next to him and watches you with hungry eyes. Locking your eyes to him, you lick a long, slow strip on his tip.

“Shit, ah.”

You tighten your fingers on him, reminding him of your order. Vernon murmurs an apology and closes his lips shut. Chuckling up at him, you ultimately put him in your mouth, your tongue caressing his underside. You spend a few minutes like this, warming him up before taking him in deeper. His head falls back the second you hollow your cheeks around him. Seeing him so worked up, along with his nails digging into your scalp, gears you into bobbing your head. You’re slow at first, sliding him in and out until the pain in your lower jaw numbs. Now relaxed, you grab his hips to steady yourself and increase your speed. Below your fingertips, Vernon trembles with the need to moan, call your name, do anything to mellow out the tension at the pit of his stomach. Knowledge of this spikes your yearning to get him to cum, your throat closing in on him and your hand going to play with his balls. Vernon’s release doesn’t fall far behind, his whole body shuddering as you swallow around him and take all of his warm liquid that you can.

A loud pop fills the stall when you pull out and you wipe your lips clean with your tongue. Vernon has to prop himself up on the toilet paper rack to stabilize himself, his breathing hard and shallow. Getting up on your feet, you brush his sweaty bangs out of his face and plant a kiss on his forehead.

“You did good baby. Now rest up before you rejoin us at the table. The guys might have a lot of questions for why you took so long.”

Vernon gapes at you, cheeks reddening as he searches your eyes for guidance. Scoffing at him, you pull up his sweats and pat his chest, exiting the bathroom hoping your food had been dropped off in the meanwhile.

[sick-raven]

Ghosts of the Past - Chapter 5

Chapter 1 + warnings

AO3

Previous chapter

AN: This is the porn chapter.

Chapter 5

When Miranda dressed up, she wondered whether she is really this easy. Guy drugs you once or twice, calls you a bitch, gives you flowers, and you are ready to sit with him and hope for… what exactly?

What’s your point, Miranda?

Fun. She hoped for a little fun in her stupid dull life. She might be dead in few months, she can at least enjoy herself. And if it’s fun with handsome man, who can blame her? Psychotic? Please, she was worse than him. Using her? Yes, so was she.

No blame to pass. Almost sane and almost moral.

Scratches on her chest have already disappeared, she didn’t go with cleavage anyways. Modest Miranda Bradbury, she had image to uphold. And charm to hide. Leaving it in plain sight could tempt the professor to attack again. She wasn’t risking that.

“Unarmed?” reminded master.

“But ready,” opposed Miranda. Jonathan Crane was nothing without his toxins. She didn’t need a weapon.

Miranda laughed to herself. How do people prepare for dates? They sure don’t count weaponry. They count condoms and money! And here she is, thinking, where should she stab him if he tries to drug her again.

No knives! End of discussion!

Her phone buzzed. Time to go. She felt overdressed when she saw him. He always wears suit, it’s easy for him to fit in.

“Good evening, Miranda.”

“Professor.”

He looked her over but didn’t say anything. “Shall we?”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Nice place at the town centre, no need to worry.”

She grinned. “Not worried, just curious.”

He held the taxi door open for her. The driver seemed legit. Miranda wasn’t worried, just careful. Almost sane.

But Jonathan Crane didn’t lie. The car stopped in front of nice restaurant she wouldn’t normally go to. Not only was it expensive but also so posh it hurt her eyes after entering.

“Do you come here regularly?” she asked.

“Yes, I did some job for the owner and they treat me with huge discounts.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Not publicly.”

The evening went by fast. They talked about many things – Miranda didn’t realize she has so many hobbies except for killing. Nerd stuff, she would call it. Just nerding and killing, that was Miranda’s jam. Jonathan also surprised her with his interest in old folk tales and poems. He loved to sing. It didn’t fit his serious expression at all.

After food and two glasses of wine she finally asked: “Okay, so what’s your damage?”

He smiled. “You show me yours…”

“Oh, come on, you already know. I kill for money. I am crazy. Next.”

“You never told me how the ghosts started.”

She investigated her wine and played with a glass a little, letting the liquid flow around. “I am way too sober for that. You start.”

Jonathan also drank for that. “To put it simply, my grandma was abusive witch who used fear to control me. I killed her.” Miranda heard anticipation in his voice. She knew the feeling. You let someone see you and you are ready to be judged.

“That’s fucked up. I was only part of suicide pact.”

“I expect you failed.” His interest rose, maybe because he didn’t need to focus on himself anymore.

“Yes, the only one. Hence the ghosts. They blame me for not fulfilling my promise.”

“Interesting.”

“It is, actually. The whole ritual is involved.” She described it and Jonathan listened with open curiosity. “We were supposed to blow this shopping centre that was cover for drug den. And die during it. I just said fuck it and ran. I like my life, no matter how shitty it got.”

“We all need to find our focus,” agreed Jonathan.

“Yours is fear.”

“Which reminds me. Would you like to hear my new theory of how to help you?”

Miranda sighed. “Professor, it’s not worth it.”

“Please, it’s Jonathan. Hear me out.”

She finished her wine and asked for another. Then nodded.

