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averagewriter-inthedark · 2 years ago

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Got Ink? 💉 | Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd Imagine

Takes place before, during, and after the events of TGM

TGM masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Lt. Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x tattooed model!reader (romantic), dagger squad (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, profanity, mentions of pain as a result of tattoos. Slight suggestive content if you blink | Female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested 📨 yes/no (rules for requests)

Premise: Art comes in many different forms. And when you technically think about it, your body is a canvas that can be become a mural if you find yourself drawn to the beauty that tattoos bring. For WSO Bob Floyd, he appreciated art in every form and loved how patterns and colors could create something beautiful. When his sister invites him to a party for her job shortly after returning from a special mission with the Navy, Bob meets a woman who was the perfect canvas he’d ever seen.

Note: I cannot tell you how much I loved doing this request. As soon as I got it I was like, ‘I’m gonna love this,’ especially as someone who has tattoos and wants to have a lot (I have at least twenty planned) this was feeding my love for tattoos. To the anon who sent this request I hope you like it, I really enjoyed writing this for you and I hope you’re okay with me choosing Bob since you said you wouldn’t mind if it was him or Jake—since I just did a Jake imagine I wanted to give Bob some love 🥹 Also I made it where reader was born in 1989 so if we were to go by Bob being born in 1993 like Lewis then she’d be about four years older since the events of TGM take place in 2019.

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They often say that when you get your first tattoo it will either be the one and only time you subject yourself to the temporary pain of permanent ink…or it becomes one of many.

“It’s an addiction”, people defend, though they should probably look up the term addiction before using it in such context.

For many it’s the appreciation of art. Whether expressing it by becoming a tattoo artist or wanting to capture the beauty by etching it onto their skin like they are its own personal canvas.

Tattoos come in many different forms. There’s the traditional/old school style that is very recognizable with its bold black lines outlining bright colors. People in their old age, having grown up in the 60s and 70s, are the ones usually seen with these types of tattoos. Neo-traditional is not that far off from traditional, just the lines are not as bold. Delicateness is seen with fine line tattoos. In recent years it’s become popular amongst the younger generation—not just because they are pretty to look at but if one has a job that’s strict on policy then they can hide them better.

The oldest style would be the tribal tattoos. Beautiful elaborate patterns in various sizes, they represent the culture one comes from. Like fine line, watercolor tattoos have become a popular style—taking away the traditional black ink used as an outline so the colors have the spotlight. No color in a piece is blackwork and then there’s realism where it’s pretty much a picture that was printed onto the skin. Go on Pinterest and you’ll find multiple images of patchwork style where a collection of pieces put together can be any style already mentioned.

Japanese style, patch, geometric, black & gray, anime, portrait, the list goes on and on. So many ways to put a design on one’s body where it will remain until they go to the next life. Some people stick to pieces that represent sentimental value, like family or childhood nostalgia, others will simply see something they like and go, “I think it looks cool.”

When looking at Y/n’s tattoos, both aspects were seen in the array of artwork coating her body. After getting all the pieces that represented a person, place, or thing that impacted her life, Y/n started to get whatever the hell she wanted—not having an explanation for anything other than, “it looked badass so I got it. No value behind it, I just wanted it.”

Like many newly turned teenagers itching to get their first tattoo, Y/n was bold and got an intricate design on one of the most painful spots. Her reasoning was if she did it, then any other place in the future wouldn’t be as bad. All through college whenever asked what she wanted for her birthday or holidays the answer was always money to get a tattoo. An artist herself, she majored in drawing while attending Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, New York, also taking on an apprenticeship for a local tattoo artist. There she would get to work on her skills and tattoo people, progressing to doing tattoos on her legs and non-dominant arm. Anytime she traveled to a different state or country during the semester she studied abroad, Y/n got a new tattoo, wanting to have an array of styles from different artists on her body.

By the time she was 26, she had accumulated over 50 tattoos and still had room for more. From her neck down, artwork ranging from fine line to bold and traditional decorated her skin. Both her arms were half sleeves, ending just above her elbows with patchwork along her forearms and hands. The only place free of ink on Y/n was her face, though she did have her inner lip tattooed. If you asked her, it’d be the only place she regretted getting ink because it faded so quickly. But then again, she could get it redone if she really wanted to.

There were looks from people anytime she went out. Y/n loved dressing up in little black dresses and two piece sets to unapologetically show off her tattoos. Older, conservative couples or people who thought tattoos looked trashy on women would look down upon her. Getting hit on was normal, though she never gave the time of day and sending one look that read, ‘get lost’ had men scurry. Sometimes she'd be approached by teenagers asking about certain pieces, saying they wanted to get tattoos once they were of age and were looking for advice. Biker bars were a place she felt comfortable in, Y/n even taking a part-time job as a bartender so make some extra cash. People from all ages—well at least 21–were covered in tattoos like her.

In 2014, shortly after her 25th birthday, Y/n noticed an inbox notification in her instagram. She was used to getting messages on occasion. Being featured on the bar’s and tattoo parlors business instagram pages and accumulating her own following of potential clients had Y/n reach up to 80 thousand followers. The tattoo artist she worked for was very popular, having done work for celebrities and being featured in Inked Magazine.

Speaking of Inked Magazine…..

When Y/n clicked on the icon to open the message, the first thing she spotted was the blue checkmark. Then beside it was in bold lettering inkedmag. Coffee nearly spilled onto the floor when her grip faltered, gasping lightly at the name. She didn’t even realize the page was following her, confirming this by searching herself under their following and found her username staring back at her.

Heart pumping, Y/n opened the message. “Hi, Y/n, my name is Manda Williams and I’m a representative at Inked Magazine. We’re a fan of your profile and would love to work with you on our upcoming campaign. Would you be interested? Please email me at [email protected], I look forward to talking with you soon.”

Never did she think she’d become a model, let alone a tattoo model. She was taller than the average woman, standing at about 5’10 and strikingly beautiful. On countless occasions family members would say, “if you didn't have all that on you maybe you’d been discovered. You’ve got the height, the style, and high fashion look. Plus you’ll never get a well paying job with all those tattoos.” All they were met with was a roll of the eyes from the woman, annoyed with the constant nagging.

“I’m an artist,” she would defend. “I got accepted into one of the most prestigious art schools in the country and I work for a very renowned tattoo artist who has had Snoop Dogg, Angelina Jolie, and Lady Gaga as clients. Not to mention I work at a biker bar where the people there love me. Want me to go further?” the look on their face would read they didn’t but Y/n would put the nail in the coffin with, “Let me point out the fact I get paid more with both those jobs combined than you working a nine to five in your little office job. Also you should educate yourself. Tattoo models do exist.”

If only those family members could see her now. Posing on a motorcycle in nothing but a bra and booty shorts as the camera flashed in front of her.

“You’re a natural, Y/n,” the photographer complimented, making her flustered.

She adjusted her position, running a hand through her hair, “If you think so I trust your judgment.” Being in a studio felt very different than when she would set up her phone on a tripod in her apartment. It took many tries for her to capture the perfect angle, often deleting fifteen out of sixteen photos. Here with this guy calling out movements, “a little to the left,” “bring your hand up—just under your chin, perfect,” “Now act like you’re suntanning on the beach—tilt your head back as though the sun is in your face,” Y/n felt what it was like to be a model.

Not many tattooed individuals got the chance to sign with top agencies like Ford and IMG. Very few were recruited so it came as a big surprise when an agent from IMG Models contacted her following the release of Inked Magazine’s issue. When she took the job she thought it would be a small section in the magazine itself. Instead, she was on the cover.

“You don’t have an agent?” Bonnie’s tone was confused, staring back at Y/n from behind her desk as they sat in her office at the IMG headquarters. Bonnie had seen her cover on Inked, immediately going to Y/n’s instagram where she contacted her though the email listed on the tattoo parlors page. From there she asked the artist to bring a portfolio, which she was shocked to find out wasn’t much. “That was your first model job?”

Y/n shrugged, making a face like it was obvious, “Unless you count the dozens of comments I get on instagram beggin for my next post, yeah it was. I’m a bartender and tattoo artist, modeling wasn’t something I thought was in the cards.” She refrained from adding, “also didn’t think IMG scouted people like me.”

It was safe to say Y/n was unlike the typical runway model. Every now and then a high fashion show would hire a man with tattoos to walk for them. Very rare would you see a woman on the runway. For Y/n, that seemed to be the case in the beginning of her career. She did walk in the Marco Marco show that year which was the highlight of her life. Inked Magazine got so much response on her first feature that they made her their staple girl. Y/n worked with them the most on campaigns and even got to do a cover shoot with celebrities like Travis Barker and Kehlani. Those features got her a lot of recognition to the point she hit one million followers on instagram.

It wasn’t until Y/n went viral on the internet for her Sports Illustrated cover and becoming the first inked model to be featured in a Victoria Secret campaign that the top designers were booking her. Before long she was auditioning for brands during fashion week, securing Tom Ford, Calvin Klein, and Oscar de la Renta. Due to her tattoos being the star of the show, there were hardly any clothes on her save for tiny tops and skirts or dresses with intricate cutouts. She didn’t mind of course. After all, her tattoos were a part of her and the reason she was getting the opportunities of a lifetime.

Milan, Paris, London, New York. Fashion week was gonna have to get used to a new face in town.

Vogue, GQ, Vanity Fair, Inked. Pick up an issue and you’d find Y/n on at least one page, if not the cover.

Every now and then she’d get asked to appear in music videos for bands. The Weekend once asked her to be the cover art for one of his singles, bringing her more attention as "The Inked Beauty from Blinding Lights cover art.”

She appeared on the Inked Magazine YouTube channel several times. The most popular video being when she did a Q&A released shortly after walking in the last ever Victoria Secret Fashion Show in 2018, becoming the first inked model to walk the VS runway. Though it had low ratings, Y/n’s bit was plastered on every social media site, many tweeting: “the best thing VS could’ve done for their final show was put Y/n L/n in it. She carried the damn thing.”

“Hello, I’m Y/n L/n,” she smiled shyly at the camera, her agent Bonnie and publicist giving a thumbs up. “I’m a tattoo and high fashion model from New York City. You may recognize me from the cover of Inked Magazine, or discovered me through some of my other projects over the last couple years—hell maybe I even tattooed you at one point,” chuckling as she feels her nerves slowly evaporate. “Today I’m here with Inked Magazine, the owners of my heart and career, and I'm gonna answer some questions sent in by you guys about my tattoos and career.”

The producer gives a nod, “Ready, Y/n.”

“Let me hear them, sonny boy.”

“What was your first tattoo and at what age did you get it?”

Thankfully she was wearing a tube top beneath her jacket, removing the clothing to reveal the many inked designs on her chest, and stomach. Pointing to the one just below her ribs, Y/n says, “So this was my first one—as you can tell by how faded it is compared to the others. I got it when I was eighteenth birthday, literally wasted no time and my family is actually who inspired it.”

“As of right now, how many tattoos do you have?” The question has Y/n think for a moment, tilting her head back slightly.

“I counted just the other week and I think it was close to…. seventy,” nodding she adds, “yeah I think that’s right. I know I had fifty when Inked contacted me four years ago for my first feature. So I’ve added twenty to the collection since.” She made a mental note to count again when she got home that night.

“Do you have any tattoo regrets?”

A nervous chuckle escaped, “Fuck, uh….yes,” she looks down shamefully, but gives a shrug like, ‘I can explain.’ Lifting her head back up, Y/n takes her two index fingers and gently pulls down her bottom lip to reveal the messy smudged ink that once read, ‘baby girl’. The camera zoomed in and once they got a good shot of it Y/n let her lip fall back into place, “I don’t know if you were able to read that but when it was freshly done eight years ago it said,” she pulled a face showing she was too embarrassed to say it. “It said ‘baby girl.’ I got it when I was twenty on a dare and frankly I thought it would be hot, but it faded so quick—which,” she raised a finger, “that’s the one place I would say don’t get a tattoo. Even though it’s technically temporary…you’ll end up with a blob of ink like mine and it’s not cute.”

“Where were the most painful spots you got tattooed?” Immediately she lifted her arms to show she had ink on her armpits.

“These basterds right here,” the producer and crew laughed, nodding along with her. “You feel me? Yeah, I thought the ones on my stomach and ribs were bad. Those were a tickle compared to my armpits—-oh and my elbows. I think I actually broke a sweat when I got those done. It’s why I have yet to conquer my knees,” patting the covered area, Y/n shakes her head, “I don’t know If i can do it. But funny enough, these tiny little hearts on my palms,” Y/n flashed her palms up, the camera focusing on the two red lined hearts in the middle of each hand. “These hurt so bad. Thankfully I’m not putting anything else here because I strictly wanted the hearts, so I’m sparing myself.”

“What do they mean?” The producer asked, taking a pause from reading out the next question. The little smile Y/n gave was shy.

“I was told a lot growing up that I keep my heart in the palm of my hand,” while she explained Y/n kept glancing at the hearts, “kinda like the saying, ‘wearing your heart on your sleeve,’ but with me it’s literally in the palm of my hand. So I got these little hearts on my palms—that way when I hold someone’s hand, they can feel the love and care I have for them,” sending a wink to the camera she finishes with, “because my heart is in my palm.”

“Have you ever dated anyone with more tattoos than you?”

“Noooo,” she snorts. “Not because I’m not open to it—I’m very attracted to people with tattoos. And I have dated people with a lot…it just seems that anytime I do get into a serious relationship, I’m the one who has more than the other. And if you’re thinking about who I think you are—,” Y/n points directly to the camera, like a mother scolding her child, “the answer is no, he did not have more than me. Louis has thirty-three, I believe, since the last time he and I talked—which was,” she pauses to think, “I think around New Year’s.”

“Do you find yourself enjoying campaign shoots or runway shows more?”

“That’s hard,” Y/n pouts, causing her agent to chuckle since she knew the answer first hand. “Both are fun in their own way. I love being able to come into a studio or go out on sight and do a photo shoot—except in the fucking winter because I’m usually half naked freezing my ass off.” She pauses to laugh with the crew before continuing. “And then there's this feeling of ‘wow, that just happened,’ when I step off the runway. Getting to work with designers I’ve idolized since childhood and being the face of Mugler is a dream come true. If I had to choose…..it would be campaigns and photo shoots. There I can express myself more freely.”

“Do you see yourself still modeling in ten to twenty years time?”

There was a question she had to think about, taking a moment before answering. “I sure hope so. I love my job and definitely see myself continuing in the future. As long as my agent Bonnie and Inked don't get tired of me,” she laughs, winking at the woman who blows her a kiss. “But honestly I have experience as a tattoo artist so I could see myself opening my own parlor. I’d love to start my own blog or get other tattoo models into the industry. There’s a lot to think about what the future holds, but for right now I’m gonna have fun in the present.”

While home in New York when not booked, Y/n continued to work part-time at the tattoo parlor. She left the bar shortly after signing with IMG, but still visited whenever she could. There was even a picture of one of her Inked shoots framed above the bar.

With her new found fame the parlor had little to no openings each month. Regulars and new clients had to call in to reserve an appointment the second the schedule was dropped, which was sometimes weeks in advance. Several of the friends Y/n made in the modeling industry would get tattoos from her, though they always tended to go for the fine line style. More celebrities booked with her boss, adding Cardi B, Rihanna, and Louis Tomlinson to the list. The latter whom, as mentioned, Y/n actually got romantically linked to in mid 2017. It only lasted a few months, but the photo of the two on the Inked instagram was the most liked on their page.

Louis wasn’t the only high profiled person Y/n was involved with. Unfortunately the downside to fame meant her personal life was to be blasted on every inch of the internet. From starting her modeling career in 2014 to spring of 2019, she’d been spotted with actors Michael B. Jordan, Tom Felton, and fellow model Vladimir Ivanov. Like Louis, they only lasted a couple weeks to months—save for Vladimir which lasted almost over a year—and ended on good terms where they remained friends.

Frankly when it came to settling down Y/n hoped to find someone who was sweet and down to earth. Who was a hard worker—passionate about what they did for a living and wanting to share that with her. Someone who could make her laugh and feel like she was the only girl in the world. It was hard finding someone like when the spotlight follows you around. Y/n had been in the public eye going on six years and due to her connections with big named people she never seemed to catch a break when it came to romance.

All those qualities she desired in a life partner came to her in the form of the adorable weapons system officer she met at a party in November of 2019. The poor guy felt so out of place. From behind the bar Y/n could see him at the corner glancing around like he was searching for someone. Only getting a glimpse at the side of his face, she didn’t recognize him. The party had many from the fashion industry to celebrate Anna Wintour’s 70th birthday. What was ironic was Y/n took up the task of working the bar, kicking into her skills from when she was a bartender at a popular biker club in Manhattan. With her view she was able to see the entire floor as people entered.

The man she’d been eyeing must’ve come in when she was busy making the Hadid sisters their drinks. He wore a white dress shirt with some slacks and a matching blazer. His glasses reminded her of the popular style from the 80s. Come to think of it, they were probably the aviator style. He was tall, roughly six foot so she’d be eye level with him considering she was wearing two inch kitten heels.

Seeing his flustered demeanor and the fact he looked like he didn’t know what the hell he was doing there—not to mention he was handsome from what she could see, Y/n waltzed over, “May I get you anything?”

When he spun around she was met with the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes staring back at her. They blinked rapidly, like they were trying to decipher if she was in fact real. Then they snapped straight to her neck, following the ink of the exposed skin on display from her red latex mini dress—which his face mirrored the color of since he was making it quite known he was checking her out. He had a baby face to him, which was kinda adorable, and Y/n assumed he was maybe a year or two younger than her.

Offering a smile Y/n said, “So what will it be?”

“Huh?” He said confused before remembering what she initially asked before he got distracted. “Oh uh, just water please.” Still smiling, Y/n took a clean empty glass and filled it with ice before adding the water. Finishing it with a straw she placed it on a napkin in front of him.

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. Thank you,” he took the glass, glancing around briefly before letting his shoulders drop.

“You seem a bit out of place,” Y/n wiped down the countertop, catching his attention again. The man nervously laughed, adjusting his glasses.

“Is it that obvious?”

“A bit,” she teased, nodding her head to the crowd in front of them. “All these people walk around like they own the place. You’re the first person I’ve seen tonight who doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing. Are you here with someone?” Part of her was hoping he’d say a friend invited him, feeling a sudden rush of butterflies at the way he looked at her—like he couldn’t believe she was real.

“My sister dragged me along,” he confirms, the model mentally sighing in relief. But she couldn’t get her hopes too high. For all she knew he may have a partner back home. “I was visiting her this past week and she begged me to come. I told her it was a bad idea since I’m not….part of this crowd.”

“Ah,” she hums, biting back a grin at the way he described the industry. “Not a model or influencer, I take it?”

“Nooooo,” his laugh filled her stomach with butterflies. “Not at all. I don’t know how to work social media. Are you?”

Y/n refilled a guest's drink and handed over a beer to another, “I dabble here and there,” it was refreshing to meet someone who wasn’t familiar with her work. Usually at events like the one they were at she had people coming up to her already knowing who she was. “You’re probably like, ‘thought she was just a bartender,’” she giggled at the flustered look taking over him. “I was one before being discovered. I’m doing this for fun honestly—-and because Anna likes what I make her.”

His eyes went to her neck and collarbones, lingering on the ink. She assumed he’d never seen a model with so many tattoos before. “You can look,” she smirked, when he glanced away from being caught staring. “You’re only seeing a small portion of the canvas,” his eyes went wide at her words, making her giggle, “these babies are the reason I’m in this business.”

“You're a tattoo model?”

Y/n raises a brow at the surprise in his tone, “Didn’t know they existed, handsome?”

“No-no,” he quickly apologizes, “sorry I meant no offense. I knew there were models with a lot of tattoos. My sister told me that the industry was starting to expand by signing more people with them.” His words have Y/n intrigued. Obviously his sister was someone in the business, she wondered if she knew her.

“Is your sister one?”

“No, she’s an agent,” Y/n stops what she’s doing, towel long forgotten.

“For a modeling agency?”

“Yeah.”

“Which one?” Just as the question left her lips, Bonnie’s voice interrupted the two, “Bob, there you are! Oh good—,” she grins wide when she sees who he’s talking to, “You guys met!”

Snapping their heads toward each other, the two have the same expressions of, “wait what?”

Bonnie claps her hands, coming beside Bob at the bar and motioning between the two, “Y/n, this is my brother, Robert—the one I was telling you about last week,” mouth slightly agape, remembering the conversations the two had about Bonnie’s brother—in which the agent suggested setting up a date between the two—Y/n watches Bob react the same when Bonnie then says, “Bob, this is Y/n L/n. One of my clients at IMG—I know I’ve mentioned her before to you.”

Not knowing what to do at first, Y/n extends her hand to formally introduce herself, “So you must be the famous, Bob,” butterflies swarm her stomach again by the warmth of Bob’s hand when he goes to shake it. “I’m Y/n. So nice to finally meet you—Bonnie’s told me a lot about you.”

“W-wow,” Bob stutters, mentally hating himself when he does. “It’s really nice to meet you too, ma’am. I wasn’t expecting to meet you tonight, but now I see why Bonnie was so adamant I come.” A pointed look is thrown at Bonnie, who shrugs with a smile like she did no wrong.

“Well seeing as you two found each other without me, I’ll leave you both to it. Bob, let me know if you plan on riding with me back to the house or if you catch a ride. And Y/n I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.” Winking, Bonnie takes the Cosmopolitan Y/n made for her and scurries off, leaving the two alone.

“I should’ve known,” Y/n laughs lightly, topping off Bob’s water. “Your sister has brought you up the past couple times she and I have gotten together,” lips curl into a smirk, “she wasn’t lying when she said you were a cutie.”

Bob turns red, smiling shyly, “when she told me about the inked beauty she worked with, she left out the fact you’re a walking piece of art.” His boldness impressed her, Y/n leaning closer to him against the bar top, resting her elbow on to so she could lean her head on her hand.

“How long are you gonna be in New York?”

“Till Wednesday,” part of her was disappointed that it was only four days away considering it was currently Saturday. But it was enough time for something to blossom.

“Tell me about yourself, Bob. The night’s early and I could listen to you talk for hours. Let’s see if Bonnie was psychic when she said we’d be quite the puzzle when put together.”

Ever heard of the type of couples where the girl radiates black cat energy and the guy is a literal golden retriever?

That was Y/n and Bob to a tee.

Out in public they stood out—even in a city like New York. Then when Y/n went to San Diego to meet his friends for the first time after four months together—which also resulted in her being stuck in California due to lockdown from the covid pandemic—it was like everyone couldn’t believe someone like Bob was with someone like Y/n.

He was a quiet, reserved naval officer and she was a sharp-tongued, world renowned tattoo model. They were the definition of the couple in high school you’d never expect would hit it off.

When Bob introduced Y/n to the squad, they instantly knew who she was, but had different ways of discovering her. Nat saw her walk in the VS Fashion show, Mickey and Reuben recognized her from The Weekend’s cover art, Javy remembered her from an episode of Ink Master she appeared on, Jake saw her on the cover of Sports Illustrated, and Bradley actually got a tattoo from Y/n when he was in NYC.

The entire period Y/n was in San Diego she grew close to the squad, even Maverick who had a lot of questions about her work and tattoos. “You think I’d look good with them at my age?” Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the question, ensuring the Captain with a pat on the back.

“Some of the sexiest men I’ve met have been your age with ink more in than me,” she giggles when he goes red. “I worked at a biker bar in New York City. Believe me, Pete. Anyone can look good with some ink.”

Needless to say when it came time for Mav to get a tattoo, Y/n was the one doing it.

A lot of the squad ended up getting work done by her. Jake, Mickey and Rooster had a few already so they were familiar with the process. Nat only had one from a drunk night in college, which Y/n redid on her behalf since it had faded. Payback was a man who liked bold, meaningful tattoos so sometimes Y/n had her work cut out for her but she always came through.

“Yo is this gonna hurt bad,” Javy was practically sweating as Y/n removed the stencil from his shoulder. The design was a geometric sun about the size of an airpod case.

“It’ll sting, but this area generally isn’t too painful. If this was your bicep then it’d be a different story.”

Javy didn’t look convinced, turning to look at the guys while the stencil dried, “How was it for you guys?”

“Didn’t hurt at all for me,” Rooster shrugged, “my bicep was worse—like she said.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine,” Payback waved a hand. “You see how tiny it is? It’ll be over before you know it.”

Going over the details once more to confirm the colors and shading, Y/n moved her chair closer after turning on the tv to an episode of Chopped. “You ready, Jav?”

“Ready,” he didn’t really sound like it but it was too late to back out. The buzz of the needle filled his ears and soon the stinging sensation they all said had him clutching his first.

“Try to relax, man” Bob sat on the chair next to Y/n, “being tense won’t help.”

After over a year of dating Bob had his fair share of tattoos. His were mostly small and easily hidden by his uniform. When they first got together, Bob loved learning about her tattoos. When she got them, why she did. If there were any meaning behind certain ones and if she planned to get more.

She was like a walking art gallery. So many colors and styles. Large and small. Y/n told him stories about almost every one—even if they were embarrassing like the inner lip tattoo.

“Biggest mistake,” she wiped a tear after she was done, the two laughing so hard. “Not only did it hurt but it faded not even a year after I got it. Now it looks so bad—I should get it redone but what’s the point when it will just end up looking the same.”