“Thank you. I realize I approached it all wrong.”

“Through your own selfish plans,” she reminded him.

“Yes, that too. However, my plan did involve you awakening and overcoming your fear. Unfortunately, you are way too deep in no emotions land.”

“Poetic.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he smirked. “So, I figured, you need to awake all your emotions. Not just fear. I brought you something.” He put bottle of pills on the table. “These make normal people oversensitive. It overloads your nervous system, makes you twice as sensitive to any perception. I think this might help you get your emotions back partially. It’s my own formula.”

She stared him entertained. He gave back confused look.

“Are you giving me aphrodisiacs?”

Now he blinked surprised. He examined the bottle, frowned and then scoffed amused.

“You are correct, yes.”

Miranda took the bottle and shrugged. “I might test it later. Thank you, Jonathan.”

“Do not thank me. Save it when there are results.”

Miranda shook her head. “No, I don’t know what end you are following, but you wouldn’t have to pay attention to me. Neither try to help me.”

“Let’s say I like challenges and I am intrigued.”

“Are you also ready to lose?”

“I don’t accept failure.” He finished his wine. “Do you know where you can find even better alcohol?”

“Where?”

“My place.”

“I actually do know that,” she smiled mischievously.

“Did you snoop around my bar, Miranda?”

“I might have.”

“Then I have nothing to surprise you with.”

***

Jonathan didn’t lie, the alcohol was really good. Another trivia around mysterious professor. He wasn’t into low-quality stuff. Meanwhile Miranda didn’t mind drinking basically clear alcohol. She was able to appreciate fine tastes though.

Their conversation continued and they successfully avoided talking about their problems. Miranda appreciated that. Her life turned around ghosts. She was happy talking about anything else.

“No, really! From all the cities I like Gotham the most. It wakes up my inner Shelley,” she laughed.

“Percy or Mary?”

“Both, but I would probably be the one hiding the organs of my husband.”

The clock was showing almost midnight when she stood up. “I should head home. This was fun.”

“I agree,” said Jonathan looking her over. “We should do this again.”

Miranda nodded ready to turn to the door. She stopped in her steps and looked him straight in the eyes.

“Do you wanna fuck?” she asked.

If she surprised him, he didn’t let is show. “Excuse me?”

“You are looking at me like that all evening. Do you wanna fuck me? Because I would.”

Jonathan smiled. “No, sorry.”

“That’s fine. I’m just not used to hoovering around this like teenagers. Still had fun. See ya.”

“Goodbye Miranda.”

She went to hall and was reaching for a coat, when Jonathan forcefully grabbed her from behind and pinned her to a wall. She yelped by surprise. She moved, elbowed him to solar. Punch was big enough to force him to let her go.

She turned, grabbed him by the coat and pressed him against a wardrobe.

“You fuck,” she hissed.

Jonathan raised his hand in front of her face. Little pop and hiss were heard. From bracelet on his wrist a small cloud of toxin sprayed right into her face. Miranda closed her mouth and eyes, avoiding the mist.

When she looked back at him, his smile disappeared.

“Nose filters, you cunt,” she grinned. “I fucking knew it.” She grabbed his hand and hit it two times against the wardrobe. The bracelet broke. Then she threw Jonathan on the floor, he tried to get away, but one rib kick made him fall on his back. He moaned painfully. Miranda stepped on his neck.

“I am speechless,” she said. “If you wanted to die, you should have said so you crazy fucking bastard! What were you thinking? That I am some naïve bitch that will just let you do this? What did you want to do to me, huh?”

He held her leg, couldn’t breathe neither speak.

“Look at you. That’s what you wanted?” Miranda was pissed. She couldn’t explain why. Maybe because she really wanted this to be just innocent fun and let herself forget Jonathan is bonkers. “Look at you, you pathetic…”

She went silent. She noticed and all was clear now. “You sick…” she mumbled. “Really!? After I asked!” she pointed at his obvious hard on.

She stepped off and Jonathan was finally able to breathe. He coughed hard, holding his neck. His clear attire destroyed, hair messy, his smug gone. Miranda walked a little circle like a lion in the cage.

“I get it,” she laughed and squatted next to him. He didn’t break eye contact, still holding his neck. “You are intimidated by me.”

He frowned. Didn’t say anything.

“That’s what you do, huh, Jonathan? You go after naïve, stupid ones. Drug ‘em, fuck ‘em, use your authority to silence them. Tell me, how many students have you forced your dick in, hm? You are happy when they can’t fight you back, right? You wanna choke them while you cum inside them. Well you chose a wrong girl to try this on. Because I won’t have that.”

She stood up and fought need to kick him one more time.

“Scared of having one awake, are you.” Miranda turned to leave. This time she wasn’t afraid he will jump her. She taught him that lesson.

She put her coat on.

“Miranda, stop,” she heard him say. She grinned amused by his bravery. He dares to… “Look at me.” She turned. Jonathan ran fingers through his hair making worse mess than before. Only his looks showed evidence of her self-defence, his expression was back again. As if nothing happened.

“Undress.”

“What did you say?” she snapped.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” He sat in his chair, watching her silently.