Bob hated when people would give her looks of disproval when they’d go out, usually from those who were unfamiliar with Y/n’s work. One time he nearly got into a bar fight with a older gentleman who thought it was okay to call Y/n a Jezebel. Rooster and Mickey had to hold him back, but Y/n simply looked at the guy and said, “Baby, I’m a fucking millionaire because of these bad boys. While you’re about to kick it the dust I’m gonna be on the cover of Vogue magazine next month. So eat shit and die already.” The man was left speechless, making her and the squad smirk in victory. The equally tatted bartender who knew of Y/n whistling and even given her a free round.

“That was so fucking hot,” Bob pulled her into a searing kiss when they left the bar moments later, Y/n smirking against his lips, “You think that was hot? I’m a mess under these pants from seeing you so worked up, baby. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Whenever he and Y/n would cuddle she’d trace the raised ink with a finger, Bob doing the same to hers and committing them to memory. He loved to kiss the ones on her neck and collarbones, but his favorite were the tiny hearts on the palms of her hands.

“What do these mean,” he asked one day during the early days of their relationship. They were laying out on the hammock, taking her hands to admire the collection of small tattoos along her fingers and wrists. He hadn't even realized she had any on the palms until he flipped them over. There his thumbs traced over the red outline of each heart.

“If you ask any person I’ve ever loved or cared for they’d tell you I carry my heart in the palm of my hand,” she flips her hands so they are holding Bob’s, the tattoos against his skin. “So when I hold people’s hands, they know a piece of my heart lies with them.” Letting her head fall back against his shoulder, Y/n shifts so her lips are against his jaw. “And I’m kinda hoping you’re the only one who gets to hold them from here on out.”

Anytime after that Bob would press a kiss to the hearts whenever he held her hands. Then when asked about what tattoo of Y/n’s was his favorite his answer was always, “the hearts.”

His family adored her. At first they were put off by her striking image but learned quickly Y/n was perfect for Bob. The children of his siblings loved taking washable markers to color in the tattoos Y/n had that were black and white. “Can I draw you a tattoo someday?” Little Emma asked shortly after the couple celebrated one year. She was a little artist who loved asking questions about the pretty pictures on Y/n.

“Of course, my love,” she promised. “Draw me whatever you desire and I shall get it done.”

The first fashion show Y/n booked after the pandemic Bob had front row seats. With his phone out he was the ultimate cheerleader, though he refrained from whistling or making noise so as to not embarrass the model, but would be in absolute awe when she strutted past him. It was the Tom Ford show, Y/n had walked out in a long black trench coat, coming to the end of the runway first before removing the item to reveal a silk dress underneath. It was spaghetti strapped with an open back, thigh slit to compliment her legs and the cameras loved it. She walked a few steps back up and turned to strike one last pose before making her exit.

Bob was mesmerized. It was the first time he’d seen her walk the runway and my God if he wasn’t already a simp he sure was then. A photographer captured his reaction to her discarding the coat and it went viral on Twitter.

@ inmyreputationera: if my man doesn’t look at me like @inkedbyY/n bf at NYFW then I don’t want it.

@ Inked✔️: We’re all Bob Floyd when @inkedbyY/n steps onto the runway.

When it came time to pick out her wedding dress Y/n was unsure of the route to go. It’d been five years the two were coming up on, one year of being engaged with the wedding to take place in North Island. A beach wedding in the late fall, Y/n wanted to look elegant and classy.

“Whatever you choose you’ll gonna look amazing, darling,” Bob kissed her head after she sighed when shuffling through bridal magazine pictures of dresses she’d cut out. “You know I love your tattoos—they are a part of you and I don’t want you feeling like you have to cover up for the sake of pictures. Baby, you’re one of the top models in the world. Like you told me when we first met, those babies are what got you discovered. Show them off.” Rubbing her shoulder exposed from her tank top, his lips pressed to the ink covering the skin. “But if you like this,” he pointed to the dress she kept going back to in her pile, it was elegant and pretty with neckline that fell just below her collarbones. “Then you should get it because you love it.”

The ceremony dress ended up being the one with a high neckline. It had open back with Y/n deciding on a her veil cascading down to the floor to become a small train rather than having the dress itself have it. Lace covered her arms, the ink peeking out from beneath to make the material stand out more due to the contrast.

She was stunning. An actual goddess that had Bob’s jaw drop the second his eyes landed on her. For the reception Y/n changed into a white two piece set that showed off her legs.

And you best believe she hired local tattoo artists to do a ‘spur of the moment’ tattoo booth at the party.

It didn’t take long for Inked Magazine to want to do a bridal shoot with Y/n. And if you look at it one way, it was a full circle moment. The issue marked ten years since they discovered Y/n and blessed her with the career of a lifetime that led her to meeting the love of her life.

All because she had a knack for getting ink.

……………..

TGM tag list: @avaleineandafryingpan @caitsymichelle13 @poppyalice2001 @cutelittlepotatofry @luckyladycreator2 @americaarse @elenavampire21 @back-tooo-black @wildellaa

#Spotify #bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd fluff #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #lewis pullman imagine #lewis pullman #tattoo!reader #tgm fluff #tgm imagine

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mynameismckenziemae · 1 year ago

Text

Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone-Chapter II

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader (no use of y/n)

Bob takes you out and lets you in after a(nother) moment of weakness.

(previous chapter here, next chapter here)

A/N: The mannerisms of Steve are based off of my sweet, derpy, old pup. She helped pull me out of my crippling postpartum depression and welcomed me back, forgetting I hadn’t just ignored her for the year prior (I was barely able to take care of my newborn, I wasn’t taking care of myself and I couldn’t fathom mustering up enough energy to even pet her, trust me, I still feel bad about it). She is the best.

Warnings: mentions of asshole ex boyfriends, negative thoughts (thanks to asshole ex boyfriend), smut, etc.

Bob waited until you were in your apartment and turned the lights on before taking off. Hes bubbling with different emotions as he drives home. He’s smitten, obviously. He’s never met a girl like you; so beautiful, witty, passionate, funny. He’s baffled that someone like you is interested in him. Then the embarrassment creeps in…he came in his pants like a fucking teenager, but relief since you didn’t laugh or make him feel worse. In fact, it had seemed you liked it. He can’t stop thinking about you whispering how you wanted to blow him the parking lot and then sucking your fingers…Damn it, he was hard again.

He sighed as he unlocked the door to his house. Even though his sister would come once a week or so to get his mail and check on the house, it was stale and stuffy. He opened the windows in his room and got in the shower.

___________________________________________

You overanalyzed the entire night while you showered, every look, every conversation, every touch.

You started and deleted a text to Bob several times before finally hitting ‘send’ and turning your phone over while you put your pajamas on.

Sunny: Thanks again for handling that jerk and following me home. I’m also sorry things got a little heated too quickly. I haven’t dated in years, but I don’t do that on the first date. Or, pre-first date I guess.

A few minutes later your phone dings.

Bob: You’re welcome, I’m just glad you’re okay. No worries, I liked it (obviously lol). Can’t wait to see you again tomorrow.

Your stomach flutters and you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s okay. He’s not Derek. He doesn’t think you’re a whore. It’s okay for two consenting adults to do these things.

Sunny: I can’t wait either. Goodnight.

Bob: Sweet dreams

___________________________________________

You sleep until 9 and it feels amazing. You pick up a little in case Bob comes all the way to the door and get ready. He said to dress casually so you don a pair of shorts again with a favorite oversized band tee and a pair of Converse. It feels weird to be putting normal clothes on 2 days in a row, you pretty much live in scrubs or pajamas.

Bob knocks as you’re putting your hair up. As you open the door, you’re greeted by a fluffy gentleman sitting oh so patiently, his tail is giving away his excitement by going a mile a minute. “Hey there cutie. You must be Steve, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Sunny.” You say, crouching to pet him. He’s so soft, and his wet nose tickles as he sniffs you.

You rise and take in Bob. He looks good enough to eat in a worn pair of Levi’s and a gray tee. He hands you a bouquet of fresh flowers. “We stopped at the farmer’s market on the way, thought these were pretty,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, the tops of his ears turning red.

“They’re gorgeous. Thank you. Come in, I’ll put them in water.” You smile.

“We can wait out here, he sheds a lot”. Bob replies.

“Oh gosh, don’t worry about it, I grew up with pets and have a vacuum.” You insist, pushing the door open wider.

“Alright,” he agrees. As he brushes past, you notice the slight bruise you sucked into his neck last night and your cheeks heat. Embarrassment or arousal? You weren’t sure.

“Nice place,” Bob says looking around. Steve is sniffing everything in sight.

“Thanks, it’s small but it’s got everything I need. I’ll eventually look into buying a house, but I’m comfortable here for now” you say, trimming the ends of the flowers. “Where’s your place?”

“About 15 minutes from here, by Valencia Park” he replies, looking at the pictures hung on your walls

You nod while filling a mason jar with water and place the flowers in it, setting it in the kitchen window. “Perfect. Thanks again.” You kiss his cheek. “Hey, what’s that on your neck?” You tease, lightly brushing the bruise with your fingertips.

He blushes again and chuckles. “Must’ve burnt myself with the curling iron”.

You laugh, “Is that so? You should really be more careful.”

“You’re telling me. All set?” He asks.

“Let’s go” You nod.

___________________________________________

You watch Steve take the stairs down while you lock up. “That is impressive, is there anything he can’t do?”

“No, not really. I help him in and out of the truck bed because it’s pretty high, but he’s adapted way better than I would’ve expected. Oh hey, my truck is just a regular cab, so there’s no backseat. I hope you don’t mind, but you’ll want to sit in the middle, or Steve will be on your lap. He insists on being by the window, one way or another.” He says as he unlocks it, stepping aside to let Steve through.

You climb on next to Steve and squeal as he immediately goes for your ears, sniffing and huffing with his wet nose again.

“Sorry, he’s pretty polite, but he has a thing for ears,” Bob grins as he gets in seat beside you.

You laugh, “I don’t mind, he’s so sweet. I’m just ticklish”.

Bob pulls out of Penny’s driveway and you’re off. Once he puts the cruise on, he relaxes his leg, resting it against your bare one. Goosebumps rise at the feel of his rough jeans against your skin. Down girl.

“Where we going?” You ask.

“There’s a quiet, dog-friendly beach up there road here, it’s Steve’s favorite place. I packed some lunch too” he replies, slowing to turn into the parking lot.

“That sounds great” you answer.

Steve realizes where he is. His front paws start tippy-tapping and he whines, hardly able to contain his excitement.

You laugh, patting him. “Almost there buddy”.

___________________________________________

Steve zooms along the shore as you and Bob put down a thick blanket. You three are the only occupants, save for an older man with an older dog a couple hundred yards down the beach.

You sit cross-legged and Bob comes to stretch out beside you, handing you a sandwich. You both laugh as Steve attempts to stalk some seagulls, but panics and tucks tail back when they start chasing him. He hides behind you, resting his head on your shoulder. You give him a smooch “You’re okay, I won’t let them get you. Those gulls are mean, huh?”

Bob tells you stories about Steve while you eat, making you laugh at his antics. He pulls his phone out and shows you a picture his sister snapped last night of Steve tucked into the sleeping bag between two little girls, all three wearing sleep masks. “Guess he slept like that all night” Bob chuckles.

Steve eventually sneaks his way between you two, laying his chin on your knee. “You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?” You say, softly rubbing his forehead. Bob chokes, his thoughts immediately turning dirty at your words. You bite your cheek so you don’t smile, pretending you don’t notice.

“Did you bring a ball or anything to play fetch with?” Bob nods, grabbing a frisbee from the bag.

___________________________________________

You three play for a while, the sun warming your arms and legs. It feels good to be outside. Bob tosses the frisbee towards you and Steve, but the wind catches pushing it behind you. Steve’s too focused on it to realize where he is and knocks you off your feet.

“Oh my God, Sunny!” You hear Bob yell running over. “Steven! Watch out buddy, give her some space.”

You can’t answer, you’re laughing too hard. Steve’s in your ears again, sniffing, huffing, and licking. Your laughter makes him more excited, and he zooms away as soon as Bob gets to you. “I’m so sorry, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m fine. I can see why you love him so much, he’s quite the character.” Bob holds his hand out to help you up. You take it but tug him down instead. He lands with a surprised oomph. You pull him to you for a kiss. He stiffens for just a moment, caught off guard (again) but relaxes into it. You kiss slowly, lazily. You suck his tongue and groans deeply. He’s hard, pressed perfectly against the seam of your shorts right where you need him. “You feel so good” you murmur against his lips. He twitches against you.

Out of nowhere, you feel frigid saltwater slide around you, soaking you both. The tide came in. You squeal and Bob chuckles, the moment gone. Probably for the best, you don’t really want an indecent exposure on your record.

He helps you to your feet. “My place is closer to here, we can get cleaned up and dried off there if that’s okay?”

You nod, wanting to get out of these wet, sandy clothes ASAP.

_______________________________________________

Bob grabs some dog shampoo from his truck and you help him lather and rinse the sand from Steve. “I know it’s a pain with his fur, but he loves the beach so much. It’s worth the extra work to me” you nod, agreeing. You towel him off, unable to stop kissing his wrinkly forehead. Bob lifts him into the bed of the truck and leads him into the kennel he has secured. “I know it’s not the safest, but I only put him in here after the beach. It helps him dry and he loves the wind in his face.” He explains.

You give him a quick kiss. “He’s lucky to have you Bob, you’re a great dog-dad”.

You both towel the sand off the best you can before getting in yourself. “I’m sorry about your truck, I can help you vacuum it” you offer.

“Don’t worry about it, my neighbor's son details cars for extra cash and is always looking for business. I always give him double after beach days.”

“That’s sweet of you.” You reply, sliding into the middle seat again.

“You don’t have, I mean you can sit there if you want but—“

You buckle your seat belt. “I know. I wanna sit by you.”

He nods, a little pink staining his cheeks, “Alright”.

___________________________________________

A few minutes later, Bob pulls into a cute, navy blue bungalow. “This is it”.

“I like it, it’s cute.”

You laugh as Bob helps Steve out of the truck bed. His fur is fluffy from the ride.

Bob leads you into the house. It’s tidy, with a minimalistic and cozy design. It smells like him—like clean, fresh laundry with a hint of leather.

He shows you to his bathroom, handing you a towel, he turns to leave. “If you want to leave your clothes outside the door, I’ll throw them in the wash with mine before I shower”.

“Will do, thanks.”

He shuts the door behind him. You carefully undress, trying to not fling sand everywhere. You turn the water on and set your clothes outside the door, purposely leaving your lacy bralette and thong on top to tease him.

You’re lathering your hair for the second time when you hear a knock. “You can come in. Sorry for taking so long, I can’t get the sand out of my hair.”

Bob freezes. He’s been half-hard since he put your pretty underwear in the wash, but taking in your naked silhouette against the frosted glass has him at full mast instantly. “It’s okay, no uh…rush. I have some clothes for you when you’re done. I’ll put them here on the counter”.

“Thanks, I’ll be out soon” you smile as he closes the door. You probably didn’t need to arch your back and stick your tits out like that, but his reactions to you are just too good.

___________________________________________

A few minutes later, you towel dry your hair and take yourself in the mirror. Bare-faced, nipples that could cut diamonds poking through his worn ‘US Navy’ tee, and rolled sweat pants. You look like a slob, you only wear makeup and straighten your hair when you go out, always trying to look good for other guys, you can hear Derek words in your mind.

You push him out of your head as you hang up your towel and open the door.

___________________________________________

Bob fumbles his phone as he takes you in. Curly, wet hair, perky breasts gently bouncing under his shirt as you pad over to him.

He reaches out and brushes a curl by your forehead. “I wondered if your hair was curly after it got wet at the beach. It’s pretty. Do you always straighten it?”

You nod, throat thick as you answer. “Yeah, my ex didn’t like it, thought I was ‘attention seeking’ when I would wear it natural, probably because someone usually commented on it. He uhh, he thought everything about me was ‘too much’; I laughed too much, I talked too much, I hugged too much. We broke up months ago, but I’m still trying to find myself again.” You look away, feeling vulnerable.

“Sounds like he’s an idiot. You could never be too much, Sunny. Your hair is beautiful no matter how you wear it. Everything about you is beautiful.” Tears fill your eyes as and he turns you toward him, kissing you sweetly.

You kiss him back and things heat up quickly. His hand slides into your hair fully, while the other goes to your waist, pulling you into him. He can feel your nipples brush across his chest and his cock twitches. He brings his hand up slowly, but as he reaches the underside of your breast, the doorbell rings, startling you apart. “Oh, I ordered pizza. I got half cheese, half everything so you can put whatever you want on. I hope that’s okay” he says as he turns, trying to discretely tuck his erection into his waistband so he doesn’t scare the delivery driver.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. I like everything but anchovies and mushrooms.”

“Agreed, I’ll remember that for next time” he says as he opens the door.

Hmmm, next time? You like the sound of that.

___________________________________________

You both dig in, having a beer each. Steve sits nearby, politely begging with his eyes.

You tell him about yourself. How you were always getting into trouble as a kid since you were quite the little adrenaline junkie, always looking for a thrill. About how you wanted to be a naval aviator like your old man, but you couldn’t put your mom through that, especially seeing the toll it took on Carole when Bradley joined. You tell him how you thrive in chaotic environments and by doing flight nursing, you could combine your passion for flying and help people. He takes in your every word, listening intently.

You settle in on the couch after for a movie as you wait for your clothes to dry, Steve draped across your lap, fast asleep as you rub his ears. “I knew he’d love you.”

You smile, “He’s a sweetheart.”

Bob puts his arm around you and plays with a curl by your ear absentmindedly. He pulls a little and you shiver as your nipples harden. “You cold?” He asks, looking down at you.

You shake your head, dropping your gaze to his lips. You lean forward, capturing his lips with yours. You moan into it, you’ve been worked up too many times since last night without relief. He licks into your mouth, pushing his hand into your hair farther. Your right goes to his chest, sliding up to brush your fingertips over the bruise from the night prior again. He inhales sharply, breaking the kiss. “Steve, buddy, go to bed, okay?” He asks him breathlessly, eyes not leaving yours.

Steve hops off with a heavy sigh, walking towards the bedroom.

You rise to straddle him, leaning forward to bite his bottom lip before kissing along his jaw. You slide your hips forward until you trap his cock against his stomach. His breath hitches in your ear at the contact. You smile into his jaw as you slowly start moving your hips, up and down, rubbing your clit against him.

You let out a breathy moan and his grip on your hips tightens. You kiss up to his ear and lightly nip the lobe. “You’re so big, I can’t wait to have you inside me”

Bob lets out a strangled groan at that. His hands release your hips and slide back to your ass, squeezing a handful in each palm, pulling you harder into his cock. You groan against his ear before pulling back and whipping his shirt off of you.

Your bare tits are level with his face. “Sweet Jesus” he whispers, bringing his hands up from your ass to cup one carefully in each hand. “They’re perfe—you’re perfect,” he says in awe. You should get a boob job, no guy likes less than a D cup, you hear Derek's voice again, but Bob brings you back to him by circling your nipple with his calloused fingertips.

You whimper, “Keep touching me, please. Just like that, and this” You bring your hand up to gently pull and pinch.

His eyes drift shut with a groan, the sight of you playing with your tits is too much. His erection throbs against your hip as he nods, continuing his ministrations. Your hands go to his shoulders for leverage.

You work your hips faster, already hurtling towards the edge. He leans forward and gently sucks your nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.

You whimper, “Almost there” as your orgasm approaches.

Bob pulls back at the sound, replacing his mouth with his fingers, and groans as he feels you soaking through both pairs of pants. His hips jerk up, chasing your warm, wet heat. He’s getting close too. You moan and your hips stutter as his tip catches your clit just right. He takes your hands and places them on your tits, and drops his back to your hips to guide them. You pinch both nipples as he thrusts and that’s all it takes.

You cry out as your orgasm sweeps through you. Bob takes you in, trying to commit the sight and sounds of you to memory. Eyes closed, flushed cheeks, hands playing with your perfect breasts, your hips undulating against his…it’s enough to pull him over the edge. He groans, hands gripping bruises into your hips and he cums too, coating the inside of his pants (again).

You lean down and place a kiss on his damp forehead. His face is flushed, and he won’t look at you.

“You okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, I—I’m good. I uh, I think we should talk.” He replies and a cold wave of shame washes through you. You did too much too fast. Again.

Bob feels you stiffen on him. “No, hey, no it’s nothing you did, it’s not anything bad, I don’t think, I just,” The dryer dings from down the hall, signaling your clothes are dry. “Hey, let’s get cleaned up and I’ll explain.”

You nod, still uneasy and follow him to the laundry room.

___________________________________________

You meet Bob back in the living room, wearing your clean clothes. Mmm, you smell like him.

He gestures for you to sit by him. You can tell he’s nervous, or embarrassed. Maybe both.

“So you know how I told you I’m not good with women, dating, and all that?” You nod. “Well, I meant it. I haven’t dated much. The longest relationship was 2 years in high school. We fooled around a bit, but never went all the way since her family was strict Catholics and she was saving herself for marriage. We broke up after I joined the navy cause she didn’t like long distance. I’ve dated a bit here and there, but it never lasted long as it’s difficult to keep a relationship when I was moving around so much and deployed so often. So…that’s why I was uh…a little quick on the draw last night, and not much better today. You’re gorgeous Sunny, so that doesn’t help either.”

You nod, and can breathe a little better in relief. You’re starting to understand. “Bob, it’s okay. I knew you just got off the carrier after 4 months. It’s…it’s also been a long time for me too. I think that’s why I can’t keep my hands off you, not to mention how good you look in those Levi’s” you laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

Bob’s blush deepens and rubs the back of his neck. “Uh yeah, except that I haven’t, I’ve never…” he stammers.

You realize what he’s trying to say, your stomach flips and your pussy clenches. Oh the things you’re gonna do to him.

“Bob, are you a virgin?”

#bob floyd #robert floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick #ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone #bradley bradshaw #jake seresin #natasha phoenix trace

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 year ago

Text

The Author And The Spy - Hamish Mycroft (Merlin) X Female Reader

Title: The Author And The Spy

Hamish Mycroft (Merlin) X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Harry (Mentioned), Eggsy (Mentioned), and Robert (Mentioned)

WC: 2,046

Warnings: Flirting?, James Bond movies mentioned, nicknames, alcohol mentioned, mini angst, and fluff

The sky was a dull gray, with matching gray clouds, like it usually was in London, England. Merlin, on one of his rare days off, was taking a walk down the slightly crowded sidewalk, with no particular destination other than to enjoy his free day away from all of the chaos that was his line of work. Merlin was actually having a good day until he felt something - or someone - bump into his chest, a small 'oof,' sounding from that someone in front of him.

Looking down, Merlin watched as you stumbled backward slightly, eyes wide in surprise; your one hand coming to cover your mouth as you looked up at the man in apologetic shock. "I am so sorry! I wasn't looking where I was going!" You exclaimed, looking very embarrassed as you absentmindedly brushed the front of your red coat of any invisible debris.

Merlin took the time to observe your features, how your hair fell perfectly over your face, your stunning eyes shining as they stared up at him, and your lips looked soft as you anxiously licked them. Merlin thought you were beautiful, gorgeous. He smiled at you softly, "No harm done," He began, his eyes then quickly looking over your body for any visible injuries, "Are you alright?" He asked, his voice laced with concern as you just shook your head.

"No, I- I'm alright, thank you. I- I know this may seem odd or weird but can I get you a drink? A coffee maybe? As an apology... I feel terrible for running into you; ruining your day and everything..." You babbled nervously, fiddling with your hands, looking anywhere except at him, whose smile slightly widened; he thought you were adorable.

Merlin, being a spy and tech wizard genius, knew that he should always be on his guard, but you didn’t seem to be acting suspiciously, and Merlin was usually very good at reading people, so perhaps it was okay to relax a little bit… “You don’t need to worry, you did not ruin my day whatsoever,” Merlin said with a chuckle before gesturing in front of him slightly, "But I would love to take you up on that offer. Please, lead the way... Uh..." Hinting towards your name, your eyes widened in realization once more.

"Oh! My name is Y/N." You replied, before walking side-by-side with the man to a very nearby cafe. "And what may I call you? Or is ‘handsome stranger’ good enough for now?" Your teasing words made Merlin grinned a little, and you found yourself flushing at your own boldness, but before he could answer you, you had both entered the cafe. Walking up to the counter, you gave the barista a smile, "Hello! One caramel macchiato for me, please," You ordered, turning to look up at Merlin to get his, "What would you like?" You then asked, and the man looked up briefly at the menu behind the counter.

"A plain black coffee for me, thank you," He replied, glancing around the cafe with his sharp eyes and equally sharp mind. After ordering - Merling offering to pay, but you were insistent that you’d pay since you bumped into him - Merlin followed you to a table to sit, watching as you clasped your hands together and looked at him with a slight tilt of your head.

"So, what do you do for a living?" You asked, sort of out of the blue, but wanting to start a conversation. Merlin was a bit slow to answer, not fully knowing what he should say his job was, which you took for hesitance. "I apologize," You added, clearing your throat lightly as you looked away with a small frown, "I just thought that maybe we could get to know each other..." You explained before quickly, but quietly adding, "I- I must admit that I'm really curious about you... If you don't mind me saying." You finished, shyly looking down at your lap, glancing up at him, observing his reaction nervously.

Merlin couldn't help but be a little bit charmed by you, the way you spoke to him, the way you looked at him; you really seemed to want to learn more about him. You seemed unsure about asking any questions, but you wanted to talk. And Merlin was beginning to enjoy talking to you. "I don't mind at all." He began, pushing up the bridge of his glasses, "My job is... Complicated. To say the least. I don’t think there is much to really tell you."