What the fuck is he thinking! He just did that! Can you believe it, Miranda!? Nobody ever had balls to do something like this to you! He tried to drug you and rape you and now he acts all high and mighty! Kill him. Now! Miranda? Miranda, don’t…

‘Shut up, reason, nobody cares,’ she thought. She threw the coat aside. Dress soon followed despite every sensor in her body telling her not to. Eventually she stood there only the charm on her neck.

“I thought so,” he said and let her guess whether he meant her obedience or scars covering her body. The gunshot wound hasn’t healed properly yet. “Come closer. No, that’s enough.”

Miranda stood two metres away from him. This no contact gave her anticipation. She was still angry but intrigued. Excited even. She will get what she wanted. Fun.

“On your knees,” he demanded, and she followed. She wondered where this will go. How far is he willing to take it? His excitement was still showing even though you wouldn’t read it from his face. She hoped for a night with him, just imagined it differently. Can’t get everything you want, Miranda.

“Look at yourself,” he scoffed awaking her anger again. “Intimidated by you? Don’t make me laugh. You are utterly boring and uninteresting.”

That motherfucking smug bastard…

“Boring even naked. Follows orders like some bitch. I am sure the students are better fucks than you. They are at least after something, so they try. You are just dull idiot who thinks she can throw a punch, so she is scary. No, you are not. You are on par with high school bully. Pathetic.”

Miranda grinded her teeth, face red. She was ready to jump on her feet and finish this once and for all. How dares he? Such humiliation!

“Angry, are we?” he smiled darkly. “There is the door.”

Miranda held her fists tight and didn’t break eye contact.

“Very well,” Jonathan kept smiling, “make me interested.”

Miranda grew uncomfortable. What? How? She tucked her hair behind her ears buying some time. No, being obscene wouldn’t work on him. They took it this far, Miranda won’t ruin the fun by going against the tide. She touched one of her scars instead. It ran along her ribs under her breast. “I have horrible taste in men, you could have noticed. My last boyfriend made me scream all night. The best I’ve ever had. He was also hidden serial killer turned on by stabbing. That I realized later. But he stabbed pretty good,” she smiled while running her fingers along the scar. Slowly moved them over the hip.

“Drunken fight. The lady at the bar took care of me. Licked the blood like a goddess. Not only the blood mind you. I get wet just thinking about her.” She didn’t give him the pleasure of touching any important spots, but she started to feel the need to. Red face stayed, anger left for now.

“And back… my back is horrible to look at. Cult whipping and self-flagellation were often. One guy loved to tear your clothes down and stuck his dick in you while he was torturing you. I told him no but looked forward to every meeting.”

Jonathan didn’t move a muscle. “And that one?”

Right between her breasts. Even now it was obvious stab wound. She caressed it in silence, looking for words. “It is… a sign.” She never thought about it. “That I am alive despite my best efforts not to be.”

“You didn’t do very good job,” he smirked.

“Today I’d beg you different.”

“Interesting,” he commented. “Do you feel proud of being a whore?”

“I feel proud of living as much as my problems allow me. I am sure you understand that, Jonathan.”

“It’s professor to you.”

She fell silent, her body unsure of what it wants. It wanted him, the blood flowed into her private parts making them hot and pulsing with need. But she also wanted to beat him where he sat to a bloody pulp. “Fine, professor,” she said slowly. “What is it then? Am I worthy of your attention?”

Jonathan waited for a minute letting her boil in silence. Judging her, investigating her body thoroughly as if she was some sort of meat on display. Her discomfort rose. Her needs too. ‘Say something,” she thought. ‘Anything! Call me a whore again!’

“I think,” said Jonathan finally and tone of his voice trembled her to the bone, “that if you ask very nicely, I will let you suck my cock.”

Miranda gasped and bit her lip. Showing him her anticipation like that was stupid. She shouldn’t have done that. Now he waited and she couldn’t deliver. Her mind wanted to talk so badly, but the words just wouldn’t come out of her mouth. ‘I have a shame after all,’ she realized amused.

“You want me to beg for goods I can’t even see?”

He kept smiling. The spark in his eyes grew with her defiance. “A bit picky for a concubine.”

“I am worth the money.”

Miranda wasn’t willing to budge, and Jonathan knew that. He didn’t bother with more words. He unzipped his pants and took his penis out. His erection made it stood waiting for action. He didn’t remove any of his clothing. Just a man in a suit with his dick out. Miranda felt her lower body tingle. She wanted this. Shame be damned.

“Please, let me do it,” she said eyes tracing the carpet.

“You aren’t even trying, Miranda.”

Damn his demands. How could she do this with a straight face? She couldn’t even look him in the eyes!

“Please, let me suck your dick.”

“No, I don’t think you want this bad enough.”

Her chest tightened as she rose her head. She had to look so desperate and pathetic and Jonathan loved it the damn bastard. And so did she, as the nervous feeling she didn’t have in years overcame her.

“Please, professor Crane, I want to suck your dick. However long you please. Let me do it.”

Jonathan left her in silence again as if he thought about her plea. As if he calculated whether she really was worth it. She waited for his words like nervous dog that needs to be given a sign to move. He let her shiver on the ground, embarrassed, red and wet.