With that, your eyes lit up with curiosity, "Do you work for the government? Or maybe you're a secret agent or something? Like James Bond?" You laughed lightly at your joke, your eyes trailed over Merlin's frame, lean yet strong - but the less than casual suit he was wearing made him look important.

Merlin just chuckled at your assumption, "Something like that." He stated simply, a look of amusement etched into his features. So close but yet so far. "What about you? What do you do, love?"

At the small nickname, you felt your cheeks burn, and a small sheepish smile came to your face as you answered, "I'm an author... Specifically a romance and crime novelist. Reading and writing are two of my favorite passions. I just love to sit back and read a good Jane Austen book. Such an inspiration." You gushed, fidgeting with the hem of your red jacket sleeve. “What about you? Do you like to read or write in your spare time?” You asked, as Merlin nodded.

"I enjoy reading as well," Merlin agreed, nodding, "Whenever I am not working, I tend to read a novel or two. I have been recently reading ‘Hamlet’ by Shakespeare."

Your eyes sparkled at that information, and you opened your mouth to comment only to hear your name being called for your order. Offering a smile, you stood from your seat before rushing off to the counter. Merlin watched as you left, finding himself unable to stop his own smile from growing a bit on his face. You were quite attractive, not only physically, but also mentally. Even though Merlin had only known you for about twenty minutes, you seemed intelligent, friendly, kind, and rather funny - and rather curious. And though you seemed pretty shy, at certain moments you held yourself with such confidence and grace; you were, to say the least, rather intriguing.

Returning with both your drink and his, you sat back down. Sliding his drink over, you spoke, "Do you usually get a black coffee?" You asked, slowly stirring your coffee with the straw, looking up at the handsome man across from you.

"Usually." Merlin answered, taking a sip of his said coffee, "I used to take it with milk, but nowadays I just stick to black coffee. The caffeine helps me keep focus in my field of work."

You raised an eyebrow at the term 'field of work', but decided against questioning him further, instead opting to comment on his response. "I tried black coffee once in my life." You shook your head, laughing a little, "No offense, but never again. I have to have something sweet in my coffee for me to even consider drinking it. Chocolate, sugar, milk, caramel, etcetera…'

Merlin only shook his head, "None taken, everyone has their own preference." Taking another sip, "Actually, a colleague of mine is the same. He takes milk and two sugars in both his coffee and his tea." He started, chuckling lightly.

You nodded, looking at him through your lashes, "Funny that." You then sighed, a thoughtful expression overtaking your features as you gazed at your coffee. Looking up at the man in front of you, you gave him another sheepish smile, "I'm sorry to be so bold, but have you ever just... Met someone and felt a connection with them?" You asked, raising the tip of your finger to trace over the lid of your coffee.

Merlin thought for a moment, glancing out the window before speaking, "It's hard to say. I think... Everyone does, in some form or another." He said, shrugging a little, "But, yes, I suppose I have." He continued, glancing at you. You hummed in response, taking another sip of your coffee. Silence fell between the two of you, neither knowing what to say. But Merlin wanted to know more about you. "How long have you been a writer?"

You tilted your head slightly before speaking, "Oh, I have been a writer since I was twenty, it feels like only yesterday I finished the manuscript for my first book, ‘Leviathan.’" You joked, laughing lightly. "What about you? How long have you been at your mysterious job?" You asked, pushing your coffee to the side to rest your cheek in the palm of your hand; looking up at Merlin expectantly - curiously.

"Over twenty years at this point." He answered, and your eyes visibly widened, jaw dropping slightly.

"Over twenty years? You must be good at your job then." You said in awe.

Merlin grinned a little, nodding, "Well, I guess you could say that." He shrugged before taking a sip of his coffee, looking towards you with interest.

Sighing, you bit your bottom lip, gazing at him, “You have got to be a secret agent or something. You definitely have the whole look. Tall, dark, and handsome. The suit, the glasses… How do you like your drinks made?” You then asked, as Merlin felt his stomach flutter slightly at your comment - though he hid it well.

Adjusting the black tie he was wearing, Merlin spoke, “May I ask why?” He asked, only for you to roll your eyes playfully.

“Shaken or stirred, obviously.”

Merlin let out a laugh, surprising himself, “You are really sticking with his spy theory, aren’t you, love?” He asked, and you nodded, unable to look away from the stunning man.

“Of course, I’m betting all my money on it.” You answered, only for a few moments to pass before Merlin spoke up again, answering your previous question.

“Depending on the drink… Shaken.”

With a bright smile, you practically lit up but before he could say anything more, you glanced down at your watch on your wrist, only to gasp; your eyes wide. "Oh my god! I'm late!" You jumped up from your seat, looking down at Merlin with an apologetic frown, "I am so sorry to cut this short. Before I ran into you I was on my way to meet a friend for lunch." You gathered your small bag, opened it to grab a small notepad and pen, and scribbled something down quickly. Stuffing your notepad and pen back in your bag, you bit your lip briefly as you slid the slightly crinkled sheet of notepad paper over to Merlin before looking up at him. "I hope we can meet again," You gave him a small smile which slowly turned into a smirk, your eyes narrowing slightly. "It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Merlin."

At your words, Merlin's smile slipped, his eyes widening, and his blood growing cold; his shoulders grew tense. He watched as you left the cafe, not even giving him a second glance as you passed by the window and headed down the sidewalk. Merlin watched until you were out of sight, completely taken aback and off guard. After a few seconds, he blinked several times, swallowing thickly. He had never told you his name.

How did you know his name?

Looking down at the paper, he slowly slid it closer to himself, staring down at your written words.

'In the great words of Shakespeare, 'By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.' I see monsters everywhere, underwater - a myth they say. I've never swam in that lake before. I'll be waiting for you in a castle of stone, words are to be spoken. My friend, Robert, finds the sights breathtaking there. Yours, Y/N.'

Quickly pocketing the note, Merlin sped out of the cafe and back to the tailor shop. He needed to get to the bottom of this. What was the meaning behind your message? How did you know his name? Who were you? He needed to speak to Harry and Eggsy. Maybe they could help him.

#cute #fluff #x reader #x female reader #fanfic #fanfiction #x you #x y/n #hamish mycroft #merlin #kingsman #kingsman secret service #merlin kingsman #hamish mycroft x reader #hamish mycroft x female reader #merlin x reader #merlin x female reader

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theredwritingwitch · 1 year ago

Text

Apollo is Dark

Pairing: Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: On the morning of launch day of the Apollo 12 mission, a storm brews through Cape Canaveral, stirring up trouble for launch but also a grim start for Tim Rockford’s newest case: the disappearance of your sister and her family. On a rainy day in November, a day written in the history books, you and Tim also discovery something out of this world.

Word Count: 22K

Warnings: Missing family, thunderstorm, curse words, sci-fi horror, body horror, death/sacrifice (not main character though), gun, PinV sex, oral sex (female receiving), fingering

Ratings: Mature

Note: Robert’s chant at the end is from a poem called The Old Astronomer to His Pupil by Sarah Williams.

Cold Signals on Launch Day

Nov. 14, 1969. Cape Canaveral, Florida

This was not a good day for a launch. But it was a perfectly fine day as any to solve a case. At least that’s what Detective Tim Rockford thought. Palm trees swayed and braced their roots to the ground as sheets of rain beat over and over their long limbs. The midday sun was hidden behind large green and gray cumulonimbus clouds that traveled through the dark sky. The day was early, 11 in the morning but lunch break was still a ways away. Tim had rushed into the large front door of the Spanish style house, dodging sweeps of rain and wind, and excused his drenched look as he entered. The quiet house greeted him first as you closed the door behind him.

“No use apologizing for the rain detective, it’ll drown out your sorrows anyday.”

Tim undid his trench coat and hung up his hat. Your solemn tone grabbed his attention.

“Still no use causing a mess inside the house,” Tim gave you a small smile. You only returned a nod to him.

“Well, welcome to my sister’s abode. If she were here she would offer you a cup of warm tea or coffee, probably even offer you a bowl of soup.”

Tim watched you as you wiped up some of the water from the floor with a spare towel. The rest of the house looked well lived in. Shoes were piled near the door, half empty drinks sat on the coffee table, loose sheets of homework lay on the dining table. You tossed the used towel into a basket of laundry that sat in the hall. A small layer of dust collected on the bookshelves, just as dishes sat idle in the sink. It was a quaint chaos of home-life that greeted the detective. It looked like a normal suburban family home; only missing one thing though.

You looked quite put together for someone whose family was missing. Your hair was styled well, your makeup right on point. Even your clothes looked well ironed and pressed. Tim had to admit to himself that you were a lot more put together than he was, and if he was less of a man he would have thought you were too well put together. But the small fidgets of your hands, running up and down your clothes, straightening yourself out, made it obvious to him that you may be on the verge of breaking. That and the call you two shared earlier in week devastated his heart as he heard you gasp and slow your breathing down when you told him the facts of the disappearances.

Now you were peering up at him with eyes that just barely held back the panic scream that you so obviously wanted to let out.

“Well let’s not wait any longer. Let’s get started then,” Tim reassured you as he squeezed your shoulder. You nodded and gestured towards the stairs.

“I thought the best place would be to look at my brother-in-law’s office. James practically lived in the room full time. My sister spent a lot of time there as well.”

“You said over the phone there weren’t any marital problems?”

“Correct, they got along well together. You see they’re both space cadets. Just obsessed with the sky and stars, like everyone else in this town,” you commented as you climbed the stairs with Tim trailing behind.

“James’ work for NASA took him back and forth from Houston to here, but he always preferred Florida.”

“Because his parents lived here.”

“Right. My sister Ruth liked it for the view,” you stated as you opened the office door. Tim was greeted by a large screen door that looked towards the Cape, an easy view of the rocket launch. “We’ll be able to see the Apollo 12 launch from here.”

“If they launch today.” Tim replied as he watched the wind plow more sheets of rain at the house.

“Guess we’ll find out.” He glanced upon your illuminated face as you turned on the lamp. You sounded so reserved for something so president for the human race, given the circumstances though, Tim thought it better as to not bring it up.

“You said James’ parents lived here with him and your sister?”

“Correct. Their room is on the main floor.”

“And the police have no leads on where they went either?”

“They said they’re looking in the local wildlife preserves, guess they believe the elderly are prone to driving off the road.”

“Could be,” Tim noticed the huff you let out, “They’re car is still here, isn’t it?”

“It is.” You eyed Tim with an exasperated look, “All their cars are here.”

The office was a rather small room and stuffy, a few lamps lighting the paneled walls of the room. A small whiff of smoke was held in the air yet Tim didn’t see any cigarettes. Two desks filled the majority of the cramped room out in an “L” shape. A small chair fit into the opposite corner of the room near a small corner table. File cabinets filled the rest of the walls, some drawers open with overstuffed folders, while other drawers were unable to open from their packed supplies. A large tan, boxy computer sat on the desk, a black screen on display. The keyboard itself looked disheveled. The rest of the desk was covered in files, charts, notes, and sketches. The last two objects in the room were a large telescope that looked outside the glass doors and a radio propped on top of a file cabinet that softly filtered some static through the air as quiet voices of a local station tried relentlessly to busting through the static.

Tim’s eyes roamed the room again and again, “Keys are missing on the keyboard. Computer is covered in smudges. There’s a stack of half filled cups on that far off table. That telescope looks broken.” Finally his eyes trained back to you, “Are they normally a messy couple?”

“No, they were always so put together. I didn’t know this place was a mess till they were gone,” you said as you were a bit taken aback by his quick analysis.

“You said they both worked here together?” Tim asked as he looked over at the cups and plates leftover the table and desk.

“Right, they honestly worked well together too. I couldn’t tell you what they worked on specifically. They were always leagues ahead of any of our minds. But together they were on the same level.” You stood in the corner of the room, out of the detective’s way.

“And how were they with the kids?”

“Normally they were all about the kids. Ruth and James loved them to pieces, loved teaching them anything they could. But I know from the notes left over in the kitchen that they left the kids with James’ parents a lot lately.”

“That was unusual,” Tim stated as he looked at you for confirmation.

“Correct, they hardly asked for babysitters. And James’ parents are a bit too old to keep up with the kids. Really, the grandparents lived here so James and Ruth could take care of them.”

“So they were potentially extremely absorbed by something particular then.”

You agreed with the detective’s assessment, he had only skimmed over the surface of the office before making a precise conclusion.

“I assume the police already took a look at the computer?” Tim asked as he sat down.

“They did. Didn’t seem to take much time on the thing though. Said all the files looked too…” you trailed off.

“Too nonsensical to the average mind.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, let’s see if I can make heads or tails of it.”

“Think you’ve got the mind of a scientist or engineer, detective?”

Tim turned to you, liking that the dreary tone you had earlier was fading ever so slowly and replaced with something a bit more pleasant, at the very least.

“We’re about to find out,” he said in a hushed tone for only you to hear.

You watched the detective turn to the computer again, missing the kind smile he had flashed you. There was part of you that wanted to tell the detective he had a nice smile. Part of you wanted to bask in a little bit of kindness before heading straight towards more disappointment that you were sure this case would be full of. It had been weeks since your sister disappeared with her family and in-laws, was it so wrong for you to want just a little bit of something good? Rolling your eyes at yourself, you leaned on the desk, avoiding the eyes of the faces of your missing family that hung on the wall. Were you really thinking about flirting with the detective that you hired to find your family? You couldn’t believe your own audacity. And of all the places, here in the house of your lost sister, right where she and her beloved husband would spend hours and hours cultivating their passion. You resigned yourself back to the fog that you had been living in the last few weeks, the disappearance of your family was important, not your need for companionship.

While watching Tim click the power button a few times all for the screen to sit black and empty, your eyes trained on his large hands as they skimmed over the edges of the computer feeling for the plugs. His broad shoulders made it hard for him to look behind the computer, which made you chuckle, gaining a quick grin and glance from Tim. Heat surged through your veins, a mixture of shame and pleasure hitting you. Quickly getting out of your own mind, you cleared your throat as Tim shook his head to the black screen as a few numbers and words popped on the screen before that suddenly blink out.

“Perks of being with NASA?” Tim asked as he looked under the desk.

“Apparently, admittedly I’m still partial to the typewriter.”

“Same here,” he laughed and you chuckled with him.

Tim knelt down to the floor, finding a small pillar of smoke coming out of the wall socket of the computer’s plug.

“Thought I smelled something. Looks like the computer is a dead end. I’m good at deciphering clues but I’m no technician.” He watched the small smile that graced your face from earlier fall. Cursing himself, he stood and gave you a reassuring nod to the stack of papers on the desk. “It looks like this was something they were working on last though, maybe it held their attention the most. Let’s take a look.”

Watching him look over the paperwork, you grimaced as he thumbed through it, “Good luck with that, the gibberish shorthand was illegible to the cops and even their NASA colleagues.”

Thumbing through the notes, you were right, Tim couldn’t translate the shorthand. They contained many passages of normal English letters and words and then slowly turned into strange symbols and markings that were sometimes crossed off or circled. Since the notes weren’t legible, Tim found his eyes wandering to the many sketches on the notes. Dotted lines, circles, and what Tim thought were measurements marked the pages.

“The cops said it was work jiberish, but the NASA engineers said it looked like games for the kids.”

Tim looked up at your pensive face, you still stood in the corner of the room until you slowly walked to the desk, opposite of him. “And what do you think they are?” he asked.

“A compass.” The detective looked over the cross marks again. You said it so matter factly.“My sister had a small compass necklace that James gave her for their last anniversary.”

Tim looked back down at the sketches, then at you. “Just look closely at the dots and lines, you can see the arrows,” you continued.

“You know this case better than anyone else, don’t you?” Tim smiled.

A large sigh left you, “Ruth and I were close growing up and even close now. We talked every week, even when we were miles apart. Family is important to us, so we always kept in close contact even when we had our disagreements. We were inseparable as kids, but then we found our own pursuits as adults. I found work, she found a husband.” You sounded small as you recollected this to him.

“You didn’t like James?” Tim prompted as he gathered more parts of the notes.

“ Oh, James was nice enough to me, perfectly polite, so all in all he was fine.” You waved your hand through the air to wave the thoughts away. “The first time I met him I could tell how well they got on with each other. You know, for how close my sister and I were, we never had our own language as they did. Could never keep up with their talks and ideas. They were happy. Even happier when they had the kids.” You watched Tim organize the notes into piles.

“Just the two kids right?”

“Daniel and Donna. Sweet kids, wicked smart too,” you had made your way to the screen doors now. The small balcony outside the room was littered with leaves and sticks.

“Just like their parents then.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly until you piped back up, “James and Ruth loved making up games for them, wanted to make sure the kids were always stimulated. That’s why the NASA brainiacs thought these were just games for the kids. James was always talking about the family.”

“These don’t look like games,” Tim frowned down at his work.

“That’s what I told the cops, I’ve seen their games and they look nothing like these…drawings?” you paused as you looked back down at the notes that Tim had arranged.

“Not a compass, but close.”

You returned to the desk, leaning over Tim’s shoulder, to view the mess in front of him. The pieces of paper before you were rotated and layer on top of each other. Dotted lines as well as solid lines traced out circles and plotted out layers of what seems to be contour lines of depth. Illegible symbols line the top and sides of the map. More symbols were scratched into the margins of the map as some were written in the small spaces of the latitude and longitude lines. Angled pieces of overlapped paper intersect to form several points of interest: a small anomaly followed by a dotted line, a cluster of blurry signals, and a large dark curling and swirling mass.

“Nice eyes detective,” you whispered as you leaned over his shoulder to see his work. Tim agreed with your assessment, it was rare that he got a compliment in his field of work. He was always expected to do his best no matter the situation. But it felt good to him to have your attention. He smiled as the whiff of your perfume, sandalwood and lily, caught his nose. He quickly remembered that he was working, your family had completely disappeared for weeks now, he chided himself to refocus.

"It's a bit of a crude assembly of a map. Things seem a bit out of proportion," Tim grumbled as he switched around a few skewed pieces of the puzzle.

You laughed and rolled your eyes, "Detective, this whole house seems like some sort of crude puzzle right now."

"How so, apart from the obvious?"

Taking a step away from the detective, you looked out the screen door.

"Let's start with the outside first. You wouldn't have noticed it on a day like today, but the yard is only partially mowed." Tim rose from his seat to look at the lawn. Under the sharp strike of lightning, he could see the diagonal and mismatched stripes of mowed lawn. Curved lines ran through shaggy areas of grass and weeds. There were even small circular areas where the grass withered away to a crisp yellow death.

"As long as I've known James, he was always particular on the lawn."

"What else is off?"

"Their books are out of order, normally they are sorted by genre then author. But now they're all out of place and missing whole chunks of pages."

Tim looked back at the desk to the map. The scattered pieces of paper were all from different books, none repeating the same title or author.

"You'll find more pages stuffed in the cupboards of the kitchen, in the toilets, even in the frames of the photos," you announced as you pointed to a family photo on the wall. Tim opened the back of the frame to find more loose pages of different books flattened behind the photo.

"You've been in every corner of this house then," Tim closed the frame and placed it back on the wall as he looked over the family photo. Four smiling faces. Sweaters clean, dresses pressed, not a single bit out of place.

"Well when you find the food jarred up and placed in the closets while the clothes are neatly folded into the freezer; you tend to start looking at everything a little harder."

Tim frowned, "And how did the police explain that one?"

"Weird science experiment. But NASA says it's personal research. They're all too worked up about today's launch,” you scuffed and rolled your eyes.

“Anyone else's problem but theirs, right?” Tim already knew the song and dance. Blame shifting and subverting responsibilities was why he got jobs in the first place.

"As always." Your heartbreak broke Tim's investigation of the room.

You were just holding yourself together, just enough to get by. There was a slight tremor in your voice that was also brought out in the shaking of your fingers as you brushed your hair back in place. Even your eyes looked about the room for something steady to grasp on.

Tim's hand grasped yours. You grasped at the sudden touch and looked up at his deep set brows and firm lips. The wrinkles of his forehead and eyes expanded. Even as determination covered the detective's face, you couldn't look away from the softness of his chocolate eyes.

"I won't be like them. I'm not going to leave you with little to no answers. That's not how I work, and I swear by the time I'm done, no matter how long it takes, I'll have an answer for you on where your family is." Tim stepped into your space and held your elbows in his hands as his thumbs made small circles into your skin, "We'll find them, no matter where they are."

You gave him a small, numb nod that made his own sweet eyes haze in worry.

"In whatever condition they may be in as well," you whispered just before Tim pulled you into a hug. He couldn't stand to hear you say that, even if it was true. You were so lost and on your own. All other cases Tim had worked, the people who called him had some sort of support system. But here you were, alone in the storm.

You couldn't help yourself, even as you pressed yourself deeper into his hold under the black and white smiling faces of your lost relatives. You didn't dare look at the family picture as Tim's cologne overwhelmed your senses. You happily let him in. Inhaling the woods and cinnamon smell deeply, Tim’s hands moved over your back . He tucked your face into his neck, feeling the worry and stress develop out of your body as you continued to lean into him, pressing your weight into his chest. The radio sang out the sweet melody of “Lie-la-lie-lie-lie-lie-lie” in between breaks of fuzzy frequency, that was only drowned out by Tim’s heartbeat. Feeling him inhale and exhale, you closed your eyes and slipped a little into the pleasant and cozy darkness of the cocoon that Tim’s arms offer. For his part, Tim followed you into that sweet obscurity, leaning his head onto your, swaying to a drowsy beat of his own.

Thunderously, a sudden rumble in the distance echoed to the house, only gaining volume as it continued to sound off. Shocked, the two of you broke apart from each other as the rumble took over the walls of the home, shaking the fan and light above the two of you and rattling the frames off the wall. Tim held you close to him as you both crouched to the ground. One arm circled around your back as the other steadied the two of you on the floor. The cabinets near the wall shook forward just as a bright light entered through the glass doors. Looking up, you and Tim saw the assent of the Apollo 12 rocket blast off into the atmosphere.

You slowly stood placing your hands on the waving glass of the doors in front of you, Tim keeping a hand on your back as you both watched bright yellow fire soar through the stormy sky.

“Off to the moon,” Tim murmured behind you.

You nodded, “History in the making.”

“I listened to the first one launch on the radio, but I didn’t know about the shock wave that followed the blast off.”

“It’s not usually that intense,” you shifted in your spot as the rocket went higher and higher. The wind of the thunderstorm still swept through the air, sending gusts of wind against the windows even as the bright light of the rocket rammed its way through the storm.

“I didn’t think they would actually launch today.”

“Neither did I, guess they just decided—'' your train of thought was stopped when a blast of silver lightning rocked the house, lighting the sky up, and striking the ascending rocket. Both you and Tim gasped as the thunder of the storm echoed through the house, drowning out the rambles of the rocket. The light of the office and in the rest of the house blinked on and off until they finally all blinked off, sending the house into darkness. The buzzing of the radio fell silent to a wave of rumbles of the storm. You watched as the rest of the neighborhood fell into the same darkness as you, losing power one by one.

“Maybe that’s why they should’ve rescheduled it. Damn,” Tim came to your side to crane his neck to watch the rocket further.

“This didn’t happen the other times they launched.”

“Have they launched in a storm before?”

“I don’t remember, but I’ve never heard about the power going out because of a launch.”

“Maybe the storm has something to do with that. I bet NASA has their own backup power for an event like this,” Tim said as he patted your back and shifted back to the office.

“I would hope so.” You bit your lip as Apollo 12 blinked out of sight and out of atmosphere.

“They probably have numerous backup plans in place for an event like this.” Tim wished he had a backup plan himself. He didn’t expect to be so pulled towards you. He needed to get his shit together and get on with this search. That was the point of this whole situation, not to take advantage of some lonely woman with a missing sister and family. The best thing he could do for you, to help you, was not hold your hand in the dark but to get to work. “I’ve got a flashlight in the pocket of my trench coat, I’ll go grab it.”

You watched the detective quickly leave the room, missing the weight of his hands on you. Another flash of lightning soared through the room, drawing your attention to the picture frames that fell to the floor from the rumbles earlier. Picking them up and placing them back on the wall, your mind ran through the last conversations you had with your sister. She was such a determined force, always on the verge of something spectacular, an eureka moment. And she was always so good at making every moment a eureka moment, big or small, any event for her was an event of a lifetime. You were always happy for her, truly she deserved the world, but there was a part of you that yearned for what she had. Not specifically the life, the family, or job, but the eureka moment. You wanted that moment where everything came together, everything made sense, all your work paid off. You strived for the success that she had, you were still striving for success even as you heard the footsteps of the detective you hired enter the room.

Tim’s flashlight spun around the room, before settling on you.

“So,” Tim's gravely voice filtered into the room, giving you a sense of security as you stood in the dark room alone, “If we want to find a pair of space enthusiasts, we have to think like space enthusiasts.”

You raised your eyebrow as you watched Tim strive over to the telescope, giving it a look over.

“This isn’t a very good model for stargazing,” Tim spoke as he looked into the scope. “A bit of a step back for a couple of researchers.”

“Old world mixed in with the new,” you shrugged. “Gifts from relatives abroad. I’ve never seen them use it though.”

“Perhaps it’s more for looks than for work?” Tim moved his flashlight over the small golden plate around the barrel of the scope.

“Property of C.C.A.P.O.” Tim looked back at you. “Do you know what that stands for?” Shaking your head no to him, he continued on, “We’ll have to keep that in mind. How long have they worked for NASA?”

“James has been there for over 10 years now. Ruth has been there maybe a year now, after James convinced her to apply for a job.”

“What did she do before that?”

“She did a lot of different things,” you sighed as you sat down in the desk chair. “Ruth volunteered at the kid’s school, worked at a museum, spent hours as a typist, had a writing gig for a time, and even took a few classes for nursing, but she always made time to help James with his research and calculation.”

Tim hummed and wrote down the initials and then paced over to the scattered pages of literature that made up the map.

“Do you have tape around here? I’d like to tape all these pages together,” Tim asked as he popped the end of the flashlight in his mouth to free his hands.

You scrambled to pull out a roll of tape and began helping the detective place piece by piece of yellowed tape on the ripped pages. Carefully sticking the tap down around written parts of the map, the two of you slowly pulled the puzzle together. There was a steady beat of rain against the glass window of the balcony door, that slowly dulled just as the tape roll got smaller and smaller.

It wasn’t till near the end of the roll that you heard it. The storm was starting to settle down, the rain beat a quiet constant trickle without the rumbles of thunder. But now that the storm had dulled down, a new sound thumped through the house. It wasn’t new to you, though it was still unknown. You had heard it a few times in the past weeks, but never could find the source. Your hands slowed as you looked up around the room. Tim was mesmerized by the puzzle before him, until your hand grabbed his. He looked at you, confused and now concerned at the questionable look in your eye. Then he heard it.

Tim plopped the flashlight out of his mouth and lingered it around the office.

“I’ve heard that sound before but I haven’t been able to figure out what it is,” you whispered as Tim straightened out his back from loaming over the desk.

You both went quiet as Tim took a few steps outside of the office, you were close behind him with the taped up map in your hands. A quiet hallway greeted Tim as his eyes traced down the dark hall. In the dark interior, Tim walked towards four open doors. He took a few steps forward, listening to any unusual sounds. It wasn’t until he was between doors that the thumping beat began again. Tim glanced back at you, seeing you standing at the office door still. He motioned for you to stay quiet as he took a step in the master bedroom, finding a perfectly manicured room, crisp and clean of life. Then he went from one child’s bed room to another child’s room, giving a glance over the stuffed animals tucked neatly in the children’s beds. That was where the thumping started again, but it came from another room.

Tim placed his ear to the wall, walking to the beat, you scuttling behind. Leading to the final door, Tim opened the door wide to a small laundry room. The beating had stopped by the time you two had entered, but now there was a small whiff of smoke in the air. Tim looked around the room, first towards the washer and dryer. Both stood still next to shelves of towels and cleaning products. Spare linens stocked the other shelved wall, even toiletries stacked high next to a small radio.

“There’s no power, there’s no way these machines are making the noise—” Tim said as he began to crouch down to the washer just as the thumping noise returned. Your eyes dashed from Tim’s form to the radio behind him. You both stand still as you watch the radio light up, the dial swinging back and forth from station to station. The only sound coming from the radio was the imbalanced and irregular thumping. No static, no voice, no instruments sang out through the speakers.

“But there’s no power,” you echoed Tim’s earlier response.

Tim reached out his hand to the dial, stopping the tuning. Screeching through the air, a steady and unrelenting thump sounded out. You both jumped back from the radio as the sound pierced your ears. Quickly you ducked behind the door, clamping your hands over your ears. Tim crouched to the floor, covering one of his ears. He extended one hand out, pointing towards the door, just as his wrist watch flew off. You both watched as it hit the speaker of the radio, seeming to be stuck to the fabric of the speaker. Several pieces of cleaning supplies and linen then flew off the shelves, striking the radio as well. The soft fabric over the speaker ripped open, revealing a pitch black hole that sucked the watch away. More spare bed sheets flew through the hole and into the darkness. A large container of detergent was sucked through the air and struck the radio, unable to fully go through the turning black hole until the force of the suction cracked and broke the container, forcing it in.

You and Tim looked in disbelief and horror as you both watched the suction tossing and breaking more objects. Clutching the door, you felt it begin to wobble, you could even feel your legs slightly slide against the floor. Tim felt his feet giving out as his eyes wouldn’t look away from the black of hole. You saw Tim slowly being sucked, his feet unable to find purchase against the tile floor. His glasses soon flew off his face towards the hole just before Tim’s fist captured the frames. As he clutched the glasses to him, you notice that he was further losing his traction against the suction of the black hole. Quickly you reached out to the detective, grabbing his arm and yanking him as hard as you could from your seat behind the door. Tim grabbed the knob of the door, yanking himself into you, pushing you further behind the door. You hugged Tim to your chest, clutching your arms around his neck as more towels flew over your heads. You both held on to each other, using the door as cover. Unaware of how much time went by, the suction abruptly stopped, the thumping ended, and the smell of smoke lifted through the air.

Tim watched a few loose pieces of sheets drop to the ground, he didn't move for a moment, holding your arms around him tightly. You also refused to let go of him, burying your head into his hair, breathing hard. Slowly Tim moved the door, peeking at the radio and seeing the small pillar of smoke coming from the outlet the radio was plugged into. The speaker itself sat broken, but lacked the black hole that was once there.

You clutched at Tim’s arm as you both rose.

“I don't want to be here any more, detective.”

“I don’t want you to stay here either.”

Tim grabbed your hand and yanked you out of the room and down the hall.

“Do you need to grab anything before we go?” Tim asked right before you both stopped a step away from the office as the shattering of glass pierced the air. Tim stretched his arm to hold you behind him as he peeked around the corner and into the room. Loose sheets of paper flew through the air, spiraling in circles before being sucked into the now blackened spiraling hole that replaced the screen of the computer. Cups, plates, office supplies all flung off of their settled places and were lost into the hole. You gripped Tim arms as you peered over him, just catching a glimpse of the filing cabinets shaking forward towards the computer. Tim’s tie lifted into the air causing you both to refocus from the computer to it.

“No, no, detective, I have a hotel room, nothing is here for me,” You shook Tim as you spoke. The detective then slammed the door to the office close, quickly grabbing your hand and sprinting down the stairs. “I don’t want to stay here, Can we just leave? Can we go? Please?” Your eyes began to well up as you stammered out words while almost falling down the stairs.

Tim tucked you to him “We’re going, don’t worry we’re going.”

You both grabbed your jackets and exited the house, not bothering to lock the door as you threw it closed. Neither one of you minded the rain as you sprinted to Tim’s car. He opened the door for you before entering the car himself. Slapping the radio off, he turned the key. You clutched at the map still in your hands, shaking as you couldn’t decide whether to look at the map or at the house. It isn’t till Tim grabbed your hand that you both look at each other, unable to speak. A strike of lightning hit the sky, showing Tim the road ahead. He squeezed your hand and you nodded back to him. Shifting the car into gear, his eyes never left the road.

Stardust in Papercuts

Tim never bothered to store blankets or pillows at his office, normally he napped in his chair or just didn’t sleep at all. The coffee maker was well used, unlike the leather couch he had in his office. His office was simple: a used desk, typewriter, file cabinets, one chair for himself, and one chair for his client. The couch was a bonus that came from an old friend who moved away and didn’t want to take it. Honestly, if he was ever leaving the office to move, he would probably leave the couch behind. But currently he was rather thankful to have it. He watched your curled up form breath in and out while resting on the couch. He himself decided to rest his eyes while he sat in his chair, but not before blanketing you with his raincoat.

Neither one of you dared to speak about what had happened in the house. The only words Tim had said was “I’ll order take out.”

Even now with the empty wrappers piled on his desk, his stomach full, and the rain slowly pattering against the windows; Tim was restless. You had passed out quickly after eating, he wished he could let exhaustion take over him like it got to you. He was glad you were getting sleep, he would bet money that this was the first decent amount of rest you had gotten in weeks.

Tim watched your hair pool in front of your face, your chest rise and fall, your lips slightly twitch in your dream…or nightmare. You clutched his jacket with a vicious grip, one that made Tim slightly jealous that he wasn’t in the place of his jacket. Tim wasn’t trying to entertain the idea that he could perhaps snuggle in behind you on the couch, no he definitely wasn’t thinking about that. The over analyzing detective turned away from your sleeping form then, pleading with himself to get back on the next step in the case.

But as he eyed the taped up map pinned to a board on the wall, his mind swirled back to the earlier events. He couldn’t shake the pull he felt, his body slowly lifting off the floor as the bottomless pit in the radio swallowed item after item. He remembered the air being sucked out of him just as a sob was sucked out of you with your arms digging into him, holding him for dear life. He needed to remember to thank you for that later. Now here the two of you were, full of bad take out, fried from an incomprehensible site, and a broom closet now housing Tim’s large radio that he had instantly pushed and locked away.

The detective looked up at the board of missing faces that he had pinned to a board. If he had been alone, he would be in shear doubt of his own mind and senses. There would be no way he would have believed his own eyes of what he had witnessed. There was no way tiny black holes were popping up. First the radio, then the computer. As Tim poked a fork at his remaining takeout, he wondered if more holes had developed in other parts of the home, the television in the family room or the radio in the kitchen? He wondered what the house looked like currently. Surely if two holes had developed while you and Tim were present, then there might have been holes that had developed while the family were still present in the house.

Then Tim’s mind started to take a turn for the worst—

“Detective?”

Tim stopped his nibbling on the cold leftovers and turned towards you.

Your hair was tousled on one side, while your clothes were a bit crumbled from being curled up while sleeping. There was even a red mark streaked across your cheek from sleeping with your hand under your head. Even with eyes full of concern and confusion, Tim fought the urge to run over to hold you tight. You were still a stranger to him, but how many strangers stop you from getting sucked into a bottomless black hole? He didn’t believe he could call you a stranger any longer. No, the two of you were confidantes, perhaps it would even be reasonable to call you two survivors. Or maybe too early to say such a thing.

“Did you sleep well?” Tim asked as he placed his food on the desk.

You shrugged, “As well as one can after…”

“A stomach full of Chinese food?” Tim offered to try and lighten the mood.

“Sure let’s go with that,” you gave him an appreciative smile. Both of you knew what you were alluding to but didn’t want to actually say. There was still this weight of realness and need for denial in the pit of your stomach. You looked over at Tim as he continued on about some of the late nights he’s had since starting his own private investigating business. His jacket was gone now, his white crisp shirt stretched over his wide shoulders as he braced his hands on his hip. Tim’s tie was loose, the first couple buttons of his shirt were open revealing the tops of a cotton shirt under it. The glasses he almost lost were perched on his desk now, smudges gone from where he once clutched them before they were almost sucked away. You hadn’t noticed it before but he had a leather holster strapped around his arms and shoulders, the gun still secured in it. Part of you wondered if he would have tried to shoot the radio, what would have happened then?

“My back probably hates me from sleeping in the chair so many times,” Tim could see that you were looking at him but not listening to him. “The couch was ok?”

You blinked quickly as you refocused on him, “The couch? Yeah, it’s fine. Good enough for a nap anyways.”

Tim nodded, you were spacing out and he was dancing around the subject. Rain clouds still stretched through the sky, but the storm had lessened greatly from earlier. The afternoon was already upon the two of you and he needed to get moving on this case again.

“We should talk,” he stated.

You only nodded, clearly not desiring in talking.

Tim rolled his chair up to you as he began, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I wasn’t thinking you could.”

“I want to though, I want to continue looking and finding answers.”

“You think there are answers to whatever that was?” you held your hands over your arms, just like you did when Tim first met you.

“There have to be answers to it,” Tim didn’t let up, “In my profession there is always an answer. And my job is to find it.”

“And where would you find the answer to why miniature holes of bottomless vacuum are popping up all over my sister’s house?”

“The library.”

You and Tim stared at each other. You were judging him. Obviously that was not the answer you wanted but it was the best bet he had.

“I always go to the library. You can find answers to so many things there.” He said as he rolled back to his desk for a small note. He rolled back to you, handing you the note. “Especially a handy place to find books such as these.”

Reading down the list you saw the titles of books: Captives of the Sun by James S Pickering, Close to Critical by Hal Clement, Practical Astrology: How to Make it Work for You by Jerryl Keane, Earthblood by Keith Laumer and Rosel George Brown, and You and Space Neighbors by John Lewellen.

“Are these…”

“I was able to see the names off of some of the pages your sister and brother-in-law used for their map. Some of the names were hard to read under the marks but I believe I deciphered most of them.”

You nodded in thought, looking over a particular title.

“We don’t have many leads but this is a decent lead into getting an understanding on potentially what Ruth and James were thinking,” Tim clarified as his hand came up to squeeze your knee.

“I remember seeing this one at their house,” you said as you pointed to the title The Corridors of Time by Poul Anderson.

Tim scooted closer to you, looking at the list. “Before or after they were gone?”

“Both.”

“Do you remember who was reading it?”

“Ruth. Ruth was holding it. The last time I visited, I remember walking through the house calling her name. She wasn’t answering but I eventually found her in one of the kids’ rooms.” Your eyes went glassy then.

“What was she doing?” Tim pushed you as his thumb rubbed your knee.

“Nothing. She was just standing there, in the middle of a mess, holding the book to her chest. I asked if she was ok, she just smiled and said everything was fine, just thinking about the mess the kids left behind.”

“Where were the kids?”

“She said they were with James, out for a bike ride together. But…” you paused then, remembering the room better.

“The rooms were neat when I looked into them.”

“She cleaned the room up. Not the kids. The last time I saw the kids was before that,” you looked up at Tim then, your mouth beginning to wobble.

“Do you remember what the mess looked like?”

“Not well enough. Toys were all over the place. She wouldn’t let me help clean it though, and told me to not worry about it.”

Tim watched you as the gears slowly turned in your head.

“James’ parents’ room is a mess. At first I thought it was because they were the messy type. Then after talking to the police about their suspicion that they might be lost somewhere, I thought maybe they grabbed their stuff quickly and left. But they both need a lot of help to move around.”

“I remember there was a cane in the umbrella holder at the house.”

“James’ dad had canes everywhere, just in case he forgot one when he went to walk around. His mom had a bad back and knees, she mostly sat at her chair in the living room. Ruth would leave her to her knitting all day.”

Tim nodded as you continued to clutch his jacket around your shoulders.

“It just doesn’t make sense for them to be the ones to make the mess. And I mean it was a real mess. Their clothes were thrown everywhere, blankets tossed, pictures broken, the mattress itself is completely gone.” You looked up at him then.

“As in missing…” Tim offered.

You didn’t need to answer, Tim knew he was right when you continued, “The television in their room was still in the same spot it always was, but…”

Tim leaned forward then, “The screen was shattered.”

The conversation went quiet after that, only the muted acceptance that you two were off to the library next. There were words to be said out loud, there was an ease of understanding between the two of you. Looking yourself over in the mirror in the sun visor, you brushed away the sleep from your eyes as Tim drove the car through the rain. The radio was still shut off, Tim had made sure to double check it before entering the car. You didn’t know what he would be able to do if another black hole popped up in the radio, but it did comfort you that he at least checked it. Honestly you didn’t know why you were joining him on the investigation. He was the professional, not you. Although it was hard to say who was a professional in the case of black holes appearing in radios and televisions. Still, you were glad to be along with the detective, and you had the thought that he was glad to have you with him as well.

Glancing over to Tim every now and again, you noted the crease in his brow, the firm frown formed on his lips. You had a feeling that you looked quite similar. It was a comfort, knowing that he was just as lost and even as confused as you.

“When we get there, no splitting up. All right?”

“Agreed,” you hummed to Tim.

He glanced at you, “If anyone asks who you are, just tell them you're my investigative assistant. Moreover, you just let me do the talking.”

“Do I get a badge?”

“I don’t even have a badge,” Tim chuckled as he turned the wipers down to a lower speed.

“So you think we’ll be interrogating people? At every library on the Cape?”

“Interrogating isn’t the word I would use, but we will be asking a few questions. I found a good lead to go off of while you slept. There’s plenty of libraries on the Cape and on the mainland to choose from. If we went to each library…”

“It would take forever,” you completed his sentence.

“Exactly, but we’re in luck. After looking over the map again, I noticed a little clue. One of the pages in the map was stamped by one of the local libraries. Part of it was ripped off, but I made a few calls, and pinpointed the library to be one Lagoon Veterans Memorial Library.”

“That’s near a wildlife refuge, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Tom looked over at you, a raised eyebrow questioning you.

“They really weren’t the type to go to parks is all.”

“So it’s a place they normally wouldn’t frequent. Great.” Tim was dismayed on the inside but restrained himself to not show it on the outside. He didn’t want you to see how exasperated he was getting from this investigation.

Tim continued to drive through the rain on the skinny winding roads that curved through the shallow marsh. A few palm trees sprawled about the marsh, swaying in time with the waves of the water under the constant pelting of the rain. Soon enough the library came into view. It was tucked away amongst the tall grass and trees, sitting alone paired with its tiny parking lot. Few lights lit up the old library. The building itself was built out of crumbling bricks and rotting wood. Tim lifted his raincoat up over your head as the two of you ran inside the building.

Tim grabbed your elbow, stopping you from going too far into the building. You looked back at him confused but quickly turned worried when you saw the equally worried look on the detective’s face.

“Stay close. No wandering away.”

There were crinkles near his eyes and a slight pout to his lips. Amidst the pattering of rain, the clashing of waves in the marsh, and the falling of palm leaves, you found yourself allured to his sincerity. The gentleness of his hands, the sweetness of his eyes, even the slight youthful innocence of his face held your attention.

“You too,” you replied back to him, patting his hand.

He gave you a squeeze and then lowered his voice, “If anything starts to get…windy, or if things start flying off the shelves, then we’re booking it out of here.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“I mean it, I’m not risking our safety with whatever is going on.”

“But if it helps find my sister?” you looked conflicted with your own words.

“Then I’ll risk it, but not you.”

You paused for a moment, studying him. For the first time in weeks you felt something close to stability with Tim. There were so many unknowns going on all around you, but in the past few hours he had been a rock for you. And now? If something went wrong? So many things had already gone wrong!

“No.”

Tim frowned, and adjusted himself to face you completely, “What?”

“No. No more getting lost. No more going missing. No more fucking disappearing from my life.” You begin to shake as you speak. Tim guided you to the side of the library, following the deck as you continued. “My sister is gone, my brother-in-law is gone, my niece and nephew are missing, and even their grandparents are gone. There’s no one else around, no one seems to even care or give a fuck, no one but you. And you can’t disappear on me too, you can’t leave. No fucking around!” Your shaking hands grabbed Tim’s coat as his own hands held your own arm, bringing you in close to him.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better fucking not, cause I can’t fucking be alone anymore!”

“You won’t be, I’ll be by your side the whole time.”

“Promise! Promise me you won’t do some stupid shit like jumping in a spaceship, or falling down a black hole. None of that shit!” Tears welled up in your eyes.

You felt his hand hold the back of your head, drawing you to his chest and resting his chin on your head.

“Ok ok, it’s all right. No fucking around. No risking your safety or my own.” His hands moved over your back.

“Promise, please.” You sniffled into his shirt.

“Promise, no disappearing.” Tim’s voice rumbled in your ear. You felt the ghost of a kiss be placed on your head.

After a minute of holding each other, Tim slowly pulled you away from him. You only met his eyes when his finger pushed the leftover tears from your eyes.

“Let’s get to work.”

Squeaking wooden floors greeted you both, until a frail woman sitting at the front desk waved her greetings. Tim’s gruff voice greeted the woman back, introducing the two of you with your titles, one real and the other fake, not that the librarian knew.

“I called earlier about a family that is missing, I believe the parents checked out books from this library in the past.”

The librarian eyed Tim over her thick rimmed glasses that were strung together by a string of pearls. She nodded her head, “Yes, I remember your call.”

“Do you happen to know the last time they were here?”

“My memory isn’t the best and I don’t work the front desk all the time...” the old librarian petered off as she spoke, waving her hand in the air as if to wave the question away.

“Do you have a list of past books they rented and returned? Perhaps even dates on when they were checked out?” you watched Tim’s hand land on his hip as he waited for the librarian to slowly fumble her way to a large journal. She flipped through the pages, scanning the names and murmuring to herself.

“She seems rather annoyed with us,” you noted in a hushed tone to Tim.

“They always are annoyed,” Tim huffed. “This is where a badge would be handy. Most people don’t like Private Investigators.” The detective rubbed at his patchy beard, letting an exhausted sigh out.

“I like you.”

Tim turned his attention away from the slow moving librarian to you, “Yeah?”

A genuine smile formed on your lips, one that you hadn’t worn in quite a while, as you watched Tim's irritation form into surprise, “Yeah.”

“Really now?”

You suppressed a laugh so the librarian wouldn’t scold you, “Really. You're the only one who’s actually helping me, actually taking this seriously. No one else has gotten this far in the investigation.”

Tim studied you for a moment, “Even if this is a dead end?”

“Even if this amounts to nothing. Even if this whole investigation turns up nothing and my family is still missing, I’ll still like you.”

A tiny smile blessed Tim's face as he watched you. His hand reached up and settled to the small of your back. You watched him intently as he took a step towards you, a word forming on his lips as a loud thump shocked the two of you.

“I’m not really in the business of giving out information, you know,” the librarian eyed Tim up and down as she dramatically dropped the journal in front of you two.

“Oh I’m certain you’re not in the business of giving out information about lost people, but you’re going to need to make an exception to that today…and I would advise making that exception to any missing person report in the future.”

Your eyes bulged out at Tim's assertive tone. He had been so gentle and instructional with you, you hadn’t heard his really detective voice till now.

The librarian grumbled as she opened the journal and handed it over to Tim, “I’ll be in the break room if you need anything else.” She squinted at Tim again and slowly shuffled off to a room behind the desk.

“We’ll be sure to call if we need anything,” Tim called back at her.

The two of you viewed the page in the journal, finding the names of your sister and brother-in-law paired with several book titles next to their name. Titles of books that Tim had jutted down from earlier were checked out and returned, plus many more titles. All were returned except two titles, but one book was asked to be held for them. Abd al-rahman al-Sufi's The Book of Fixed Stars.

“Well, she’s about to really hate me,” Tim mumbled to you.

You chuckled as Tim yelled out to the librarian.

“Do you still have The Book of Fixed Stars still on hold?”

In the distance, you heard the squeak of a chair moving and then saw the face of the librarian peek out from the room. “Nope, put it back on the shelf when they didn’t show up to collect.” She then ducked away back to her squeaky chair.

“Do you know the dewey decimal system, Detective?”

“Of course, just…follow me,” Tim looked up and down the several aisles before taking off, tugging you behind him.

Your hand clasped his as the two of you walked past rows and rows of bookcases. His grip on you was tight, just as yours was tight to his. Nothing in this case was what he was used to. The blackholes were obviously an issue he couldn’t wrap his head around. The writings and sketches of the missing family just didn’t make sense. And now here the two of you were, holding hands, murmuring reassurances to each other. In no other case had Tim become so close to his clients like this. He had never been so invested in an individual before. But here you were, willingly following him. Even pleading with him to be careful, to not leave you.

He didn’t want to leave you. That’s why his grip on you was so firm. His mind spiraled on what would happen if another hole appeared while the two of you were in the library, what if you were in another aisle looking at books and a hole appeared, sucking you away. What if you were just a step away from him? Tim shook the thought of his own feet sliding against the tile floor of your sister’s laundry room away from his head. He drew your hand to his chest as he finally found the right aisle.

“This way,” he murmured with a reassuring glance back to you. Your eyes looked a bit clearer now, more than when you two were out on the porch. But there was still some lost wandering going on in your eyes. Tim regretted his lack of a better lead to follow, that would have surely helped reassure you that he knew what to do, even though that was far from the truth with this present case. Tim’s free hand traced over the worn titles of books till he found the one he wanted, “The Book of Fixed Stars by one Abd al-Rahman al-Sufi.”

Tim pulled the dark turquoise book from the shelf. the spine was cracked and the pages yellowed. The detective glanced up and down the aisle before nodding for you to walk with him further into the rows of books, still clutching your hand. Soon he found a small corner of the library where a small desk sat under the glare of a larch arching window. The two of you sat down next to each other. You clicked the desk light on as Tim brought out a small notebook filled with notes. He quickly leafed to a new page while your curiosity guided you to the book. Upon opening the cover you found images of constellations and sketches of figures drawn with the star constellation, accompanied by a small passage of text.

“Says here that this is a translated copy of the book. The original was written by Iranian astronomer al-Sufi,who wrote the original in 964 AD,” you recounted the text to Tim, who wrote down quick notes. You flipped through the book to find more plotted dots of constellations paired with sketches of animals and people. “All the fixed stars have recorded observations of their positions, magnitude, and color,” you said as you flipped to a chart of constellations.

“Magnitude?”

“Brightness,” you murmured to Tim.

Tim nodded and looked back at his old notes on the star map your sister and brother-in-law made, “There has to be something that they were looking for specifically, something interesting or different from the other stars maybe?.”

You hummed as you started to look down the catalog of stars, “He mentions a ‘little cloud’ here. There’s also a mention of a nebulous star and object. Do those ring any bells?” You looked over at Tim for any clarity.

Tim thought of course they didn’t, but huffed out, “Let’s take a look at the cloud first.”

Shuffling the pages to where a description of the ‘little cloud’ lay, you related your finding to Tim, “The note from modern astronomers says that this is the first noted sighting of the Andromeda Galaxy.”

Tim hummed and nodded the name down.

You went quiet then as your eyes trained on the delicate hand writing of your own sister. Tim saw the glass overed look in your eyes and leaned over your shoulder to look. Neatly, in beautiful cursive were the words: Our Dark Star? Is this what took them? Were we wrong?

“Do you know what a dark star is?” you asked timidly.

“No, but we just so happen to be in a place that could give us that answer.” Tim jumped from his seat and walked a few steps before quickly returning, “No separating, right?” He smiled at you with a quick double lift of his eyebrows.