“Very well,” he said finally acting like he gave up. “Come here. No. Don’t stand up.”

On all four she crawled to him. She stayed on the ground, Jonathan sitting high like some sort of deity. He enjoyed feeling of superiority, his dick twitched in anticipation.

She really wanted to boil him just like he did to her. Let him wait and show him he is not in charge. But he got to her. She couldn’t wait any longer. Miranda was a hungry animal and needed to be satisfied.

She grabbed his penis and steadied it as she licked the shaft from the bottom to the top. Her tongue tasted the saltiness of precum on the head. Jonathan was eyeing her, his breath not so calm anymore. She licked him more, down, up, making his cock wet and slippery. Then finally she took it in one go, all at once. Jonathan gasped and she felt victorious she made him do it. She wanted him to lose it just like she did.

Down and up, whole member in her mouth. Miranda was gasping for air after a while, her throat stiff, but she loved doing this. The taste was so wrong and so right. Saltiness and smell of a man.

Miranda let go for a while to calm her throat, she continued to rub his penis with hands. He was still watching, mouth just slightly open. She smiled happy for getting to him slowly but surely. He will be hers.

Miranda kept licking and sucking, occasional gasp motivated her to go faster and deeper. She wished he grabbed her hair and forced her down, just the thought of the act left her trembling. But he kept his hands on the chair.

“Enough,” Jonathan said after a while. Miranda stopped. “You are pretty good when you have your mouth shut.”

She decided to take it as a compliment. He grabbed her by a chin and made her stand up. Then he led her to sit on his lap. He didn’t go in yet. She rested her hands on his shoulders. “No touching,” he warned her. She grabbed the chair behind him instead putting her breasts close to his face. “That’s better.”

Jonathan slowly ran his hands over her body. He touched the scars first, he was very careful when caressing her collar bone, so he doesn’t awake overprotective charm beast. She shivered when he touched her neck, and she leaned in closer, but his hands slid down to her breast. He playfully pinched her nipples making her moan a bit.

Then his fingers ran lower and found a way to her crotch. Miranda bit her lip again as he slipped in her. “Look at me,” he demanded as he moved his fingers in and out at her clitoris and back in again. She tried, but she couldn’t take the feeling and look of his cold blue eyes. Her sight always wandered somewhere else with each pulse of pleasure.

“At me,” he repeated and turned her head to face him. The sensation was too much. The feeling of him in her made her crazy and his pleased face…

“Fuck me,” she moaned.

“No.”

“Please, just, ah… Professor, please, I beg you.”

“I don’t think I will yet,” he said with a grin. She started to tremble even more, she was so close to finish when he took the hand away.

“No,” she begged. He left her tense, on a brink of orgasm, her pussy pulsing and dripping, wishing to be full of his cock.

He held the wet hand in front of her. No words to be said. She started licking his finger, one after the other tasting herself.

“Good girl, Miranda,” he said softly and her heart jumped on the praise. She sucked his thumb and felt him comforting himself.

She moaned loudly finger still in her mouth as he thrusted in her. She felt him filling her. She supported herself on the chair and began to move on him. In one rhythm, in, out, she wished to scream loudly but he held her mouth shut. It felt wonderful, it was all she needed. So good. So full. So forceful.

He grabbed her hip with the other hand and forced her down even deeper. She moaned again. The hand on her face made her helpless. She wanted to shout be he had control of everything. Fucking her hard. God. Any second now. Any…

Muffled scream of pleasure made him go faster. Her insides started so spasm and she felt everything. Every nerve in her body made her flinch and only Jonathan held her in place. He groaned loudly as he came inside her at the same time.

Still trembling he finally freed her mouth. She couldn’t talk, the adrenaline was running through her, she still felt Jonathan’s dick inside her squirming. She enjoyed the moment with a pleased smile, lightheaded and tired.

Small movement stopped it.

“Hands where I can feel them, Jonathan,” she warned him.

He smirked and grabbed her breasts again.

“Attentive, aren’t you?”

“Just let me have this, you freak.”

He caressed her cheek and then brought her down for a kiss. She tightened in surprise. Strange feeling filled her as they kissed for a moment. Then he let go.

“Get off me.”

“I think your suit is ruined.”

“I will get that cleaned.”

She looked him in the eyes one last time. She let go of the chair and then she slapped him hard.

“That’s for trying to drug me again.” Then she finally stood up, he slid out of her. Her thighs were wet. This was great evening.

He was proper faster than her. He watched her getting dressed without comments. She wanted to say million things, but she better bit her tongue. Not that it would ruin a moment. Just too many words were said today.

“I apologize,” said Jonathan.

“Don’t apologize when you don’t mean it.”

“You are right. I don’t. I still want to experiment on you.”

“You are freak, Jonathan. I like that. See you around.”

“Don’t forget to take your medicine,” he laughed sincerely.

“Suck it,” she replied and left.

She had dreams of Scarecrow fucking her numb whole night.

Next chapter

[kittykatslender]

Meetings (RichaXRevenant-22)

Risha jogged down the stairs to the Hall of Guardians, waving to Shaxx as she passed by him.