Easily, you smiled back at him, grabbing his hand and the book. The two of you took off in the direction of the library card catalog. Tim maneuvered through the drawers of cards finding one pertaining to the subject of space, swiftly he found a particular book about many different natural occurrences and cosmic phenomenons. Tim looked over the call number on the card, he then started to look up another card from the catalog. After a few minutes of shuffling through the cards, Tim let out a soft, “Found it,” before grabbing the card out of the drawer. Swiftly, he led you to the exact point where the book was shelved.

“Here you are,” Tim whispered to the book. He winked at you then, “Back to work.”

This time you led the two of you back to the desk, holding tight to Tim’s hand. You scanned through the contents of the book quickly finding a section about dark stars.

“Here we are,” you glanced at Tim, seeing him pull out his notebook again. “Dark stars are large masses that can escape velocity that can exceed the speed of light, theoretically any light near the surface of a dark star would trap the light away in its gravity.”

Tim clicked the cap of his pen, “Meaning it devours anything near it.”

You looked up from the book at Tim then, halting your breath before speaking. Tim was practically leaning over you, his face a mere inch from yours as he studied the passage you had just read. The curve of his nose was just in reach of a caress from your own nose. Even the deep amber of his eyes were close enough for you to study and adore. A scraping of a chair somewhere else in the library brought your attention back to the case. Clearing your throat, you continued.

“Sounds like it, there’s more here. But the jargon is getting out of my depth of common knowledge on space, to be honest.”

Tim chuckled, “Same, but maybe it’s time to find a particular specialist on the subject. But before we head out, I’ve got one more thing to look up.” Tim held up a card inscribed with the words Cape Canaveral Astronomical Planetarium and Observatory.

“C.C.A.P.O!” you gasped at Tim. “That’s what was on the telescope!”

The detective nodded and led you over to a section of the library that held a phone book, “Do you know anything about the planetarium and observatory? Maybe if your family worked there or had any special reasoning for being there?”

“Nope, I mean they would obviously go because they’re total space nuts. Maybe even take the kids to view the planetarium. But there are plenty of places in the Cape to view and learn about space, so I don’t know why specifically this place caught their attention,” you stated, steading to Tim as you both leaned over a stand desk that held the phone book.

Tim promptly flipped through the pages, “I’m sure once we get to the site, we’ll be able to find someone who might give us a better understanding of your sister’s and brother-in-law's thoughts. Here we go, an address.” Tim wrote the address down, circling the numbers in his notebook. He looked back at you then and pointed to the books in your hand, “We’ll check those books out too, there has to be someone at the observatory that can explain this better to us.”

“Sounds like a plan, Detective,” your face bloomed into a radiant smile for Tim, which in turn made him smile back. You both were quiet for a few seconds, basking in each other's glow before Tim spoke up.

“I like seeing you like this,” Tim softly murmured to you. He was delicate with his words while his hand that still held yours, spiraled small circles on your wrist.

“I like being like this,” you whispered back to him.

“You know maybe, if you're agreeable to it, maybe you would be up for working on other cases together? This has actually been really nice that I got to partner up with someone for change. Normally I’m on my own, it’s been nice to be able to talk ideas out, to depend on someone else, even just to be able to feel lost and confused with another soul,” Tim’s eyes roved over your face, taking you all in, as he spoke.

“Are you giving me a promotion, Detective?” you stepped closer to Tim.

“I guess I am. Assistant to partner? How does that sound,” his voice lowered as he also took a step closer to you.

Now with Tim’s nose just grazing your own, you breathed out a silent, “Sounds perfect,” before Tim cupped the back of your head and crashed his lips to yours.

Quietly between sucked breaths and moans, you and Tim held and felt each other in the back corner of the old library. His lips closed over yours, taking in the soft moan that escaped your lips and to his. Tim’s long nose pushed into your cheek as his hungry lips moved against your impatient ones. His hands found your hips, gently pushing you back against a bookcase with a thud. In between kisses, you stifled a laugh as Tim let out a quick ‘shh’ before crashing his lips back to you just so his tongue glided across your lips.

Tim hadn’t been in a relationship for quite some time, his chaotic schedule giving him zero time to form relationships. But the past few hours with you were so different, for many obvious reasons, but for one very burning yet covert reason. There was such a loneliness in you that he knew well himself, such a loneliness that was so familiar. He hated that feeling and he was glad, damn glad to get rid of it recently. Tim considered himself a good detective, but he didn’t have a clue that this would be happening, making out with a client…well partner? But honestly, Tim didn’t care.

You felt so perfect to him, so right. When you held him back at your sister’s house, when you slept on his couch, even when you read the books to him as he wrote down notes. You should be home, be waiting by a phone, or talking to other members of your family; not clawing at his hair roots. But Tim never bothered to push you away throughout this whole case, he felt that attraction the moment he answered your call. Even now, with his lips glued to yours, there was such a pull beyond physical between the two of you; Tim wanted to explore it more.

Opening up to Tim was easy, while his hands roamed your hips, your hands snaked their way to his hair, taking hold of the small curls and waves. Even while Tim’s tongue explored your mouth, your own leg crept up to his hip, hitching the detective to you. All sense of depression, loneliness, desperation was gone while you were tucked away in Tim’s arms. A voice bounced around your head; this is it, this is where you should be, where you should stay. Maybe you won’t find your family, but you’ve found something else, someone you can’t part from. Your hips bucked up to Tim's thick thigh with the vibrating thoughts roaming your mind. A husky and guttural moan echoed through the library, out of Tim’s mouth and to your core.

“We’re supposed to be quiet while in the library Tim,” the words escaped you in between kisses.

Tim’s hot breath caressed your neck as his lips traveled down your neck, his beard scraping your skin and sending shivers through you.

“Like that old librarian could hear us,” Tim mumbled into your skin.

Your fingers tailed down from his hair to his neck then to his broad shoulders that you had been ogling since he first walked into your sister’s house. His shoulders felt strong and solid under your constant squeezing rubbing. One of Tim’s hands flew up to the bookcase behind you, causing a thud of what you presumed to be a book falling to the floor. You giggled into Tim’s ears and quieted yourself again.

“Now look who’s getting loud,” Tim kissed your ear.

“Can’t help it,” you turned to Tim as another thud echoed through the library. “Maybe I’m just getting a little lost in you.”

Tim’s arms snaked around your waist, hauling you to his chest, “I can understand that.”

He nipped and sucked at your chin, completely distracted with your taste that he didn’t register your hand sneaking down his chest, grazing against his shoulder holster, and tapping on his belt buckle, all to settle and cup his growing bulge.

“Holy God,” Tim growled out into your neck as he pushed his bulge into your hand. His hands tightened around you while you continued to rub him through his pants. “Honey, if you continue we’re both going to get kicked out for—” Tim stifled another growl into your neck before continuing, “indecent exposure.”

“No shame in that,” you nuzzled yourself closer to Tim, delighted in the idea of getting such a professional detective in a little bit of good trouble.

He ducked his head again to yours, rubbing his nose to you. With your heavy breaths blending together, Tim rutted into your hand and leaned in close again to your lips when suddenly a piercing scream rang through the library.

You both clutched at each other and looked back down the rows of books. Tim spun you to him, and took the both of you a step back from the screaming. You dug your nails into Tim’s bicep looking around the high shelves of books. Several thuds and crashing rattled through aisle after aisle.

“Tim, we need to leave. We’ve been here too long,” you pleaded as Tim stood still.

The detective’s hand squeezed yours as he watched out for whatever was happening in the distance.

“Tim! Listen to me! Let's go!” you grabbed his chin and rotated his face to look at you. “Now. Please.”

Tim stared down at you as more crashing rang through the air, “It’s coming from the front desk,” he stated to you. “We’ll have to go past it.”

“Shit,” you cursed. “The librarian.”

“Come on,” he ordered. “Together.”

Tim grabbed your hand, holding it to his chest. He walked steadily through the rows of books, noting the scream you both heard earlier had ceased while the crashing of books and other objects could still be heard.

As you and Tim rounded the corner out of the book shelves, you both saw the whirling of papers circling the air inside the break room that the librarian had entered earlier. Giving a wide circle around the front desk to try and view what was happening inside the break room, you both abruptly stopped your pace as the door of the room slammed shut. Frozen in your tracks, the sound of a shelf crashing could be heard before there was a sudden silence. Tim looked back at you with an obvious question hanging in the air.

“If we go ahead and open the door, then just make sure to jump back before the door completely swings open,” you told Tim.

He nodded in agreement, “Don’t let go.” Tim patted your held hand to his chest.

You both took a breath and walked to the break room door. Tim extended his arm out, keeping his other arm close to you while your free arm snaked around his bicep. You planted your feet firmly to the floor, glancing quickly to the large front desk that was just within arms reach for you. Finally Tim turned the knob and pushed the door open before jumping back into your chest as fast as he could. The door opened yet stopped quickly with a thud, only opening a few inches before being stopped by something in its way,

“Something’s blocking it.”

“Fuck,” Tim cursed under his breath. He glanced through the crack of the door, seeing a familiar mess. “Ok I’m going to shove it open, you stay right there.”

Tim reluctantly let go of your hand and placed his weight into the door, pushing it more and more. You could hear the sound of wood breaking and rubbing against the wood floor as Tim steadily opened the door. Now on the threshold, Tim looked over the ruined room. Books were missing from the shelf that had once been firmly set to the wall. Parts of a microwave and small fridge were broken across the floor. Drawers and cabinets that were once probably storing office supplies were broken open. Even the wheels of a missing chair were left on the floor.

You appeared next to Tim then, taking in the room as well seeing a distinct trail of debris led to a broken television. But what caught your eye, as well as Tim’s, was the pair of pearl stringed glasses, bloodied and caught on the knobs of the television.

Echoes through the Lens

“So how do we frame the question: Can dark stars or other cosmic variables randomly form inside of televisions and radio, creating a unstable and unstoppable suction—”

“That devours whole pieces of furniture and even people,” Tim deadpanned your final thought.

“Yeah that,” you solemnly replied back to him.

The ride to the planetarium and observatory started out quiet except for the rain that consistently splashed against the windshield, just to be scattered away by the windshield wipers. But the dark drive, and even the rain couldn’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

“How are we supposed to ask that question without literally asking the question?”

Tim adjusted his glasses, “We’ll lead the specialist to ask the question. Make them jump to conclusions.”

You stared at Tim, “Is that what you did to me?”

“No… you were the victim or at least the family of the victims. And then my assistant and now my partner,” he smiled as he said the last part, “I didn’t lead you to any conclusion, if anything you led me.”

Tim slid his hand from the steering wheel to your hand, softly holding and entwining your fingers. Your eyes watched him thoughtful. You should be guilty. The more you two investigated, the more it looked like your family was gone forever; you should feel the pressing weight of shock and numbness. There should be bile rising in your throat. Or at least depression clouding your eyes.

The guilt and everything associated was there, you weren’t naïve to think you were immune to it all, but you knew it was still there within you. Maybe in the depths of your gut or the back of your mind, but either way it was buried…buried under the weight of Tim’s hand in yours. Forgetting about the bloody glass of the missing librarian or the scattered mind of your sister and her husband, not to mention the empty spaces where your niece and nephew used to play. You were happy, for once in a long time of job searching, house searching, soul searching; you now felt found. Or at the least you felt known, seen.

It was all horrifying and perverse, you were well aware of yourself. But you couldn’t help it, and you didn’t want to stop this bloom of adoration and exhilaration. The graze of Tim’s beard against your own face felt too good to deny. And upon watching Tim, a man that had probably seen many gruesome scenes in his line of work, he seemed content, if not of a certain desire to have you in his space and within his amicable thoughts.

“Gateway to the Cosmos,” Tim echoed the greeting sign for the Cape Canaveral Astronomical Planetarium and Observatory. “Think that’s true?”

“Not to be too disturbing, but I think we’ve already seen many gateways to the cosmos today,” you side eyed Tim.

“Perhaps that’s true, but at this point, what’s one more?” Tim planted a kiss on your hand and jumped out of the car. He quickly rounded the vehicle and opened your door, grabbing your hand as you stepped out. “Shall we, partner?”

The building as a whole was made up of one large central building with two wings reaching in different directions. Three large domes enclosed the main building and the two ends of the wings. The large dome in the middle of the building held the museum, while one dome was encased in many large panels of metals and glass while the other dome had a large opening split down its middle where a large telescope spied out.

From the looks of it, there had obviously been a crowd at the building, probably a small watch party for the Apollo 12 launch. Leftover tables and chairs were placed all over the lobby of the museum. You and Tim snuck past the cleanup crew and walked down the marble halls to the planetarium.

“Are we going to take in a show at the sky theater?” you laughed.

“We could. I just wanted to see if anyone is still here. They may have left for home already,” Tim said as he opened the door to the large dome theater.

Several rows of chairs circled a large project in the middle of the room. All the seats were empty, but the dome of the ceiling was still lit and showed a swirling of constellations and nebulae. You slowly walked to the center of the theater as Tim took a look around the place. The theater was simple, no other rooms were found but Tim did find a panel of light switches. Unable to help himself, he looked on to you as he flipped the lights off one by one. Darkness didn’t over take the room though, instead the heaven bodies engulfed the room. Tim watched your head tilt back and gaze wide eyed at the 360 degree view of the cosmos above you. Light blue stars embedded in the dark blue space shown down to you, just as a nebula of scattered swimming turquoise blues, cool olive greens, warm burning oranges and yellows, and finally electric blood reds reflected down on her shining face.

You were too busy taking in the show above you to notice the detective take you in. Tim watched your lovely face. You were clearly enraptured by the show before you, but you held Tim’s undivided attention. He was glad that you were getting a little respite from the horror of the case. You had been so focused at the library, then so silent afterwards. When Tim saw the planetarium was still open, he had hoped that the two of you could pop in for a show. You obviously were interested in space like your sister, but no one could deny the beauty of the universe, Tim was certainly not going to deny you.

He slowly approached you from behind, lightly placing his hands on your hip. You leaned back onto him, releasing a sigh.

“Ruth used to beg me to go to the sky theater whenever I came into town. She would always poke and prod at me to join her in relaxing under the stars. I never bothered to go,” you smiled up at the theater.

“What did you do instead?” Tim breathed into your ear.

“I went to the beach. What else are you supposed to do when you're in Florida?”

Tim’s hands encircled your waist. He leaned down and settled his chin on your shoulder, pulling you close to him, “The beach isn’t bad, I haven’t gone in years, or at least for leisure purposes. I’ve been for work, which is never a good thing.”

“Have you been to a planetarium before?”

“Never. First time for me.”

“Same.” You went quiet then. Taking in the sky above. “I should have gone.”

Tim ran his nose up your neck then, landing his cheek on yours, letting you continue.

“I should have gone with her, she loved it all. I can understand why now.”

“Honey,” Tim softly spoke to you.

You shook your head though before he could continue, “No. I should have been around more, I could have helped out more with the kids or maybe with chores around the house. I could have just gone to the damn planetarium with her at least once.”

Tim straightened out and turned you around then.

“You know what I should have done?” Tim’s voice made you pause. His tone was rough and bitter almost. “I should have been able to pull us away from the radio back at the house. I should have warned that librarian about the holes appearing. I should have found better clues or a better lead then wandering around a planetarium for who knows what.” His voice raised as he carried on. “Hell, maybe I should go and call in a different detective to take on the case.”

“No Tim, no. You’ve been nothing short of perfect. You're the only one that could have gotten us this far, you're the only one that has put any effort in this case at all.”

“Was I able to get us away from the black hole in the radio?”

“No, but—”

“I should have. You're my top priority. Nothing comes before your safety and yet you were the one holding me from being crushed and sucked away to who knows where.”

“You could have…” you were lost for words.

“Done absolute shit.” Tim lifted your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I could have fucked myself up or worse, you…” Tim paused. “Do you think it matters now?”

“No, it's useless to think like that.”

“Agreed, and it’s useless for you to think like that as well.”

“You don’t even think back on your mistakes and wish you had done something differently, wished you had seen something differently?”

“Sure, a lot of the time I do when reviewing cases, but it does shit all. Thinking that way has never made a difference and I don't think it will now either.” Tim touched your cheek then and rubbed his thumb against your skin, “It never did any good for my ugly mug, it won't do any good for your beautiful face.”

You giggled and tucked your face into his chest, “You don’t have an ugly mug.”

“What was that, honey?”

You pushed off of his chest then, and looked up into his eyes, “I said you aren’t ugly.”

“That so?” Tim’s voice lowered as a smug look appeared on his face.

“Yeah, you’re rather handsome in fact.”

Tim watched the nebulae and stars reflect on your face. He lowered his head down, touching his nose to yours, letting the constellations connect over your bodies just as your lips touch. Your hands around Tim's shoulders as his hands wrapped around your waist and tangled in your hair. His tongue glided in and out of your mouth, lovingly tangling with yours. You moaned when you felt the heat of his breath hot against you. Tim couldn’t stop himself, he felt such a strong pull from you, a strong desire to have you here and now.

“Lean back on the seat, honey,” Tim rasped into your mouth before pulling your mouth to his again. You slowly slid back into the reclining chair as Tim’s tongue grazed against your lips. Gladly opening up for him, you felt the coarse hair of his mustache and beard prick against your skin and lips. Tim slowly melted down over you, settling his knee between your legs, close to the heat that was quickly building in your core.

His hands skimmed under the hem of your shirt, slowly working further and further up, cupping your breasts. A gasp rattled through your body, arching you closer to Tim. He moaned into you then, pushed you further into the seat. Tim knew there was potential of the two of you getting caught, he knew there was potential of his career being damaged from getting so entangled with a family member of the victim, but he knew there was no one he could stop himself from having you. The hitch of your leg over his, clued him in that you wanted this to continue.

Tim broke the kiss off suddenly, pushing his upper body off of you and looking down at your lust filled eyes. They were hazy yet full intent on nothing but Tim. He loved the way you looked; you looked so different from a minute ago, teetering on the edge of bliss as the reflection of stardust and cosmic winds danced on your face. Tim wanted so badly to keep you in that blissed out state for as long as he could.

“Tell me you want this, baby” Tim pushed his knee further up between your legs, enjoying the shiver that wrecked through you.

“Fuck yes,” you barely breathed out.

“Quiet, I don’t want anyone to disturb us,” Tim rasped out as he slowly sank to his knees. He undid your pants and slowly pulled them down, showing off your underwear to the stars above. The detective didn’t waste any time as he kissed and nipped at your belly then your plush thighs. He loved the squirm you let out as he licked up your skin and threw your leg over his shoulder. You decisively like the look of your leg draped over his leather shoulder holster.

“Trading your guns in for a pair of thighs, Detective?” you gaped at Tim.

“Certainly thinking about it. How do I look?” Tim smirked at you as he lowered his head to the dampening cloth covering your folds, planting a kiss and pushing his nose into you. Your toes curled as you tried hard to watch Tim as he continued to kiss you through your drenched underwear.

“Tim…please.”

“Whatever you want, honey.”

You quivered as the heat of Tim's mouth hit the heat under your panties. Tim’s hands quickly ran up your thighs and hooked your underwear, tugging them to the floor. He didn’t waste a moment as he drove straight for your clit, drawing you between his lips with a devious moan. You wanted to appreciate the new angle of Tim, but couldn’t when you threw your head back, biting your lip red. You knew you needed to stay quiet, so you resorted to just pleading and praising.

“Tim, fuck Tim, that feels…” you sucked your lips in as you muffed your own moan.

Tim furthered the issue for you when he hooked his arm around your thigh, tracing his finger through your folds. He stroked your glistening skin up and down, feeling out every curve and crevasse in your heat till he felt he was satisfied with the feelover. Deciding to investigate a new part of your body, the detective’s finger plunged into your heat, feeling you clutch automatically around him.

You felt Tim exhale through his nose, the flare of his rough breathing shaking your own breathing as Tim’s finger slowly pushed and stroked your walls. Your nails dug into the leather seat below you with every stroke of Tim’s finger. Soon enough Tim added a second finger, pushing the couple in and out of you while he swirled his tongue around your tight pearl. Tim, the dutiful detective he was, patiently guided you to the stars. He curled his fingers, dragging them in and out of you when he finally found what he’d been looking for. You thrashed suddenly under his constant and relentless maneuvering.

Tim took that as a cue to change his tactics. You whimpered when he pulled his fingers away and wrapped both arms around your legs, lifting you slightly off the seat.

“I know baby, I know. Just give me a second. I promise I’ll give you the stars, soon enough,” Tim cooed at you.

His fingers quickly took over what his tongue was so diligently stimulating; his large soaked finger found your needy clit and swiftly rubbed and twirled the pearl. Tim’s tongue plunged into your cunt, lapping up whatever you would give him. He hummed into you, digging his fingers into your thigh, loving the juice of your core and the chanting you were doing in his name. Tim’s eyes opened with the pull of your fingers in his hair and the shake of your body. He watched over the crest of your mound to your beautiful and blissed face. The cosmos painted your body in sweet colors of boysenberry and indigo, swirling over your body as Tim’s finger swirled over and over your clit.

The wave of bliss rocketed through you suddenly, your eyes shot open to stars above you, dancing through the cries and gasps. Your legs tensed and your back arched as Tim groaned into you. The sweeps of his tongue turned into kisses as he traveled up your body, kissing the valley between our breasts until he kissed your red bitten lips. The weight of his body slowly lowered to you, letting you finally feel the hardened presence in his pants.

“Need some help?” you giggled between kisses. Tugging at the belt of his pants, your hand snaked down his falling trousers to take a hold of his heft. Tim moaned out his pleasure into your lips, happy for the help as his hip bucked up, shifting you higher on the seat.

“Honey, shit, just let me…” Tim huffed out as he balanced himself on one arm and yanked down his clothes. Freeing himself, and allowing you free range to stroke him up and down, Tim lowered his forehead to settle against yours. Slowly with gentle kisses to his cheeks, nose, and lips, you guided Tim to your entrance. Sighs and gasps filled your tiny section of the theater as Tim seated himself further and further into your heat, filling you up with small yet calculated thrusts.

Your arms encircle the broad shoulders that you had fantasized since you first met the detective, clutching at the leather binding of his gun holster. Tim buried his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your natural scent that mixed with your lingering perfume. The ringing of the metal seat below the two of you spun out into the theater, entangled with your cries of pleasure. Tim continued on, feeling the pressure building up in you again as he soon found the sweet spot that made your nails dig into his skin and your heat clench around his cock.

“Please don’t stop, so close Tim.”

“Wouldn’t even think of stopping. Feel too damn good, too damn beautiful, too damn heavenly,” Tim whimpered as his hips continued to hit you in the same blissful spot again.

Another spin of the cosmos above and all around, you both were coming undone. You clenched around Tim again, delighted in the string of curse words that came out of the detective’s mouth as you bit his shoulder in a new wave of euphoria. And not long after your pleasure had cursed through you did Tim find his own, paint the walls of your heat as his hips stuttered to his once rhythmic and precise thrust. Tim collapsed on top of you fully then, but guided you to your sides while slumping down into the seat, too snug together and too tired to care about the turning worlds around you or the tight fit of the chair.

Cherry red and violet purple galaxies painted and smoothed over the sweat that glistened over your skin as well as Tim’s. He held you close, the two of you situated to your sides, melting into the seat, foreheads pressed together, breathing into each other. Your eyes were open, trained but heavy lidded as you looked over the beautiful man before you. His once combed hair was now swept in sweet curls that your fingers begged to play with. You allowed them, tracing the shell of his ear causing his large palm that was splayed over your back to push you further to him, as if you two weren’t already melting together.

At some point you would have to stand up, continue on with the investigation, but that thought was far from your mind as Tim opened his eyes. After so many conversations, so many worrisome peeks, anxious ridden gazes, this was a look so completely different from the others.

You were his world, his star, his sun, his moon, and all the cosmos in the universe; all of it and everything beyond.

Tim’s hand grazed up to your head, burying his fingers into your hair. His own lips gravitated towards yours, gently kissing you with small caressing swipes of his tongue. Your sighs rolled out of you, content and without a single beat of ambition. Tim couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else.

But the loud, echoing sound of cracking and breaking glass and metal sobered the bliss out of both of your systems. Tim clutched you and rolled you both to the ground. Just over the edge of his shoulder you could see a steady, large crack quickly forming up the projector.

“I think it’s time to exit the sky theater,” Tim easily echoed a thought that was on the tip of your tongue.

You both surged up, knocking out any leftover euphoria out, and pulled your clothes together just as another loud break of metal pierced your ears. A swirling wind picked up in the planetarium, familiar yet stronger than the suction you both had felt before. Tim scooped you into his arms and dashed forward to the doors. Leftover decorations flew through the air as the metal folded seats of the theater were flung down, several creaks of old used metal echoed through the theater as the suction coming from the projector hungered for the audience. You and Tim reached the doors in time to see the first chair yanked out of the ground and crash into the projector. You couldn’t see the hole forming inside the machine but knew it was there once another tear of metal bounced through the theater as another seat flew through the air and over the top of the project to where the now darkened lights once shined from.

“It’s getting worse,” Tim shouted to you over the top of ripped metal.

You looked up to Tim then, feeling the brush of his beard against your ear. His arms wrapped around you, caging you to the door. His curls bounced in the suction of the projector’s black hole. His dark eyes locked on the destruction before the two of you, watching more chairs fly to the center of the theater. You could see the quizzical movement of his eyes, twitching as he studied the carnage. You watch his beauty in work, his detective mind reeling with ideas and questions.

Several loud howls of metal ripping sounded through the theater again. More chairs were ripped out of the bolts and flung into the projector, all for more ripping and tearing to occur as the seats were sucked and squashed into small pieces into the bottomless hole. Within all of the carnage, and even a rough pull of the doors that the two of you clung to, didn’t pull Tim’s focus away. It wasn’t until your hand gently smoothed over his chin to his cheek, turning him to you.

“Let’s get some damn answers.”

Tim wasn’t certain the doors to the planetarium would hold; he was more certain the roof would be caving in at any moment actually, but that was far from his thoughts as you both walked to the other side of the building, rearranging your clothes from your earlier shuffle and opened the doors labeled “employees only” to the observatory.

The confident stride that you and Tim had only moments ago, quickly faltered when the two of you took in the scene ahead. The giant telescope you both expected to see was completely destroyed. Large lenses, mechanical parts, and mismatched cords and wires lay across several tables around the observatory. All labeled and organized. The telescope itself was open to the world, hollow inside and useless.

"Someone knew what they were doing," Tim commented as he skimmed over the loose parts.

“It does seem like someone was busy while everyone else was off partying,” you remarked back. Your eyes quickly caught the sight of a still steam cup of coffee placed on a table full of folders and handwritten notes. Skimming the notes, you found the writing barely legible, much of it talking about parts of the telescope, about patterns in the stars, and even more nonsense that you could barely make out. But then there it was… a familiar assortment of loose papers and ripped pages, all stapled together in an overlapping configuration. The drawings, circles, dotted lines were all too familiar to you now.

“Tim! Look!”

He rushed over to you, looking over your shoulder, “It’s the star map.”

“The exact same one that your sister had.” Tim reached over your shoulder and lifted the map to the light. “There’s a few extra bits though, see here,” Tim said as he pointed to scribbles that ran along a large, bold line that stretched across the entire map and ended at a familiar large dark curling and swirling mass. “What do you make of these?”

Your eyes skimmed over the small scribbles taking in the three sets.

“Well that one is definitely a half sun and…,” you pointed at the half circle with squiggles emitting from it. “Is that a skull?” you questioned, drawing your finger over the teeth like a mark that ran under the half sun. Two black marks sat on the lower half of the sun, as if they were eyes.

“Looks like it. The sun is making up the dome of the skull.”

The second mark you studied for a moment.

“That could be a smear for all I can tell,” Tim shook his head.

“No, it looks like a flow, like a river?”

“Or northern light? Can we get the northern lights down here?”

“Tim, I think there’s been a lot of things happening that weren’t possible before. Why wouldn’t the northern light appear over Florida?”

Tim laughed, “Fair point, but what about this last one?” He pointed at a cylinder shape with tapered ends. Inside the sharpe oval like shape were circles on circles seeming to grow large but not constricting out of the shape.

“I have no clue. Do you?”

“No but—” Tim began.

“You two haven’t seen the bulb of a lighthouse before, have you?”

Startled by the unknown voice, you both swirled around quickly and took in the sight of a man just entering the room from a side door. His hair was smoothed over his bald patch at the back of his head just as the crumbled tan jacket he wore hid the coffee stain on his green shirt. His large glass kept falling down as he walked up to the two of you, his eyes darting back and forth between the pair of you. His hands rolled up a notebook, one that he quickly tucked into his jacket before he finally came to the table where the map laid.

“You’ve been studying my map,” the man nodded and fidgeted with the paper. “Tell me James,” the man’s eyes landed on Tim, “How does mine compare to yours?”

Tim cleared his throat and glanced at you then back at the man, “Well sir…”

“No need for formalities here, Robert will do just fine as it did in our correspondence. Although I understand it, I was writing to Ruth most of the time.” The man, Robert, gestured towards you.

Understanding Robert’s assumption and misunderstanding now, you lept at the chance.

“Robert, our map is quite close to yours, but there seems to be one glaring difference,” you looked towards Tim.

“Yes, it’s been eating me up inside seeing the mistake I must have made,” Tim turned towards the map then. “This.” Tim pointed to the bold line you two were studying earlier.

Robert smiled a row of yellow teeth then, “The route of ascension. I’ve found the shortcut for you two to take.”

You walked next to Tim then and placed a hand on his back, listening as Robert continued.

“By my calculations the normal route would take a century or two, this should be quite instant.”

“A century?” Tim echoed what you thought.

“Very annoying voyage to go on. I’m glad we found a way to shorten it. We really can’t take too long if we are to get the two of you to Andromeda’s Blind Eye.” Robert went on grabbing a few folders, bumping into the table and spilling the coffee over several of his scattered notes. Cursing under his breath, Robert went on a rant about time being a man made invention as he went on with his business cleaning his mess. Between his chaotic movement and meandering rant, Tim stepped forward picking up a box of tissues for a swift opportunity.

“Here let me give you a hand,” Tim said as he quickly crashed into Robert’s chest, dropping the tissues to the floor while sneaking his free hand into Robert’s jacket, grabbing hold of the small notebook and stashing it in his back pocket. “My bad, let’s just get this mess cleaned up and be on our way.”

Robert, seeming to be thrown off by Tim’s presence in his space, shook his head quickly, “No time, weren’t you listening? We should just leave now. We need to get going.” Hardily, he pushed his mess away and then snatched the star map. “We need to get going. Time is almost on us.”

Walking towards an exit, the strange man led you and Tim to the parking lot. Tim’s hand clenched yours tightly.

“Where exactly are we off to Robert?”

The man turned suddenly to Tim, holding the map up to your eyes, “St. Joseph’s Lighthouse.”

“St. Joseph?” you asked

“Joseph Calasanz. Friend of Galileo, you see.” Robert said matter of factly, handing you the star map, “Follow, we’re moving quickly.”

“But what about the telescope?” you asked as you trailed behind.

“What about the telescope?”

“Did you take it apart?” Tim asked while keeping pace between you and Robert.

“Of course, who else would know how to take apart a black hole conductor?”

“Black hole conductor? It’s a telescope.”

“Was. Then it was a conductor.” Robert retorted as he got to his car.

“And now?” you asked breathlessly.

“Now it is what we’ve been corresponding about Ruth. Inert. Comatose. Devoid of significance as it would do to us.”

“Like what happened in the planetarium,” you breathed out as your shoulders slumped.

“Such as it goes,” Robert opened his door without breaking eye contact, “Now follow, please.” With that he quickly stepped into his car and closed the door.

Tim gave a glance back to the skewd smile of Robert before pushing you into his car. You waited for Tim to enter the car and start the engine before talking.

“Tim?”

He turned the engine on, followed Robert’s car closely, “Whatever happens next, let me make this absolutely clear, you stick by my side. I'll stick to yours.” Tim’s hand reached for yours; you met him with a squeeze. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’re in this together.”

You nodded and kissed Tim’s cheek, tightening your grip on his hand.

“We just found each other, I’m not letting go of you any time soon.”

Black Holes of Light Shows

You viciously flipped through the pages of Robert's notebook, scanning and skimming the lines looking for any clue for his apparent route of ascension. Tim continued to drive, thumbing the steering wheel, keeping pace with Robert’s car ahead of him, but giving you a glance every once in a while. Neither of you were too certain what was happening or going to happen but whatever answers you needed must lay in the tiny rumpled and yellowed notebook.

“And if he notices that his notebook is missing? Then what?”

Tim tightened his hands on the steering wheel, “Well then I push him off the damn lighthouse if he tries anything.”

“And he won’t be mad that we lied to him about our identities?”

“He’ll be pissed, but we’ll remind him that his partners in…space are missing.”

“Then he’ll assume the worst.”

“Assume we made them missing or that something else did?” Tim glanced back at you, studying your face. There had always been a question hanging around in the air about your sister’s family whereabouts from the moment you two had encountered your first black hole back at her house.

“Either way, this isn’t going to end well,” you sighed as you traced a finger down a heavily penned page. Several lines of Robert’s writing started to stand out to you, “Listen to this.”

There are no stars here my friend, there isn’t even light. It was all lies those philosophers told us. They never liked an astronomer, we were the real believers, the real cloud gazers and dreamers. But they lied to our star-crossed faces! And now it is too late, I’ve seen past the clouds. Do you know the clouds of Andromeda yell and scream like the winds from the hurricanes of the Caribbean. Except worse. They want to be heard, so now they stretch their screams to our pockets of life.

Have you heard their screams? I have one too many times, but I can no longer deny their pull, I need to know why Andromeda threw its tantrum. And my dear friend, I’ve seen it…if only those philosophers could see what I’ve seen, they would roll off their pedestals! Soon they will see and so will you! Just as your children have seen!

Below Robert’s deranged writing was a scribbled image of what you presumed was what he saw in Andromeda: a pitch black circle with rubbed shading encircling the solid circle. Many lines seemed to swirl around the solid dot, showing the lines ending in the circle. Your fingers traced over the complete black dot, feeling the heavy lines of Robert’s black pen dig into the paper to the point the middle of the circle was torn.

“Do you think he was writing to your sister, seemed like he knew her through letters, maybe this whole notebook was for her to read?” Tim questioned as he turned at the light after Robert.

“Could be. He keeps talking about how the stars aren’t fixed as other astronomers thought, that over time they evolve. But this star hasn’t evolved, it’s different.” Your eyes grew as your fingers scanned and scanned the pages, looking for more answers.

They don’t know what Andromeda holds, but I do and you will soon.

“You’ve said that name a few times now, Andromeda?” Tim looked back at you.

You shook your head, “I’m not entirely sure now. The books from the library called it a galaxy, my sister called it a dark star, but Robert denies both claims. It sounds as though it’s whatever is making these black sucking holes appear all over the place?” your voice shook as you asked the question to Tim but also to yourself.

“Says the scribbles of a madman,” Tim huffed out.

“We’re taking the word of a madman,” You watched the rain sprinkle down on the car in front of you. Night had finally come, lights from the city could be seen from behind you, but in front of you was the darkness of the Atlantic Ocean. You breath stuttered then, “we’re literally following a madman to fucking death right now Tim.”

It was hushed but Tim still heard it. He grabbed hold of your hand, enlacing your fingers with a tight grip, “That isn’t happening. I’ve run into robbers, forgers, smugglers, and even murderers before. It’s part of my job to know how to handle whatever may come our way.”

“How the hell do we handle dark stars or whatever these sucking holes are? This guy isn’t any sort of criminal, Tim. He’s fucked in his head. Look at this drawing? It’s the same as the map.” You pointed to a new page near the back of the notebook, the same scribbles of a setting sun skull, a flow of something unknown, and a lighthouse bulb. “Nothing makes sense other than we’re walking straight into death.”

“It will, it will make sense soon enough,” Tim stopped at the stop light, relieved to have a moment from driving. “Tell me, what is it that we do, what we’ve been doing?”

You shook your head while a tear fell from your face, “Running around or running away like headless chickens.”

“Investigating. Researching. Asking questions and finding answers. That's what we’ve been doing and what we will continue to do once we get to the lighthouse. Robert knows what’s happening, and soon we’ll know as well.” Tim laced his hand into your hair and pulled you head to his lips, kissing your head before pulling away and looking down at your adoring eyes. “I promised we would find out what happened to your sister. We will and we’ll get out of this alive. You understand that?”

You nodded just as Tim kissed your head again and stepped on the gas for the green light.

You watched the amazing man closely as you both sped ahead.

“You think he’ll explain to us his secrets?”

“Everyone has their secrets, it’s only a matter of time before they come out. One way or another, they always do.” Tim’s response was clear and even, something he had said many times before. He rolled his neck and loosened his shoulders.

“Sore?”

“I feel as if I’ve been tense for more than 24 hours now. My back will be killing me tomorrow.”

You closed the notebook and tossed it to the dashboard. Reaching over to Tim, you moved your hand to his neck and began to rub the pads of your fingers in circles on his neck. Tim huffed and you watched a small smirk play on his lips.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Tim quickly glanced at you then back to the road, “You're the one rubbing my neck, I should be thanking you.”

“Thank you for being here…with me. No matter what happens, thank you for trying.”

“That’s not needed,” Tim’s voice graveled out.

“Yes it is. This case could have been passed over again, but you took it. You could have thrown it out after what happened at my sister’s house or at the library, but instead you just took me in. You gave me your jacket, let me sleep on your couch, let me tag along for this whole case. You didn’t need to do any of that.”

“You had every right to be working this case, and there was no way I was going to let you out of my sight.”

“I’m glad for it, Tim,” you whispered as you leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I’m glad to have met you, to have been with you.”

“I am as well,” Tim said as he parked the car on the side of the lighthouse. He turned the engine off and turned towards you. “None of this would be possible without you, I would have been sucked down a hole in a laundry room without you, or hit on the head by a book from a librarian,” Tim smiled as he held your face.

“That librarian did not like you.”

“See, we protect each other.”

A smile cracked your once teary face. Tim pulled you to him again, landing his lips to yours. He sucked the breath out of you as his hands cradled your face. Firmly, Tim held you to him till you broke the kiss, resting your forehead against his. You held each other a moment, hearing the rush of waves against the beach. Finally Tim spoke up.

“Let’s get some answers out of this apparent astronomer.”

You followed him out of the car and watched as he tossed his jacket into the seat and rolled up his sleeves. Walking steadily together, Tim took your hand in his.

Robert was already ahead of the two of you at the base of the lighthouse. Even in the cover of night, the old historic St. Joseph’s lighthouse loomed over the somber ocean. No light roamed over the ocean here, you didn’t even know if there was even a bulb at the top. The lighthouse itself was built from weathered, red brick. Majority of the red was gone now, covered in salt from the sea and dyed from the sun. You didn’t know how long St. Joseph’s lighthouse was in use or when it opened but it obviously wasn’t in use today.

The question of if the lighthouse was operable was on your tongue, but before you good voice your question Robert interjected.

“Did you see the rocket launch? I had a tremendous view right here at the top of the lighthouse,” Robert said as his hair picked up in the wind.

You nodded, “We saw it from our house.”

“Always exciting, isn’t it?” Robert laughed and smiled to himself, “Just knowing the grand step in history humankind is making. Some people only dream of these things coming true.”

“Like philosophers?” Tim questioned.

Robert’s eyes opened wide, “How like minded are we my friend! Those philosophers could never take the steps we take.”

“Steps to Andromeda, right Robert?” you questioned.

Robert held his hands up as you and Tim came to a stop, “They don’t know her like we know her.” Robert laughed then, “By the heavens, we hardly even know her.”

“But we will soon?”

“Exactly Ruth! Tonight is the night we three have been preparing for.”

“What exactly are we waiting for though Robert?” Tim called out as the whirl of wind picked up.

“I know your impatient James, but the route to ascension has to be perfect. Now I’ve checked our calculations and observations and they all run true! It won't be long before we reach behind Andromeda’s ghastly veil..” Robert looked behind him then to something you and Tim could not see yourselves.

“Robert, listen, we’ve read your research, we’ve seen your drawings—” Tim called out.

“Good! I knew you would enjoy my research, there’s so much data I would love to pour over with you, but another time James.” Robert called over a loud scratch of metal.

“The hell is going on back there?” Tim took a step forward.

“The time has come my friends,” Robert spoke as he clutched the metal railing in front of him while glancing behind his shoulder.

“Robert, listen we need to have a serious talk about what is going on,” Tim took another step forward.

“Please, Robert, what is this? What have you drawn?” you step in front of Tim then, holding up Robert’s journal with the drawing of the completely black and ripped circle.

Robert stared at his own drawing before closing his eyes and chanting:

“But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant’s fate;

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;

I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.”

“Well at least he’s a sentimental madman,” Tim whispered to you before you elbowed him.

Another gust of wind snuck up to Robert then, making you realize that the wind of the ocean was blowing a different way than the wind near Robert. “Tim…I think…”

“You seem like a decent fellow that could hold his own in a fight.” Robert looked to Tim.

“I can and have,” Tim replied with his hand lingering on his hip.

“Good.” Then Robert looked over at you, “Ruth, you aren’t going to be thrilled with what I’m about to do. But this is the way it goes for me. We’ll see each other soon enough, but before I go I would like you to know that your correspondence has meant the universe to me. To meet another brilliant minded individual like myself made this corner of the universe bearable for a change.” Robert placed his hand on his heart and nodded to you before turning back to Tim.

“James, I’m sure it would have been a thrill to get to know you as well. You and your wife are extraordinary people, and the universe agrees with me. While humankind takes a step,” Robert glanced up to the stars, “You’ll be making a leap. Just remember to hold on to each other tightly when it comes time for that leap.”

“And where are you leaping off to?” Tim shouted as Robert stepped towards the door in a rush.

“To the black hole,” Robert laughed out as he pointed to the drawing still in your hand. With that Robert slammed the door shut behind him with a loud thud of a lock.

Tim rushed the solid door, slamming his shoulder into the wood. The detective could hear the sound bending metal and the increase of a whirling wind. Over and over again Tim slammed his shoulder against the door, fully aware of what he should expect on the other side. Yet Tim continued on banging his hand on the old door, rattling the handle until his eyes locked on the rusting metal keyhole on the door.

“Stand behind me,” Tim called out to you as he pulled out his gun, aiming it at the lock and pulling the trigger. A loud clang pierced the air, while a large bullet hole smoked out of the rusted lock. Tim made another attempt at slamming his shoulder to the door, noticing there was more give as he could hear the sound of wood splintering. Tim then suddenly stopped.

“Shit.”

You rushed to face him, looking between him and the door, “What? What’s wrong?”

“There must be a wooded barrier on the other side, and I can hear it clearly breaking.”

Between the panic of Tim trying to break the door and shooting the lock, you hadn’t noticed the whirling of air and breaking of metal ending from inside the lighthouse.

You shook your head to the thought of what Robert had done, “Together, let’s open it together.”

Tim searched your eyes quickly for any signs of panic but found you were uncertain about this whole thing as he was. Together you both lined your shoulders up to the door and slammed into it, sending splinters of wood scattered around the nearly empty lower room of the lighthouse. The only thing left for you and Tim was the abandoned and broken radio laying on the floor with a small spiral of smoke leaving it.

“Scratch marks on the floor, there must have been a desk and chair here, maybe a bookcase,” Tim theorized in a hushed tone.

You both entered the small, circular room; taking in the empty quiet of the brick walls.

“Now what? Anything here has been swept away,” Tim said as he crouched down to inspect the radio. “Nothing special about this radio, just another piece of junk. What was he thinking? Does he assume that those holes take them to some other place entirely?” Tim turned and looked at you clutching and running your fingers in circles over the black drawing.

“To the black hole,” you mumbled to mostly to yourself but loud enough for Tim to hear.

“Honey?”

“To the black hole,” your eyes opened wider as you looked up from the drawing and towards the spiraling stairwell. Quickly you launched up the stairs with Tim calling after you. His long legs quickly carried him to catch up with you, grabbing your arm and stopping you.

“Hey, hey, now. What is going on?” Tim’s brow furrowed as he looked between your eyes in search of the madness that Robert had in his own eyes.

“The map! Robert’s map showed us what to do next. Don’t you see?” you said excitedly. Pulling out the map that Robert had tucked in his journal. “Here, these three drawings we couldn’t figure out.”

Tim looked down at the drawings you pointed to, “Yes?”

“Look at the first one.”

“The skull in the setting sun?”

“Yes, maybe that skull is for Robert. Maybe it’s a…” you paused to think over your words, “Maybe it means sacrifice. Maybe when the sun has set, the first step is a sacrifice.”

“First step to the route of ascension?”

“Yeah. Ascension to the black hole of Andromeda.”

Tim went quiet, stroking your arm in his hand.

“I know it isn’t pretty, but this is making sense to me now. We have to keep going,” you pleaded as you looked into Tim’s concerned eyes. He sighed and looked back down the stairs to the broken radio, then back at you.

“What’s the next step?” Tim’s voice was low and rumbled out to you.

Relieved, you looked back at the map.

“This flowing pattern. Maybe it’s the tide? Or maybe the Northern Lights? Either way we need to go up to the top.” you turned away from him then, heading up the stairs.

“To get a better view.” Tim lightly patted your butt as he followed

You both climbed the spiral staircase up to the top room of the old brick lighthouse. A short ladder and hatch led up to the final platform where the bulb was located. Tim climbed first, busting the latch open with a thud and helping you up to the platform. In the middle of the platform was a giant light bulb for the lighthouse. You both walked around the bulb, running your fingers over the wave emitting pattern of the several panels of the bulb. Tiny rainbows colored the glass panels of it; you couldn’t help but smile at how similar the bulb was to Robert’s sketch. But that wasn’t the only thing to catch your eye. The view from the lighthouse was spectacular, even under the gloom of the night. There were silver lit stars sprinkling the sky above a salty ocean breeze rolling onto the beach and wrapping around the lighthouse. Your mind reeled back to the beauty of the planetarium earlier, where the universe danced above you, only it seemed as if the universe was watching you now. Before and under you though, was an equally perplexing site. The deep sky embraced the sea for miles and miles from your viewpoint. There was no line of absolute, no end nor beginning, all of it sank and ebbed together. Tim snaked an arm around your hip, anchoring the two of you to the railing as you both looked out at the kingdom before you.

“Not too bad,” Tim whispered into your ear.

You laughed and leaned into him, “Not bad at all.” You looked up at Tim then, catching his eye as he turned down to you. Your hand reached up and cupped his cheek. Neither of you leaned in, but instead opted to stare into each others eyes, taking the other in as much as possible before…

“What the hell is that?” Tim questioned as he lifted his head from yours suddenly.

You looked to where he was looking but saw nothing.

“What did you see?”

“It was a light? A glow?” Tim leaned harder into you and the railing. “Just watch, give it a second.”

Quietly you both watched the waves crash in, the wind blow the palm trees, and the clouds move with the wind. And then there it was. A sparkle, then two, and then four. Soon more and more began to shift and illuminate in the sea and sky. You held your breath and clutched Tim’s hand.

“Is it in the sea or the sky?”

“I…I can’t tell.”

Through the sky and maybe reflected into the sea, or maybe from the depths of the ocean to illuminate the sky, or perhaps equally from the abysses of the horizons; you watched as a stream of sparkling cyan blue lights flashed from beyond your eyes to the lighthouse. You could see the direct path they made to you as the lights swayed with the wind and rolled with the waves, sparkling in the direct line and not filling the entirety of the sky.

Entranced by the show before you, neither you or Tim saw the shift in the bulb of the lighthouse. It was the change in wind that alerted you to turn around. Slow, still in Tim’s arms, you turned to the once clear lighthouse bulb. Inside the panels of glass was a circulating black hole. You dropped Roberts journal to grab hold of Tim in a firm grip.

“This isn’t like the others,” Tim proclaimed as his own hand grabbed your waist.

“No, but what now, is it trapped in there?” your voice quivered.

Neither of you moved or spoke. Instead you both stared at the swirling black hole capsuled in the lighthouse bulb. The wind that turned about the platform was soft and gentle, swirling round and round.

“It feels different, Tim,” you looked up at him expectantly.

His observant eyes looked over the circumstance before you.

“It’s not sucking us in. It’s as if it’s just waiting for us.” Tim looked down at you to confirm his thoughts, which you heartily agreed.

“The wind, the air, I feel almost lighter right now.”

“Like floating?”

“Yeah, like floating, Tim,” you smiled at him then to the black hole.

“Well that's a nice difference for a change.” Tim smiled down at you.

As if you were walking on your toes and slowly being levitated up, you wandered closer to the bulb. With Tim’s hand in yours, and the swift caress of wind through your hair, you both stood in front of the bulb. Only a step away from the glass panel, you placed your hand to the glass. A blue light flickered and disappeared.

“It needs power.”

You looked over to Tim then.

“The last step, lit the lighthouse.” Tim continued as he stared into your eyes before looking over to the power box next to the bulb. He walked past you and flipped the box open. A few seconds later, with the flip of a few switches. Tim stopped his motions and looked back up to you.

“Is this what you want?” The sweet concern was etched all over his face. “I don’t know what’s about to happen, but I want you to be safe no matter what.”

You placed both hands on the glass panel, watching the blue lights spiral out of the hole once more. “I feel safe. With you here I feel safe.”

Tim nodded and without looking away from you, flipped the final switch. A loud hum emitted through the lighthouse below you. Tim stood quickly, grabbing the hand you held out to him. Both of you took a step back from the bulb and watched as instead of a yellow light, a blue light slowly emitted from the bulb. It started out small, then slowly started to grow in size with each pass of the circulating bulb.

“This is crazy, you know that right,” Tim called out as you both watched the bulb turn and turn.

“Which part? The glowing light in the sky and ocean or the tiny black hole in the lighthouse bulb?” you laughed and looked over to Tim who was watching you with a fond smile.

“You're smiling.”

“I am.”

The blue light of the bulb circled again, growing brighter.

“You know, I've wanted to make you smile since the moment I met you.”

You giggled, “You’ve made me smile many times since then Tim!”

Turning steadily now, the blue light petrified into the darkness of the ocean and sky.

“Just once more. For me.”

“I’ll smile many more times for you.”

Tim pulled you to him then, bringing you in for a passionate kiss. His arms encircled you, bonding the two of you together again as his lips crashed with yours. You leaned into him breathing him in and taking everything you could in that moment. The scent of his breezy cologne, the scratch of his beard, the soft curls of his hair, his protruding nose, his large hands and sturdy shoulders. There was nothing you wanted to miss or let go of in this man. He wasn’t what you were looking for but a beautiful gift you had found. You would keep him close no matter what.

It took everything out of Tim not to suffocate himself in you, for it was something he would gladly do. Maybe this was the end of the line for you two, maybe this was something new to investigate together. Either way he was letting you go, nothing was tearing him away from you.