"You needed to see me Cayde?" She said, high-fiving a passing Guardian.

"Yea. We got a new Hunter here." He said, clapping a Hunter on the back. "His names Revenant-22. Mind showing him around?"

"Sure," she said and turned to Revenant and punched his shoulders lightly. "Names Risha."

"Pleasure to meet you." He said winking. Risha giggled holding a finger up and walked around the table, pulling on Zavala's shoulder pauldron and kissed his cheek. The giant Vanguard chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist and giving her a brief squeeze. Grinning, she jumped onto the table and ran back to Revenant.

"Hey! Watch my map, Risha!" Cayde said as the two Hunters ran off before he could wring Risha's neck.

"So you and Zavala?" He pressed, taking in her red hair, yellow tattoo, blue eyes and deep purple skin.

"Yea. We kind of hit it off a little bit after my resurrection. Cayde was a little peeved but I told him I annoy Zavala when he was off duty for him and he calmed down. I wouldn't try anything with Ikora though. So take that idea from your mind." Risha said, laughing louder when he pouted. "Hey. I know where we can go first."

Grabbing Revenants arm, she ran to the lunch hall, and led him to two more Awoken women. One he noticed was a Titan with silver hair and that she also had deep purple skin. When she turned to him, he noticed that she had bright blue eyes just like Risha, but she had a thin black tattoo on her nose. Her laugh reached her eyes and made them shine brighter.

"Whoa, who's she?" He said absentmindedly. The Titans laughter bubbled to his audials as the Warlock in front of her spit out her food with a disgusted face.

"What the fuck?!" the Warlock yelled coughing. Guardians around them laughed as she scrabbled to slurp any kind of beverage she could get her hands on down her throat.

"The silver haired Titan is my older twin sister, Richa." Risha said, walking to the table. "Hey guys! We've got a new Guardian around."

She gestured to Revenant and grinned at Richa.

"Revenant, this is my sister Richa and our best friend, Zorlee." Risha said, gesturing to the two Guardians, Richa waved, tears in her eyes as she continued to laugh at Zorlee. Zorlee coughed downing another glass of water that a male Titan gave her.

"Don't worry about her. She'll be alright soon enough. Some of the guys decided to dare her to try the lunch halls surprise soup." She giggled scooting over. Rev smiled sitting down beside her and leaning onto the table.

"Honestly I thought this would be something Titans do. Not Warlocks."

"Yea, well Zorlee is a nutcase and doesn't conform to stereotype." Richa said watching the Pinkish-Red haired girl as she tried to suck down the rest of the soup, clenching her eyes in obvious disgust. "It's what makes us best friends."

"Really? Well, you two sound like my kind of people."

They both laughed watching as the crowd of Guardians grow as the light blue-eyed Guardian basically forced herself to eat the remaining soup.

"Are you happy now Phoenix??!!" Zorlee said setting the bowl down as Phoenix, a white Exo with silver accents sat beside her and wrapped his arm around Zorlee shoulders.

"Very. You managed to not throw up this time." He said, his deep voice reverberated around the circle. Zorlee laughed leaning in, kissing his cheek.

"Hey, uh. You want to get out of here? Go somewhere nice and quiet?" Richa said looking at him. "I know a café we can go to but we'll need to ditch our armor."

"Sure but why ditch the armor?" He said standing with her.

"Eh, they don't know I'm a Guardian so I don't get treated like some royalty. I enjoy it. It's a really nice feeling, ya know?"

"Well, I'm sure I will one day. But right now."

"Ah, right. I forgot you're new." She giggled walking across the plaza to a set of double doors and pushed them open. "These are the Guardians Quarters. Though I would invest in something to cancel noises. Especially when Zavala and Risha get into it."

"Like. Screaming? Or..." He made a scissor motion with his two index and middle fingers.

"Yes. Whenever they fuck. From what I've seen of her in the mornings after it's something intense."

Rev looked at her with a questioning look on his face. She chuckled softly stopping in front of a door.

"Hey, your rooms right across from mine. Awesome." She bounced as she punched in a keycode and opened her door. "I'll see you soon, yea?"

"Yea." He smiled at her, unbeknownst to Richa the lights in between the seams in his cheeks were flashing, his version of a blush was spread across his cheeks. His ghost, Dinklebot, appeared and did his version of a grin at Revenant.

"You like her." He teased as Rev walked in and started stripping himself of his armor and reached for civilian clothes.

"Shut up, Dinklebot."

~Meanwhile~

Amon floated around Risha as she dressed in a silver tank top and black jeans.

"You like him!"

"Shush." Richa said eyes flickering to the door. "Don't let him hear you, Amon."

"Sorry, but Richa you're absolutely head over heels over him." Amon said floating around, flexing his shell here and there. Richa slipped on some combat boots over her jeans and laced them up and proceeded to flop back onto the bed.

"What if he doesn't like me though Amon?" She said staring up at the ceiling. She had carved intricate designs into the ceiling that were almost like the constellations. Her Ghost flew down and plopped himself onto her forehead and looked up to the ceiling also. A knock came at her door and a second later it opened to reveal Revenant, wearing a dark green hoodie with black pants and sneakers. He looked around at her knickknacks and snorted when his eyes landed on her and Amon, tilting his head.