Grabbing a breath of air, with your foreheads bound to each other, you both looked from each other and to the lighthouse bulb. The spinning of the bulb was at full speed, cyan blue light sparkling round and round to the horizon. But inside the bulb was different now. The glass paneling was gone, and the small swirling black hole had totally engulfed the lightbulb with the sparkling blue light emitting from the darkness of the hole. Still, the air felt light, the wind was soft, and your lungs and heart were full.

You looked up at Tim then and he at you. A smile played at the corner of his lips, making you break out in a giggle. It was all so beautiful and scary, but just perfectly right. Together, hand in hand you both reach out to the swirling black hole.

You don’t know if you were sucked into the hole, or if the sparkle of stars overwhelmed your bodies. Maybe the light passed you and Tim one last rotation and blinded you. Maybe the ocean and the sky’s darkness overtook you. Or perhaps you found your family, or found your eureka. But even when a member of the historic society would come by for a check up on the lighthouse, he would find nothing but a broken radio. The only thing you and Tim knew for certain out of all the millions of ripples of stardust of the cosmos, was the warm embrace of each other and the trail of a brave new investigation.

#Pedro Pascal #Tim Rockford #merge mansion #tim rockford x you #tim rockford x f!reader #tim rockford x female reader

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violettduchess · 2 years ago

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A/N: This is a joint effort by myself and @thewitchofbooks who I reached out to after falling for her beautiful art. A gifted creator and a super Gilbert fan? Perfect 💜

The title of this fic comes from the well-known Robert Frost poem

Gilbert x female Reader

Holiday / winter fluff

Word Count: 1068

Obsidian is the opposite of Rhodolite. If your home country is soft, velvet roses and rolling green hills and trees staggering under the weight of the fruit they bear, then Obsidian is bushes with sharp, hungry thorns, dusty, cracked earth and trees that look utilitarian at best and menacing at worst. But Mother Nature has a secret, a way to equalize them both: snow. Snow covers the idyllic hills and small villages and gardens the same way it does stone houses, empty fields and barren trees. Snow brings beauty to even the harshest of places.

When you had stopped at the tall, arched windows and seen the blanket of white laid out before you, gleaming despite a wan sunlight muted by voluminous, gray velvet clouds, there was only one person you wanted to rush outside and experience it with.

He agreed readily, setting aside the day’s papers and letters and worries for something just as important, something vital to giving him the strength to continue with all those papers and letters and worries. Time with you.

Now you walk, arm in arm, over the soft snow, following the path that runs along the meager grain fields behind the palace. To your left looms the forest, black-barked trees with bare, spindly arms reaching for the heavens, bedecked in layers of sparkling white.

Gilbert is quiet, his red eye taking in the landscape, black boots ringed with clingy snow. You tighten your grip on his arm. If you were a snowflake, you would cling to him too, this man born of winter, whose skin is as pale and soft as the world around you. And as cold. However you know that under those layers of heavy black fabric and ornate gold and leather is a winter landscape that has trembled at your touch, melted under the heat of your mouth, and flushed at the movement of skin against skin.

“This way,” he says, breaking the silence. “There’s something I want to show you.” Your arms unlock but his hand finds you, threading his leather-gloved fingers through yours. He leads you onto a small, narrow path that turns left, weaving its way through the trees. At first sight they loomed ominously, a vague sense of foreboding radiating from their bare branches. But now, walking through them, hand in hand, there is something that feels more akin to safety, as if the forest was sheltering you instead of warning you.

He stops walking, raising one arm to point upwards. “There. This is what I wanted to show you.” You follow the long line of his arm up until you spot them. Nestled within the bare branches of the trees are bright green bushels of leaves dotted with tiny white berries. There is something almost whimsical about it, the vivid green amongst the dark, empty branches against the gray sky.

“Do you recognize it?” Gilbert walks around, stopping behind you in order to wrap his arms around your middle, holding you against him. You lean back, tilting your head until it rests against his shoulder, gaze still admiring the view. There is something familiar about those plants. That vibrant green with its small bright white pearls. While you are thinking things over, racking your brain to place them, he lowers his head, his cheek pressed against yours. You can feel the smile on his face. “Really, Häschen? I thought you would know it immediately. After all….” He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “It is one of your favorite holiday traditions.”

Those words suddenly take the vague ideas swimming around in your mind and sharpen them, lock them in place to create something recognizable.

“That’s mistletoe!” Wonder fills you as you look at the beautiful green gifting the gray landscape with vibrant color. “I’ve never seen it in the wild before.”

“Mm hm.” He’s decided your gaze has been up in the trees long enough. He wants those luminous eyes on him. Sliding his hands to your waist, he turns you until you’re facing him, lips curved artfully. “And what did you explain to me one does under mistletoe?”

Something warm blooms inside you, a joy at the sultry, teasing note in his voice, a thrill at the way his hands are holding you tightly against him. You thought the green of the mistletoe leaves was beautiful within the panorama of gray and white surrounding you, but now, the jeweled red of his eye, glinting with the promise of something inciting, is the most exquisite color in sight.

“We are surrounded by an awful lot of mistletoe, my love” you murmur even as his hands leave your side to cup your face, the feel of those soft leather gloves as dear and familiar to you as his skin. The gesture, though gentle, still sings of his possessive nature. You wrap your fingers slowly around his wrists, holding him. You can be possessive too. He leans down slowly, his gaze still on you, your lips only a breath away from his. He smiles and you feel it, the power it has, the way it fills your heart and the space between heart beats. He is as essential to you as air under a bird’s wing or water to the creatures of the deep.

“Then I suppose,” he says softly, “that one kiss will not be enough.” His voice pours molten gold into your ears and sends a ripple of warmth across your skin.

“Probably not,” you whisper in answer. And then your lips touch, a metamagnetic force pulling you together, irresistible and inescapable. His lips are soft and cool against the warmth of your kiss. You feel the way he melts under the movement of your mouth, like snowflakes when they fall on flushed skin. Gilbert is cool starlight over a snow-covered field, the glimmer of frost when it kisses the petal’s edge. The air around you may be chilled, but the point of contact where your mouths meet is a warm spring from which love and lust are reborn, over and over again, with each and every kiss.

Wrapped up in each other, neither of you notices the soft fall of snowflakes as they begin tumbling from the smoky clouds, small, cold, feathery flakes that land on your clothes, your hair, adorning you and all that surrounds you in soft, heavenly white.

A benediction.

A blessing.

Artwork by the incredible @thewitchofbooks 💜 Thank you for working with me, Nadia. I am so grateful you had the time and so in awe of your talent.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @neoqueen-sailorvirgo @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly @joiedecombat

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri #ikepri gilbert #ikemen gilbert #gilbert x reader #fluff fic #christmas fic #christmas fluff #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #otome fanfic #thewitchofbooks #violettwrites

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a-bucket-of-trash · 2 years ago

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Bonds Like Tree’s Roots- Kelvin x Female Reader – P15

P14

Tags: fluff, smut and tons of love from me to you, reader.

A little over a week had passed from that day where you two had confessed to each other and quenched your craving for affection into basically a whole day of lying in bed doing adult things, and everything was going great. Kelvin had already started his work at the Water Treatment Plant and returned to your house every day, with some of the few things from his hotel. He seemed rushed, but he even already had a copy of your key, so he could come and go without disturbing you.

That Thursday noon, he came back to your house, a bit tired from the work hours, feeling the hot sun cook his brain under his helmet as he sped away. Once he arrived, he went inside, leaving a box by the door and taking off his shirt, sweating, thinking how much he wanted a cool shower and a relaxing iced tea.

He sighed, wiping his sweaty face with his own shirt, seeing the woman standing in the kitchen who wasn't his girlfriend. He stood still, immobile, thinking for a second that it wasn't your house, but he looked around, saw your snails in the fish tank, your things. It was your house, and that was not you. Whoever it was, she wasn't even young, she must have been in her fifties, with long graying hair and a pair of generously thic glasses.

“Emm…” Kelvin hurriedly put his shirt back on, hesitating “And who are you…?

"No, who are you?" The lady approached him, studying him "Oh... OH... YOU"

"I? Ma'am… I don't know you…” He reached out his hand towards her, thinking of using his cordiality to get the information he needed “Robert Keaton, at your service”

"I'm Caroline, call me Carol" She smiled, taking his hand and feeling his muscular arm with her free hand "What a nice view..."

"MOM, PLEASE!" You half screamed, storming out of the bathroom, running up and gently pulling her away from him.

"Shit, the mother-in-law" Kelvin whispered, alerting himself, trying to appear better.

"I don't see well, but I hear like a teenager" Carol looked at you mischievously, pointing her head at the man "Mother-in-law?"

"Don't play distracted, if you already know about him" You rolled your eyes, tired "It's Kelvin, mom"

"Not that you were Robert?" She looked at the soldier, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes, both…” Kelvin sighed. “It's a long story.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Go take a shower, darling..." You told your boyfriend, gently patting his chest, "So you're also out of reach for this crazy old lady."

"I can accompany you if you feel bad" She said, looking at him from head to toe.

Your "MOM" was mixed with the soldier's "MA'AM", while she laughed outrageously.

Fortunately and unfortunately for both of us, your mother was a good woman, she just liked to joke too much and had a bad habit of being too clingy with attractive boys, so Kelvin had the uncomfortable task of seeing your mother paying too much attention to him, almost flirting with him as if she might steal her own daughter's boyfriend.

Even more when she knew something about him. At the time you had told her what the military secret allowed you to tell, explaining to her about some complicated things that you had experienced on your mission, and how that soldier had been by your side all that time, helping you, protecting you, and even what you had felt for him.

Carol was delighted with the soldier, for her, he was the man of your life, and she spent the afternoon praising him and asking more than she should. You could only breathe easy once she was gone, shortly after dinner.

"Holy crap." You closed the front door, breathing now that she was gone.

"Interesting woman." He finished drying the clean dishes. "Now I know where you got some of your intensity from."

"Don't tell me I look like her, please" You made a terrified face.

"Well..." He shrugged, leaving everything aside "You look very similar physically" He saw your terrified face "Calm down a bit, she's a good woman... It's not like your mother was a cannibal"

"She is good, but so clingy…" You arranged some things on the couch.

Kelvin nimbly approached you to hug you from behind, surprisingly. "You're clingy too, at least with me" He purred, kissing your head, squeezing you "Mmmm... It was a bit difficult to appear decent in front of your mother..."

"Speaking of clingy." You chuckled softly, feeling a certain firmness rest generously on your butt.

“You know I like to be a little horny when I shouldn't…” He kissed your neck for a long time.

You knew it and very well. Soon you were in bed, entwined between pleasure and lust.

You had come back from the bathroom, a while after finishing such manual work and you saw Kelvin lying face down, resting, his arms at his sides, his face half buried in the pillow, his back and butt exposed to the air. He was too warm, you knew it. That soldier had a rather fast metabolism and he got hot very quickly. And that was linked to one of the sequelae of his head injury, and that was, if he got too hot, he tended to get migraines, including headaches and nausea. That was why he had become so fond of iced drinks, especially tea and coffee.

“Do you want me to bring the fan? Another glass of water?" You sat next to him, worried.

"Mmmmm no..." He sighed, looking at you without moving "I'm fine, honey, it doesn't hurt"

"Okay, but stay still for a while, just in case" You combed him very gently.

“Mmmmm babe…” He purred, closing his eyes.

“Did the cuddly post coitus wake up?” You chuckled softly, gently rubbing his hair, trying not to give him a headache.

"As always" He smiled "Your caresses are my medicine against migraine"

"Cute... Weird, but cute" You sat down next to him, to begin massaging his back.

“Oh god fuck yes fuck yes aha” He growled long.

"What the fuck was all that?" You laughed long.

“I love massages, I'm a slut for massages…” He touched you with his hand, encouraging you “Come on my life�� Even if it's for a little… Make it strong, okay? Break me a bone...

"Oh really?" You thought, massaging him firmly "Is it your weak point?"

"Yeeeeis" He said between moans "Oh baby... babyyy... honey... babeeee"

"You make more of a scandal receiving massages than having sex" You massaged his neck and shoulders intensely, seeing him smile in pure bliss "You look so happy... How cute!"

"Oh fffffffffuck..." He growled with a slight shudder "I love you... I love you so much, I love youuu... A little more, yes?"

"You stop worrying, relax... I'm going to spend half an hour just on this."

"I LOVE YOU" He rolled his eyes.

Although half an hour seemed little to you and you extended it to a whole hour, where your hands massaged, pressed and caressed his wide and muscular back and ass, learning his shape with your eyes and fingers, enjoying the sight and the scandalous sound concert that he did, moaning, calling you, complaining, giving growls that you had never heard from him before, while your eyes discovered details, some moles here and there, some scars that gave him a more manly air than he already was.

"How do you feel now?" You whispered, your hands running along the length of his back and beyond, caressing his skin.

"So...relaxed..." He murmured, eyes closed, half asleep in the waves of peace.

"Perfect" You lay close to him, kissing his cheek tenderly, several times, with one hand rubbing his hair "My beautiful"

"I love you soooo much... my life" He smiled, very touched and at ease "Very, very much... Roger?"

“Roger. I also love you immensely, Mr. Beautiful Butt”

“Just… the butt…?” He barely muttered, "What... about... ab...out...?"

You bit your tongue to keep from laughing. Kelvin had fallen asleep talking and was already beginning to snore softly. You barely moved to cover you both a bit with the sheet and you stayed for a while next to him, watching him sleep, barely touching his hair. He looked totally at peace, and his attractive face took on an even more beautiful aspect, if that was possible. You thought how lucky you were, how amazing he was.

Eventually you felt the exhaustion come to you, so you used his back as a pillow, hugging his waist, listening to his breathing as if it were your lullaby, falling asleep with his perfume.

P16

#kelvin #sons of the forest kelvin #sotf kelvin #kelvin x reader #sons of the forest

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zablife · 2 years ago

Note

Fic authors self-rec! ✨ When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers 🖤

Hi babes, tysm for the ask! For you, I will reply with my 5 fave dark fics I've written 😈.

∙ Salvation-Luca Changretta x pregnant reader x Jack Nelson

Jack has tried for many years to get you to share his feelings, but always failed. When he discovers you’ve made a life with someone else, he vows to take revenge on the man who came between you and make you his once and for all.

∙ The Dilemma - Tommy Shelby x female reader

Tommy gets Jack’s mistress arrested for smuggling opium into Boston to give Jack a dilemma. After Jack fails to come to her aid, Tommy visits with an indecent proposal. What happens when this sugar baby gets in over her head with the heartless Birmingham gangster?

∙ Welcome to the Family - Finn Shelby x Mary Roberts (OC)

Finn Shelby becomes infatuated with Mary Roberts, a simple governess he spots one evening. When he decides he wants to marry her, he stops at nothing to make her his.

∙ Troubled Spirits - Polly Gray x female reader

After her release from prison, Polly isolates herself from the living to commune with the dead. You are a war widow who seeks her help to contact your deceased husband, but you have to offer her more than money for the privilege.

∙ Playing a Game with Alfie - Alfie Solomons x reader

A short blurb written for my Corrupt a Wish event.

#zablife ask box #BellaDN🔫

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perplexedflower · 2 years ago

Text

Laws Of Love - Chapter 4: Together Apart

Fandom: Jericho.

Category: F/M.

Relationship: Bill Koehler x Female Reader.

Type: 5-chapter fanfiction.

Summary: Having to deal with the end of the world is not easy. But it gets even worse when you also have to start dealing with your own feelings. Bill Koehler’s life takes a changing turn when a newcomer arrives in Jericho, and he soon comes to realize the day she walked into his home also marked the day the bomb in his heart went off.