"Well, he sure looks comfortable," Rev said watching her as she rose and grabbed her Ghost. "Have you named yours?"

"Yea he was and yes. His names Amon. It's an old Egyptian name." She said lovingly petting the Ghost who seemed to purr and lean into her as she stood. Rev took her shape and all the other small details about her in. She had small scars that puckered up between her breasts and stomach, intricate tattoos wound their way up her arms and shoulders around her neck and breasts and down her sides. And despite her strength and muscles she was a small framed woman though she came up to where his nose would've been.

Holding one arm out he flourished his other towards the door.

"Shall we go then milady?" he asked watching Amon fly towards Richa and disappear. Richa laughed softly taking his arm.

"And women in the Last City say chivalry is dead."

"Well they never met me." He said walking down the corridor after she locked up her room. Rev tried to keep his eyes on hers but sometimes he'd catch them trailing down the tattoos along her neck and breast. Which also didn't help that her breast bounced with every springing step she took. As they walked into the Plaza some of the Guardians stopped and stared at the young exotic looking woman on Revs arm.

~Time Skip~

Rev sat at a table and watched Richa across the table order a thing she liked to call her 'wakeup call'. A Cinnamon latte with double shot of vanilla and expresso topped with chocolate syrup. When the drink was delivered, the waiter, a young teenage looking boy left a napkin with his number on it. Rev glared slightly at the boy, causing him to scurry off.

Richa laughed sadly ripping the napkin off before saying in a whispered voice.

"It wouldn't happen anyway. I'd rather not be found to be a Guardian. Much less a Titan."

"Are you ashamed of being a Titan?" He asked her, studying her drink and making a face. That made her bust out into her bubbly laughter.

"What?"

"That thing smells way too sweet. But you avoided my question."

"Ah and that's where you're wrong Revvy." She said, eyes twinkling at her nickname for him. The lights in his mouth and cheeks flickered brightly as he watched her gingerly sip the coffee.

"I'm most definitely NOT ashamed of my class. It just makes romances... weird."

"How so?"

"Well. Many of the male Guardians aren't very fond of a woman being stronger or as strong as them and the females...There's very few female Titans and tons of female Hunters and Warlocks think Titans are brutal. Which, yes, I agree. The sex can be brutal but what I've heard from Risha, sex with Zavala's worth all the bruises. I guess she's the only one who'd think so."

"Hmm. I'd like to find out what sex with you is like." The words slipped from his mouth before he had time to stop himself. His systems heated up faster than before and the lights on his face started flaring bright red, bright enough to reflect into Richa's hair and eyes. A darker, deeper, purple blush was flushed against her cheeks. Revenant rubbed the back of his neck in extreme embarrassment and he looked down. "Th-That wasn't supposed to come out."

A few seconds of awkward silent air hung between the two, Rev was sure he could reach out and grab the awkwardness and it'd still be there. That's how thick it was. Or so it was until Richa laughed softly, drinking longer gulps now that her coffee had cooled off a bit. Leaning back into her chair she stared out the window of the café up at the Traveler.

"Maybe one day I'll take you up on that offer, Revvy."

"Well, changing subjects. How much do you remember of your past life?" He said quietly, glancing at some civilians walking by.

"Not much. Most of its fuzzy except for one detail." She said setting her empty cup to the side where a waiter would pick it up and ordered a new one.

"What's that?" He asked, curiosity peaked.

"The day I died." She said staring at her ungloved hand. It was badly calloused and her nails were brittle.

"Care to talk about it?" Rev asked sitting up straighter. Richa smiled at him slightly taking the new cup of coffee.

"It was me, Risha and another girl. I think she was our sister but I can't fully remember. She's... blurred whenever I try to focus on her. We had just graduated from an Academy and were in Russia on vacation. I remember a car speeding toward us, driving on the wrong side of the road and then we were sent flying. The car... rolled and Risha..." She sniffed shaking her head and looked out the window. "Risha's head snapped into the dashboard and then against the window so hard her head snapped. I... I remember being impaled. I think it was a tree branch or maybe it was a steel pole. But I didn't die from blood loss. I died from blunt force trauma from slamming my head so hard on the steering wheel. I remember the girl in the back screaming but I died before the first responders could get us out. I'm still haunted by the girls screams and watching Risha's neck snap."

"What was it like? Dying I mean?"

"At first it was just numbness, then I started getting colder and..." she trailed off. "They say death is like embracing a lover and all pain is gone. I felt so much agony and then nothing. Next thing I knew Amon was resurrecting me. And here we are. Do you remember anything about your death?" He hesitated slightly and leaned back.

"Not much. I just remember a man and a gun. And then Dinklebot was in my face."

Richa laughed leaning her elbows against the table. A glint in her eyes danced in the café lights and Rev leaned in too. Suddenly a quiet hiss sounded from inside Rev's hoodie pocket.

"Uh, Guardians. I hate to interrupt."

"No, you don't." Rev cut him off.

"Hush. Anyway, we're needed in the Tower."

Richa sighed, finishing the coffee and got up leaving a glimmer card with the total and a small tip. When Rev saw the one glimmer cube of a tip he smirked and snorted, getting up and chasing after the Titan.

"So. What's your input on the which class is more superior?" He asked shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. Richa sighed linking her arm into his and ran a hand through her hair and looked up at the sky. Well. What sky they could see that wasn't covered by the Traveler.

"I think it's stupid. We're Guardians. We're supposed to work together. Each class has its strengths and weaknesses. A Titan makes up what a Hunter and Warlock lack and vice versa. Guardians shouldn't fight over who's superior. It's ridiculous and childish."

Rev smiled at her as they made their way into an alley, where their ghosts transmatted them up to the Tower. Laughing, they walked down to the Hall of Guardians and to the Vanguard. Zavala looked up from his datapads at the two unarmored Guardians.

"Any reason you two are not in your armor, Guardians?" He asked watching as Richa walked over and took a datapad from his outstretched hand.

"Mmm. Date night?" Rev said standing by Cayde, arms held up and away from his body.

"Don't you and Risha go on dates?" Richa teased him earning a small glare from her mentor. She grinned sheepishly looking over the report. "Do you think Rev's up for this, Commander?"

"I believe he is. What better way to learn than from you and Zorlee?" he said patting her shoulder. Something happened between the two Titans once Zavala started dating Risha. He was still hard on her, but he became a fatherly figure to the young Titan. She leaned back slightly grinning handing the datapad back to Zavala.

"Amon, get ahold of Aku Aku. Have him and Zor meet us at the Ishtar Sink. Come on Rev." She said walking around and grabbing Rev's arm, dragging him from his conversation with Cayde.

"Noooo!!!" he whined playfully. The Vanguard all laughed watching the two disappear. _____________

Well this isn't how the meetings went in real life. My Snowberry played Destiny a lot more than me but I thought this would be cute ^_^

[inkstainedfanfics]

Sunday Brunch

Request: For sequel to The Alleyway Rescue. They’re related.  In this, Credence visits Reader for their weekly Sunday brunch and after the food, finds a way to fully relax via a story.

Word Count: 1,747

Pairing: Credence x Reader

Requested by Anonymous but also tagging @gdmora

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in

The pan clatters onto the oven’s metal rack. Closing the heavy door, you crank the timer and set it aside. Turning away, you flick your wand, sending a pair of dinner dishes dancing onto your small dining table. The bowl of eggs lands in the center of it, right next to a plate of sausage and two cartons of jam.

Keeping one ear toward the door, you pull open the fridge as the timer ticks away. The turnovers’ warm strawberry smell wafts through your apartment, sending you stomach into a growling mess. Better a growling mess than the light, nervous mess it had been before.

The timer dings just as you hear what you’ve been waiting for: four light taps on the door. “Just a minute.” You shout, sliding on an oven mitt and pulling the pan of pastries from their spot on the rack. It crashes on top of the stove where you throw it, shaking the oven mitt from your hand and rushing toward the door.

Feeling silly, you pat your hair down before you click the locks open and pull the door open. “Credence!”

His smile is small, as always, but genuine. “I’m sorry.” He stops, as though he needs to recharge to finish his sentence. “For being late.”

You smile back at him. “It’s okay. You have perfect timing, actually! The turnovers just finished!”

Credence steps in and you shut the door behind him.

“Strawberry?” He questions, glancing around your apartment.

“Of course.” They’re his favorites, as you’d found out five weeks ago at your second weekly Sunday brunch. “You can sit. I’m just going to throw the turnovers on a plate.”

You could use magic, but it always makes Credence uncomfortable, so you hiss in pain as you flip each pastry from the pan to the plate you set out next to you.

Thankfully, Credence doesn’t notice, too busy adjusting the silverware by his plate to hear you. You’re grateful. If it had been just a few weeks earlier, his focus wouldn’t have drifted from you. Weeks ago, he’d barely allowed himself to look away from you, watching your every move, flinching if you moved too quickly. Now he’s willing to be more honest and relaxed around you, step away from his ghost persona and be present.

The thought makes your chest swell with joy. The first time Credence had shown up unannounced, you’d whipped together a quick lunch. The day had been awkward, though. Neither of you had known what to say, so the only sounds in the small dining room had been clinks of forks on the plates and gulps of water.

You weren’t even sure Credence would ever return. All for the best, you’d figured, not wanting to terrorize the shy boy with forced company. The next Sunday, though, he’d knocked on the door again. Since then, late Sunday brunches had become an unspoken agreement between the two of you.

Setting the plate on the table, you sit in the chair across from Credence’s. “Here, fresh from the oven!”

He leans over, taking two. You serve yourself a plate and watch Credence gobble down first one full plate of food, then another. Your stomach turns whenever his sleeves slide up to reveal dark blotches of black and yellow, but you say nothing, another unspoken agreement. Your apartment is safe for him, and if that means not discussing what happens at his dilapidated mansion, that means not discussing it until he’s ready. You quite enjoy his presence, the soft glow he has when you smile at him, the hesitant laugh that always seems to surprise him when it breaks out, the way he seems to lighten up some when he steps into your apartment. You don’t want to scare him away by making him in any way uncomfortable.

“How are your sisters?” The one personal question you know is safe to ask.

“Surviving.”

“Did they like the cookies you took home last week?” You try to speak around a clump of a roll in your mouth.

Credence nods, giving you an odd look. “Loved them.”

“Good. I baked some mini pies for you to take to them this week.”

“Why?”

You tilt your head. “You like to bring them sweets.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.” You confirm, taking another bite of your roll.

The room is silent for a brief second.

Credence interrupts it. “Thank you.”

The words are a shadow of themselves, spoken the way Credence talks when he’s drawing in on himself.

“It’s not a problem.” You scramble to figure out something to say as Credence’s shoulders begin to creep in toward his chest. “I bought a new book!”

He blinks at your shout.

Blushing, you dip your head. “Sorry. I got it yesterday.”

Credence tips his head, not breaking your gaze. “What’s it about?”

“I’m not sure yet.” You confess. “I haven’t begun it. I adored the author’s last book, though.”

Credence wipes his mouth with his napkin. “Are you excited?”

“To read it?”

He nods, pushing his plate away from him.

You stand, taking your dishes to the sink. “Very. It hasn’t received great reviews, but I think it’ll be fantastic.”

Credence is silent as you wash the dishes and return to the table to put the jams in the fridge. You’re about to ask him if he’d like to play cards like last week when he speaks.

“Would you read it to me?”

Your back is to him, cold air washing over your bare feet, hiding the look of shock you’re sure is on your face. He’s never expressed much interest in novels or stories of any sort. He usually comes over, eats, then plays cards or listens to music with you. It’s not that you thought that he doesn’t have any interests, it’s just that he’s always been so quiet, opting to listen to you ramble rather than discuss anything about himself. Still, you don’t want to risk making him think that you don’t like the idea, so you turn, wiping the shock from your place and replacing it with a smile.

“If you’d like.”

Credence stares at his hands folded in his lap. “I would.”

“Okay. It’s in my bag over there if you’d grab it. I’m just going to finish clearing the table.”

Credence nods, crossing the room without a sound and pulling your bag open.

Meanwhile, you take the final empty bowl of eggs and last two glasses and place them in the sink, leaving them unwashed. Your stomach feels light again as you walk to the beaten down couch, the way it did when you were waiting for Credence to visit. He waits with the small book in his hands, turning it over to read the back.

He looks up as you sit next to him, the cushion dipping under your weight and shifting him the slightest bit closer. He gives you the book, hands only slightly trembling, quite different from the first time he had come over.

Ignoring the fact that Credence’s arm is brushing yours, you open the book. It smells musty and timeworn already, despite just being printed, and you find yourself relaxing as its smell sweeps over you. Credence next to you remains curled up, legs pressed together, hands joined on his legs, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t scoot away from you, though, and you try not to beam.

“‘In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.’” You begin, clearing your throat before moving onto the next sentence.

The first chapter takes longer than you expected to get through, but you fall into a rhythm, losing yourself in the story, picturing it as you read, but allowing yourself small glances at Credence whenever you reach the end of a long paragraph.

When you first glance up after four pages, his shoulders have fallen against the back of the couch, no longer pressing against his neck. The second time is another five pages later, and his legs have opened some so they aren’t pushed together. You smile as you start reading again after your third glance. He’s shut his eyes, letting his head drift onto the couch’s back, but you know he’s still awake by the way his hands toy with a tiny thread on his jacket.

It’s the first time you’ve seen every single bit of worry fade from his face. A comfortable serenity crosses his features, smoothing the lines in his forehead and allowing his jaw to come unclenched. He’s so peaceful, you wish you didn’t have to stop reading soon.

The sun balances on the tops of the buildings outside after two chapters, though, so you set the book down on your lap, saying nothing until Credence opens his eyes and sits up.

“It’s lovely.” That’s all he says, but it’s enough.

“It is.”

He fiddles with the thread again before dropping it and meeting your eyes. “Tom. What do you think of him?”

You take a breath, considering your thoughts. “I think he seems a bit selfish.”

Credence nods. “Gatsby?”

The two of you spend an hour discussing the story’s first two chapters, and you can’t help your smile as Credence lights up in front of you, finally opening up completely, not nervous at all, just content.

The buildings nearby hide half of the sun when Credence looks outside, ending your discussion. “I should go.”

You ache at the thought and at the sight of that invisible weight settling back on his shoulders. “You’ll come back next week, right? We can read the next two chapters.”

“You’ll wait for me?”

“Of course.” You reach out to take his hand but stop yourself, unsure of how he’ll react.

He stares at your dropped hand, then raises his eyes to yours, smiling his small smile. “Thank you.”

You walk him to the door, saying goodbye, waiting for him to be out of sight before you close it and return to the book. You place a bookmark in its pages and close it, anxious for the week to pass. Not because you want to know what happens next—even though you desperately do—but because you want to see Credence relax again, letting the weight of his life off his shoulders for even just a few hours.

You picture Credence’s smile again as you walk toward your bag and grin at the cover of what is bound to be your new favorite book.