Chronology: Season 1.

~~~~~~~~~~

One month. By now, it had been one month since the bombings had happened. And despite how chaotic this past month had been, after everything that had happened, I thought I had seen it all, and could no longer be surprised by anything. That was, until I heard the name 'Ravenwood' from Jake, when Bill and I arrived at City Hall one morning; given my shared history with Jake, I had already run into Ravenwood in the past, and knew what these guys were capable of. And with a simple look we exchanged, I could feel that Jake shared my anxiety. As Bill was ordered to go fetch as much weaponry and explosives as possible across town, an armed checkpoint was arranged by Jake, Gray, as well as Robert Hawkins.

And before my mind could even begin to process what kind of a mess we were getting the town into, I found myself with the rest of Jake's group, holding position against the missionaries at the bridge. I looked at the town citizens reinforcing the checkpoint with blockades of cars, shaking my head slowly.

"Ravenwood..." I whispered under my breath.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Jake walking up to me, and exchanged a look with him as he stood still to my left; my arms crossed on my chest and a glimpse of bitterness in my eyes, I knew him well enough to know he could read exactly what was going through my mind.

"What exactly happened in Rogue River?" I asked him. "Since you and Eric have come back from there, I haven't really had the time to talk to you and catch up with what happened to you two."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that."

"No, no, don't be. It's alright."

Jake scoffed lightly as he sent a smile my way, before looking up and starting to scan the area around the bridge, making sure everything was in place.

"Well, if you want the short version of the story, Eric and I traveled to Rogue River, but the first thing we discovered when we arrived there was that FEMA had evacuated the town. We managed to get inside the hospital but met with this doctor, Kenchy, who told us that our good friends over at Ravenwood had been tasked with transporting the patients at the hospital, but instead ended up killing them, before looting the place. When they returned, Eric and I ambushed them and we were able to return to Jericho."

Jake marked a pause, during which he rubbed his eyes with his right hand.

"But Eric accidentally left his wallet behind at the hospital, and now here we are." He sighed.

Upon hearing his story, I shook my head once more; but before our conversation could continue any further, we saw the Ravenwood mercenaries arrive, and I soon began helping him and Robert gather everyone behind the blockade of cars. As we had all expected, a tense confrontation occurred, and a minor firefight erupted when a town citizen nervously fired a shot. Although no one was hurt, the leader of the mercenaries gave us an ultimatum: we had to clear the bridge in four hours, otherwise they would force their way through. Hearing such a demand, Jake and I exchanged a nervous look, and I knew him well enough to understand right away what his next plan of action would be.

We rapidly made our way back to City Hall to warn and tell the others we were intending on destroying the bridge. But, unexpectedly, when stepping into the station, I ran into Bill, arms full of weapons, and who had also just walked in.

"Hey." I smiled at him. "How did the looting go?"

Gripping tight the box he was holding, he tilted it slightly to show me all the ammunition and explosives he had gathered.

"Pretty good." He smiled back at me. "How did you guys get along at the bridge?"

"Not so pretty good."

Just as the words escaped my lips, Bill and I saw Jake, Eric, Gray, Robert, and Jimmy gather around, before walking inside the nearby office in a hurry, and we headed in as well after having looked at each other with concern. Entering the room, it did not take me long to figure out what subject was being debated.

"No way, we're not doing it." Eric stated decisively.

"Think about it: with the bridge gone, we can't be overrun." Argued Jake.

"Until Ravenwood turns around and comes at us from another direction."

"Not before they pass New Bern, or some other town." Gray said. "Better them than us."

"This will buy us time." Robert added. "Then we focus our manpower and resources on securing the other roads, and—"

"I can't believe what I'm hearing." Eric interrupted him, putting his hands on his hips. "If we destroy that bridge, it is gone forever. Do you think we can do without it? I mean, what about the farms on the other side, access to food for winter?"

"There are farms closer to town." Gray fired back.

"Okay, what about the homes you'll isolate?" Eric said as he turned to his brother. "Jake, that means cutting off Stanley."

"He'll have to come over." Jake replied bitterly.

"Look, there has to be a better way." Eric addressed the group with a hint of helplessness in his voice.

"Ravenwood is coming back right now." Gray declared gravely. "We've got no time, what do you suggest?"

"We can get more men. Pull them off the outposts if we have to."

"Send more men out there, you're gonna get more men killed." Jake counterargued.

The room fell silent for a few seconds as Jake and Eric stared deeply into each other's eyes.

"Bill... lock up the explosives." Eric finally ordered coldly.

"Now wait a minute—" Gray started.

Up until this moment, Bill and I had been standing back from the group, watching them in silence. But the second Eric ordered him to lock up the explosives, he followed his orders right away and I opened my mouth in shock as he walked out of the room. Looking somewhat dissatisfied, I watched Eric leave the office, followed closely by the others, and I ran after Bill to catch up to him.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, slightly confused.

"Following orders."

"Bill, you can't..."

Determined to seal the gun locker, he reached out for the padlock.

"Bill, listen to me—"

Although he refused to look at me, I did not give up and kept on trying to convince him.

"Look, Bill... I understand Eric's perspective, I can see where his arguments come from. I agree with him."

I shook my head as I closed my eyes sadly.

"But I'm still siding with Jake, here... This is the only way we could slow Ravenwood down successively, and... we have no other solution."

"I won't go against Eric." Bill argued back, finally looking at me. "Even less against Stanley, one of my closest friends who's still on the other side of that bridge."

"Bill..." I started with a sigh. "I understand how you feel, it's normal for you to think of others in this situation, but I'm asking you to be reasonable."

He kept quiet and I leaned closer to him.

"I was at the bridge with the others, Bill." I spoke in a low voice. "I was face-to-face with these guys. You don't know them, you don't know what they're capable of."

I marked a pause as I recalled the events from barely an hour ago.

"They were ready to shoot us. And they'll be just as ready in less than four hours, no matter what it takes them."

An uneasy silence followed, tension floating around us; I rested a gentle hand on his arm, but he instantly pulled it back slightly, avoiding my gaze. I took a deep breath before nodding slightly.

"Fine. It's fine if you don't wanna help us. In the end, it doesn't make a difference."

I began to take a step back from him as a cocktail of sorrow and determination was mixing within my eyes.

"I know Jake, Bill. And I know that he always finds a way to get his hands on what he needs."

I looked into Bill's eyes as he looked up at me.

"If he doesn't get access to this dynamite, he'll make his own explosives."

With that, I turned around and walked away, leaving the police station and Bill.

I'm sorry...

Once outside, I searched for the rest of the group and saw Jake and Gray talking, and as I joined them, Jake started going on his own.

"Jake, wait up!" I called out as I followed after him.

Turning around, Jake slowed down.

"What's our next move?" I asked him.

"Well, we're planning on making improvised explosives. We don't have any other solution."

Hearing his idea, I could not help but chuckle lowly.

"You on board?" He turned to me.

"Yeah."

"Alright." He said as he patted me on the back. "I'll go warn the people on the other side of the bridge to come over."

"You got it. I'll be heading for the bridge directly to help with the explosives and set everything in place. I'll meet you back over there once you're finished."

Jake and I nodded in unison, after which we went our separate ways. While on the way to the bridge, I could not help but think of Bill, and of that argument we had had; although it had not been that long of a time since we had first met each other, this had been our very first big disagreement, to the point where one of us would have to walk away from the other. But despite how much my mind wanted to focus on him, I had to get my thoughts straight as I approached the bridge, joining everyone who was already there.

I spent the following couple of hours setting in place explosives under the bridge, when I suddenly heard footsteps walking up to me from behind.

"For you, Miss."

I turned around and saw Gray, setting down a box on the ground. I looked at the crate beside my feet and realized it was full of dynamite; the dynamite from the mines, the dynamite that had been locked up inside City Hall.

"How did you get it...?" I asked Gray, slightly shocked.

"I got a call from Bill to tell me he was on board with us and he told me I could come to pick up the explosives at City Hall."

I stared at Gray speaking while inhaling deeply.

"Take care of these for me, Jimmy." I told the deputy with a sign of the hand.

I walked back up the hill and onto the bridge: looking in the direction of the blockade, I saw Bill helping set things up, and watched him from where I was, not moving a muscle. After a short minute, he looked up from what he was doing and noticed me. Once our eyes had met, we both stood still and looked at each other from afar, our eyes so distant yet so close. But just as I was about to take a step in his direction, the flare signal was fired, and similarly to a few hours earlier, I helped round up everyone behind the cars.

"C'mon!" I loudly ordered them. "Go! Go! Go!"

I retrieved last and was about to join the others when I turned around and saw Jake, staying in the middle of the bridge.

"Jake!"

I felt a hand tucking on my jacket sleeve and was pulled away behind the cars.

"What is he doing...?" I whispered, my eyes still fixated on Jake.

I looked at Jake a little longer, before looking to my right, and saw Bill, looking back at me while crouching down. I breathed in and crouched down next to him; for what felt like an eternity, Jake talked with the leader of the missionaries, while the rest of us were standing back. I shyly glanced over at Bill before clearing my throat.

"... So, what made you change your mind?"

"Now's not the time to talk about this." He replied in a firm whisper.

"Alright, fine."

As we both turned our attention back to Ravenwood, our guns ready, a shot was suddenly heard: the Ravenwood sniper had been killed, and everyone around us began asking themselves what had happened.

Could that be Hawkins...?

Just as I was wondering who had fired the shot, all the mercenaries walked out of their cars and aligned in front of us. I took a deep breath while cocking my gun in unison with everyone else.

"Here we go."

But as I was ready to fire, a batch of cars came from behind the Ravenwood squad, and I came to realize it was Eric and Jonah with his crew. For a minute no one moved, but Ravenwood was inevitably led to surrender for now, and climbed back into their cars before taking off. Seeing them retreat, I put down my weapon and inhaled deeply, before standing back up. Once they had left, Bill and I went with Jake, Gray, and Jimmy to meet up with Eric and Jonah.

"Next time you wanna destroy my route into town, I'd appreciate a heads up." Jonah said to all of us.

Silence followed, but I could see Jake was hesitating to say something.

"You're welcome." Jonah added.

Jake sighed as I scoffed lightly.

"Really, don't mention it."

Jonah began walking away with the rest of his crew, but he suddenly stopped, before turning back around.

"Can I make a suggestion?"

Silence still reigning between us, we all stared at him.

"Start figuring out how to fight for yourselves. If Eric hadn't come to get me, you'd all be burying Jake in a shoebox tomorrow."

Seeing him walk away for good this time, I shook my head slowly.

"God, I hate that guy's guts." I said in a whisper.

As Eric walked past us, Robert made his way back to us, and he exchanged a deep look with Jake.

"Thanks." I spoke up after a few seconds of silence.

He turned to me with a short smile, understanding why I was thanking him without having to ask. After everyone had left the bridge, an evening meeting was organized inside City Hall, but to no one's surprise, it quickly got out of hand. Jake and Eric were faced with the rest of the town, led by Gray, asking to take the bridge out anyway, but the two brothers refused.

"What happens if they come back?" Gray asked them aggressively.

The town immediately supported his question, as everyone rose their fists high up in the air.

"We've got armed sentries posted." Eric replied, trying to calm him down.

"And if it comes to it, the bridge is still wired." Jake added.

Standing back from the crowd, I was standing next to Bill, but neither of us spoke a word to the other. Not really knowing what to think of the situation, I rubbed my temple in a sigh as there was a short moment of silence, which undoubtedly did not last long.

"I still say we take it out now." Gray exclaimed.

The citizens cheered once again.

"Well, you're not calling the shots, Gray." Johnston's voice suddenly rose within the crowd.

The room went dead quiet as he made his entrance, and he and Gray exchanged a deep look.

"I'm glad to see you up on your feet, Johnston." He told him.

"Mayor." Johnston clarified in a harsh tone.

In silence, he walked closer to his sons, before ending up in-between them.

"Now, maybe one of you would like to tell me just exactly who you think is in charge here."

Knowing full well the answer, the room fell quiet again.

"If we're hit from the other side, that bridge might be our only line of retreat. Help is on the other side of that bridge. Our people, the whole world, is on the other side of that bridge."

Murmurs started to be heard across the room as Johnston tried his best to convince the crowd.

"We destroy that bridge, we've already lost."

"Everyone here wants this to happen." Gray stepped up. "Including your son."

"No, not everyone." Stanley suddenly stated. "You guys come up with a real plan to protect this town, you let me know."

An awkward silence filled the room as we all watched Stanley and Bonnie leave, followed by Mimi.

"Dad, I think you should—"

"You, hold your tongue." Johnston cut Jake coldly. "I'm the only one here who was elected. I will not do this. It is as simple as that."

"Maybe it's time we let the people decide if they still want you making their decisions." Gray fired back in a threatening voice.

I don't like where this is going, I thought with a deep exhale.

Not willing to expose myself much longer to such migraine-inducing debates, I walked out of City Hall and decided to head back home. The ride should have felt quiet and peaceful, but with all the thoughts occupying my mind, I could not catch a single second of serenity. Once back home, I went straight to the kitchen and grabbed myself a bite to eat; while searching through the cupboards, I found a bottle of alcohol with a scratched-off label, rendering it possible to know what it contained. I stared at the bottle in my hands and popped it open with a sigh.

What the hell, I thought to myself as I poured the liquid into a glass.

I sat down at the dining table and drank in silence, although my head was buzzing with noise; with only the moonlight shining through the kitchen windows, I drank until I had swallowed the last drop resting at the bottom of my glass. I left it on the table, along with the bottle, and made my way upstairs. Stepping into my room, I went right to bed and found solace in the comfortable mattress and pillows; thankfully, it did not take me long before I fell asleep. Between two troubled dreams, I heard the sounds of someone downstairs taking a seat in the kitchen, before pouring themselves a drink, following the same sorrowful pattern I had done before them.

#bill koehler #bill koehler x reader #bill koehler x you #bill koehler fanfiction #bill koehler fanfictions #jericho #jericho fanfiction #jericho fanfictions #female reader #laws of love #chapter 4 #perplexedflower

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spooky-raccoon · 5 years ago

Text

Early Morning

In all honesty, I wanted to write morning sex and wanted to keep the Little Lady timeline going. It’s not too long but had to get it outta my system. So enjoy!

Tags: @rottenhearts-and-sharpteeth @trig-loves-clowning-around

I could feel the jostles of the carriage as I started to wake up in the early morning. I could feel something, no, someone lay behind me along with a familiar scent around me. As my eyes opened I could see that I was in the trailer of Robert Gray. It took a moment to process everything but when I peaked out the window I saw that I was no where near home. Currently we were passing through a thick forest that seemed to have a road nestled inside it. The circus must have left that night as I slept after he tucked me into bed. All I could do was shrug and lay back in my spot beside him.

He was warm. Warmer than usual. He was even shirtless as he laid beside me and just in his underwear. His arm that was lazily draped around my side pulled me in closer to him and a tired groan escaped his lips. He really was a heavy sleeper as the carriage hit a particularly rough bump that sent some things rattling on a shelf close by, yet nothing fell over. His face burning into the back of my neck and I could hear him taking in a deep breath, another groan following after. Shortly after I felt the twitching of his cock against my back and I could already feel the need between my legs for it. We had our fun the night before and tt was early morning. I shouldn’t be so eager for sex, but I was already gently grinding back into him when his cock twitched again.

“Eager little lady, aren’t you?” Robert’s gravely morning voice cooed behind me along with a teasing chuckle to match. “Get fucked the night before and wanting my cock for breakfast.” His hand dipped between my legs to part them. His hips dipped so he could prod me with the bulge. At hearing my whiny gasp he let out another chuckle. “Relax for Old Mister Gray. I’ll take good care of you. I always will.”

With that he moved his hand away so he could tug down his underwear just enough so he could free himself. With his hand on my hip he lined himself up and started to slowly push in. My body yearned for the only way he could fill me up and I couldn’t ignore pushing back against him so he would be inside me sooner. There were few and far in between times he would be gentle and in his tired state this was one of those times. With a few grunts and groans he was fully inside, and his arm looped back around my waist. His thrusts were slow and deep, making sure he rolled his hips each time. I could feel him drooling on the back of my neck as he sloppily kissed along the bare skin. Moans and whines were all I could make which only grew louder when he finally picked up his pace.

We were in no rush though. No time constraint like before one of his performances. No madness in the throws of our pleasure. Just focusing on each other. Our kisses were slow and tired with each one but a fire of passion that was always on the tips of our tongues.

“What a good little thing. My good little girl.” His words tumbled from his lips after each kiss. “All mine. You belong to me. All of you belongs to me.”

“Yours. All yours. Now and forever, Robert.” My eyes were barely open, but I could see that particular wicked glint in his eyes. Something was on his mind and it wouldn’t be until the last minute I would ever possibly know. I couldn’t care any less though.

My mind was still a hazy fog as we continued in our early morning romping. I had lost track of time between the orgasms that sent waves through my body, each one more intense than the last. I could tell he was getting closer with how he was sounding. He had repositioned himself so he could get as deep as he could go, bottoming out each time. His fingertips dug into the flesh of my hips almost painfully and his other arm was looped around my head, his hand on my forehead to make my head lean back to look at him. Something wasn’t quite right in his eyes still and it wasn’t a trick of the light. Something wasn’t right either in the way his face scrunched up with each thrust.

“Want my cum so badly, don’t you? Want to be filled with my seed?” He hissed to me, but it wasn’t really a question. Not when he knew the answer already. “Going to fill you. Fill you so full of me you’ll pop!”

With that his thrusting got wilder and more erratic. Strings of curse words and my name were the only things I could make out through his groans and grunts. Drool was dripping from his lip onto the pillow, his hand and on my cheek. All I could think was how warm it was and how I wanted more of it. Another time though. Right now, I wanted nothing more than his cum pumped deep into me. And that’s exactly what he did.

Just a few more thrusts and Robert came undone. His body shuddering with each twitch of his cock as it spurted hot cum deep inside me. My body followed suite for one last orgasm that made my body shiver against his. For a moment our bodies got lost, like they stretched onward for God who knows how long. But when we came to we both collapsed against the other. I could feel his chest heaving as he panted behind me. Odd, I couldn’t feel a heartbeat, but the afterglow of our morning fun distracted me from thinking too far into it. His hand slid from my hip to the lower part of my stomach. A tired hum vibrated from his lips as he gave one last kiss to the top of my head.

“Get some rest now, my little lady. We have a long way to go still and I want you well rested for when we wake up again.” A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest and soon was replaced with the sounds of his snoring.

The morning rays that I could spy through the curtains were getting hazier by the second as I started to drift back to sleep. I made no move to slide myself free of his cock. I would be in a new strange place, but things felt right. Everything in the moment felt right despite how wrong they truly were underneath it all.

#robert gray #robert gray x reader #robert gray x female reader #a sorta one shot #little lady timeline #robert gray: early morning #robert gray: little lady #pennywise #pennywise the dancing clown #robert gray fanfic #robert gray fanfiction #pennywise fanfiction #pennywise fanficiton

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kriz-fics · 2 years ago

Text

The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Nine: Stakes and Matters

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)

Length: 11.5K

CW: Slightly graphic description of injuries / brief mentions of masturbation (F, non-explicit), underage sexual exploits (non-explicit) / prostitution

“Your Majesty, Father Robert of Feyhill,” the herald (of the courtly sort and not the priestly) announces from the entrance to the king’s presence chamber, banging his staff hard on the gray marble floor.

The loud, steady stream of conversation from the gathered courtiers quiets to low murmurs as the priest strides forward, straight-backed, head held high, and eyes fixed resolutely forward on his king. Outside, a curtain of rain blankets the city. The soft pattering of raindrops against the glass of the tall, mullioned windows of the circular chamber blends with the court’s murmurs, and for the nonce, they are as one.

His Majesty Rod Reiss, the First of His Name, is sitting upon a throne at the front of the hall, this one less grand than the one he keeps in the throne room. Around him stands his Conclave, still as statues, looking at the approaching lawyer with varying degrees of interest. The whole scene makes for an impressive tableau, Jean thinks, watching closely from his place amongst the audience.

To complete the picture, on the wall behind this stately lot hangs the visage of the vanished glory and pride of the Eldian lineage. Berthold the Great’s Founder glares down at those assembled within the chamber, taking pride of place at the center of the massive tapestry; its purple eyes are immense, yawning and flaring from atop its monstrously skeletal face. To its right stands the Warhammer, wielded by Berthold’s queen, Malenia Tybur, the Hammer of Eldia. While not as outwardly grotesque as her king’s mount, there is something still uncannily eerie about the deathly white behemoth clutching its equally proportioned weapon from whence it takes its name. The way its pale flesh parts in striped bars around its eyes and mouth to show ruddier skin beneath lends much in the way of its eeriness. The Beast, last of the three Eldian Titans, completes the tapestry from its place at the Founder’s left. This one had belonged to the king’s cousin, Karl Fritz the Golden, and his mount had taken the form of something horrifically leonine; for this particular Titan was said to have the ability to change its beastly shape depending upon who wielded it at the time.

Jean has always thought the tapestry the blood royal’s way to inspire humility and awe within those who will pay them court. It is a reminder of the strengths of the Royal House of Reiss, their power, their might, their origins, without which they could never have united the whole realm. And oftentimes, it succeeds in its quest to humble and awe; if there is any image that can lower men’s gaze, it will be this one. Jean himself has never truly liked the way the Founder’s eyes seem to follow him everywhere he goes inside the room and usually does his best to avoid glancing at the bolt of cloth for too long.

And yet, a bolt of cloth is not the real thing, however much it aspires to intimidate. The sentiment it invokes will have been a thousand times more potent if the subjects it depicts are still actually alive and extant in these present times.

The three-hundred-year threat of the Titans to the realm ended a century ago when the Eldian Houses turned against one another in one of their frequent bids for power. This one would be the one to cost them all, as they learned to their grievous sorrow.

The War of the Ancients saw all three Titan wielders perish without passing on their most prized legacies, thus making Lovaya the Titansbane in truth and allowing a certain ancient prophecy to come to pass. With humanity having lost their numen due to the Sundering, any hopes of recreating the potion which birthed the Eldians’ chiefest font of power had been lost.

There were attempts by the next few Reiss kings to restore their former glory, yet all had ended in death and tragedy. Ulrich V - the Enlightened to some, the Guilty to others, the Gormless to those of an academic bent - put an end to further attempts by burning all books, tomes, scrolls, any source of information there was about the Titans as part of his ‘penance’ for the sins committed by his House using ‘those monsters begotten from the deepest level of hell itself.’

The monsters from hell do not seem to have much of an effect on the old lawyer, though, Jean notes, looking on with the rest of the court as Father Robert goes to one knee before his king. Once more, Jean is struck by the resilience of this holy man. The northman in him cannot help but swell with pride, though they belong to opposing factions; they are a tough lot, whatever else the rest of the realm thought about them.

Silence falls upon the courtiers as all and sundry hold their breath, waiting and watching. Outside, the rain continues to pour. The king looks exceptionally weary today, it seems to Jean. But then, he seems to be much wearier these days, understandably so. Anyone in his place will feel likewise, and His Majesty is hardly a young man. Beside Jean, Lord Richard Kirschtein stands to attention and leans forward a little, expression rapt.

The king stares at the priest a while longer, regal mask in place, before smiling. “Father Robert.”

“Your Majesty,” the lawyer answers, bowing his head deferentially.

“I bid you welcome to my court. We are most glad to have you here, Father, though it grieves me that we should meet under such unpleasant circumstances. However, having read your full and honest account of the sentiments of our northern subjects, I am most persuaded to give you fair hearing.” The king gestures to his left, where the Lord Commander of the Royal Guard is standing beside the throne. “You have much to thank our Lord Commander for as well. He has spoken most highly of you.”

Sir Erwin Smith acknowledges the priest with a slight incline of the head, which Robert returns civilly. Jean feels a chill run through him at the sight of the very empty right arm of his master’s armor. It has been a little over a month since the Lord Commander lost the limb, and yet Jean is still finding it difficult to reconcile himself with that image, exposed though he was to it for all that time. He will not soon forget all that pus and the dark, rotting flesh of his master’s arm, and the smell… His gorge rises at the memory of the overwhelming stench of corruption that clung to the Lord Commander before the herbman took his limb off.

Jean quickly averts his gaze from Sir Erwin, choosing to stare instead at the kneeling priest, who is by now being addressed by the rest of the gathered Conclave.

Some part of him, small yet enduring, still grudges Eren for the Lord Commander’s loss. But the better part of him has let it go, in a way. The weeks after the northmen’s assault had been most enlightening, especially where it concerned his opinions on Eren. Seeing the other boy grow more and more distraught every day Sir Erwin’s wounds worsened opened Jean’s eyes to the fact that Eren Jaeger is not someone to be envied after all.

The boy in question is on the other side of the chamber, lowering his head slightly to whisper something to his betrothed, who has joined him and his older brother for the day’s audience in the absence of her own kin. A fortnight has passed since that day with the barrels, the day that saw a shift in Jean’s and Eren’s relations with each other. While barbs still fly between them as of late, these lack the edge of their preceding abuses. Jean does not know what to make of that, yet something in him is glad of the change; he never realized just how exhausting it is to carry so much bile for one person all these years until his load had lightened.

The king stands from his throne, drawing Jean’s attention once more. His Majesty strides toward the kneeling priest, stretching out his right hand, which Father Robert takes, placing a reverential kiss upon the large amethyst ring circling the third royal digit. “Come, we have much to discuss,” Rod Reiss says, lifting the older man up and gesturing to the entrance of the Conclave Hall toward the left side of the chamber. “My lords,” he addresses his foremost advisors, and the men of the Conclave file after them, led as always by the Magister.

The court erupts into conversation the very moment the Conclave doors swing shut behind the Quaestor, and Lord Richard Kirschtein releases a breath, drawing Jean aside toward one of the windows. “Well, the day has come. I don’t need to remind you of the importance of discretion for this undertaking, do I?”

“No, Father, I’ll be discreet.”

“Good lad. Well, the man is as interesting as you made him out to be, I grant you. I must say, I like him already. A true northman, through and through. But I’ll like him regardless, if only because the sight of him seems to rankle that Braun creature.”

It certainly has. A glance at the aforementioned man across the hall shows Jean the dark look on his face as he silently converses with his liege, the Lord David Fritz, whose expression mirrors his vassal’s quite impressively. They have a deal to rage against, that is true enough; any victories the lawyer will have is death to their ambitions of further territorial expansion.

Yet the Lord Fritz is not a foe to be taken lightly. As the richest man in the realm, the custodian of the most active gold mines in Lovaya as well as one of the kingdom’s most thriving ports, he can lend his weight to any designs against the North. Being close kin to the king is no small matter either. With him and Tybur in the field, things look to be rather grim indeed.

And so that night sees Jean stealing along one of the smaller castle gardens adjoining the guest wing, which lodges other nations’ ambassadors in addition to the court’s callers. The rain has finally stopped falling, much to his relief. This endeavor is hard enough as it is without the weather further complicating things for him.

The sound of footsteps echoing down the nearby corridor instantly gives him pause, and he retreats further into the shadows, pressing himself against the wall of the nearby keep and tugging the hood of his black cloak further down his face. The smell of wet earth assails him, rich and pleasant. There is a lingering chill in the air, and he huddles deeper into his cloak, drawing it tighter around himself.

For the second time that night, he curses the lack of convenient secret passages to this part of the castle as he impatiently watches a servant amble down the hallway, which opens up to the gardens. The passage he used took him only as far as these grounds, and so he must needs skulk like a thief through the greenery, all discreet-like. He supposes there are other more convenient passages that lead directly to the wing itself (and possibly a couple of its rooms), but having not been educated in all of Midford’s secrets, he has to make do.

He hurries forward the instant the servant vanishes further inside the palace, rushing past the pools of orange light coming from the surrounding lampposts and creeping into the relative darkness of the guest wing. The tension in his body eases somewhat now that he is safe within the hall, and he proceeds toward his destination, alert yet calmer than he was before.

This sneaking around and prowling is little to his taste yet he understands the need for it. It will not do for busybodies to see any of his House liaising with their northern guest. They can’t risk being implicated if the Zhelevic rise again; they will be accused, like as not, of fomenting unrest and providing further succor to the outlaw cause, as the Proctor feared. As it is, it was all Lord Pixis could do to prevent similar uprisings in his neck of the woods. Jean and his lord father strongly suspect the Lord Skaryn’s hold on the leash he keeps around his folk’s necks isn’t as tight as it can be, no matter his very convincing display of rage against the Consul once he was accused of such.

A large part of Jean does not want to further the blood feud any more than it already has, yet filial piety guides his steps toward the lawyer’s rooms. Assuring the priest of their clandestine support shouldn’t lead to outright bloodshed between Braun and Kirschtein, should it? It is not as if they have aims to fund and arm the Zhelevic or their own folk…

The sixth door to the right of the corridor. He quickly locates the room and continues down the dimly lit hall. Charming words and a couple of copper caps bought him that useful bit of information from some chambermaid. It is an astounding thing, this business of information the servants have entered into. And highly lucrative. Trivial or significant, very little escapes the lowborn hirelings and they have learned to use that to their advantage. Jean has to admire the ways with which they would swell their meager coffers. He wonders, not for the first time, who is in the employ of who and silently shudders to himself.

He reaches the right door at last and knocks softly. “Holy Father,” he says, the moment the door swings open.

The priest looks up at him in surprise, which is exacerbated as he lowers his hood. “Young Master Kirschtein! I-I did not expect to be graced with your company tonight. Please, come in, if you will.”

“My thanks, Father.” The quarters the steward has housed the lawyer in are comfortable enough. A great canopied bed is standing to the left of the room, its posts draped with pale velvet hangings. A lavish Abhanese carpet covers the floor, illuminated by a stone fireplace and its merrily crackling flames; otherwise, the place is dark and murky. The only other source of light comes from the lamp hanging from a sconce on the wall. The light from this one washes over a desk placed in front of the only window in the room, its dark curtains drawn closed. On the tabletop, a pewter jug and goblet sit beside a wooden likeness of the Father Above in his bull-headed form. “I’m sorry if I disturbed your prayers.”

“Oh, no, it is no trouble, my lord. Lord Amos is good and just, he will not begrudge you my attention. And,” the priest closes the door softly behind him, “a late-night visit is a most curious thing indeed.” Father Robert steps closer to him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I come at the behest of my father, Lord Richard, who wishes you and your- our cause well,” Jean answers, slipping back into his own northern brogue and feeling his sense of kinship with the holy man deepen. It is wearisome work to keep up that stuffy, high-hat court accent all the time, he finds. “I must also apologize for the lateness of the hour, and the secrecy. People talk, and some have the most inconvenient habit of remembering things they shouldn’t.”

“Aye, that they do.” The priest walks past Jean toward the desk. “Might I offer you a drink?”

“Thank you, but no.” As Father Robert pours himself a goblet, Jean ventures, “May I ask how it went with the king and Conclave?”

The lawyer chuckles lightly at that. “It went well enough, lad, considering the circumstances. Of course, there will always be opposition but I think, with the right words, there is hope of swaying the king yet. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for some of his council.” A dour look descends upon the priest’s face. “Tybur’s influence must be diminished, there is no question of that now, not when he drowns out the voices of other, better men.”

“I think you’ll find that a hard ask, Father. Tybur claims kinship with the royal line and he’s Eldian besides, that lot tends to hold each other in higher esteem.”

“It seems to me that a good king must put his kingdom before his kin or he is no true king at all, not one I will gladly follow, at any rate.” Father Robert sets his half-emptied goblet down upon the desk once more.

Jean hums his assent and reaches inside the pocket of his pants. “Please, accept this, Father. A token of our support, what little of it we can give you openly, in any case. You have friends at court still, remember that.” The sunstone gleams upon the priest’s palm like a smoldering ember, the light of the lamp reflecting off its fiery surface. “May the gods, both old and new, bless and keep you, Father. Our minds and prayers are with you. If the gods are good, we can resolve all of this peacefully.” For all of our sakes.

The Woodisle is a blue-gray serpent undulating through the stone forest that is Belris, long and winding. The wind that blows across it is cool, carrying the many scents of the city. It smells of Mercy’s Cap and rain trees and greenery from the royal gardens above. It smells of wet stone and wet earth and water. Underneath that is smoke and sweat and something savory, staler smells yet familiar for all that.

You breathe it all in, invigorated, yet part of you cannot help but think that all of that pales in comparison to the scents of home. Nothing is as sweet as the salty, sharp, crisp air of the sea.

“-consummated the marriage before the marriage!”

The cakes you brought with you come close, though, you think, nibbling on your forkful of light, airy confection. The ganso - the white, flaky meat of some exotic Mi Anese fruit - is an interesting addition; it gives the cake a delightful texture and a distinct toasted flavor from the browning the baker subjected the fruit to. You take a sip of the light, golden vintage in your cup, studiously ignoring the hot, burning sensation Historia’s eyes impart on the side of your skull at the turn of your conversation. I should not have told her about Eren.

It is not as if the both of you have plans of consummating your own betrothal.

Suddenly, hands are slapping hard at your back as you hack and cough, spilling wine all over your skirts and the blanket beneath you. You bat the hands away, throat sore and eyes watering. “I-I’m fine.”

“Are you all right?” Isabelle Seitz and Hannah Kefka gaze at you, worry clear upon their faces.

“I’m fine,” you croak, hand on your chest and wheezing out one last cough as Historia rubs your back soothingly. “Wine went down the wrong way, is all.” You grimace at the wet spots of it on your skirts, thankful that the lot of you had chosen the gold and not the red. You can just imagine the mortifying ordeal of having to walk back through the castle with a suspicious red stain on your white underskirt (your overskirt is black, at least).

Isabelle looks at you doubtfully, before continuing her tale. “And so, as I was saying, the Lady Veronika and-”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Historia whispers to you as an aside. At your affirmation, the princess smirks. “Is our little chat hitting a little too close to the mark, sweeting?”

“Oh, hush.” You look away, feeling heat creep up your neck. Three weeks ago saw a certain game of qaxan end in a most interesting way, and you have thought of little else since. Eren gave you little cause to think he meant all the things he said then, afterward. In all important respects, it had simply been his attempt at turning the tides to his favor, much like you yourself had done to him earlier. And yet… Warmth prickles up your cheeks. Is it possible to affect that much heat in one’s gaze if he does not truly mean it? Inwardly, you shake your head, annoyed. As far as you are concerned, you have never teased him that badly. Since when did he get a silver tongue?

And if he does mean it… You stuff the rest of your cake into your mouth, downing it all in two bites. That will mean coming to terms with the fact that he wants to-

“Oh, hush, I’m more than certain the thought has crossed his mind more than once,” Historia whispers, voice devious. “As it has crossed yours, I’m sure.”

“Hannah, you’re newly wedded and bedded,” you abruptly address the girl in question. “Was it worth it, waiting for the wedding night? Lady Veronika certainly doesn’t seem to think so.”

The redheaded girl blushes to the roots of her hair, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, what a question! But,” she glances sneakily at the two Royal Guardsmen standing some feet away from the apple tree you are picnicking under, silent sentinels flanking both sides of the stone stairway that leads back up to the royal gardens, “between you and me-”

You smile as Isabelle and Historia turn to the other girl with exclamations of interest. That got her out of my hair, thank the gods. You hum and react to Hannah’s tale where necessary, but only half your mind is truly paying attention.

It will be a lie to say you do not think about the prospect of an… earlier bedding, true enough. You are no stranger to lust; your flowering saw to that. It has been years since last you’ve known the touch of man, and Roman had not even been a man grown. His clumsy little boy’s fumblings seem feeble now compared to your own touch.

As it is, you do not find much occasion to give yourself pleasure of late. Guilt became a constant bedmaid once you and Eren were matched; the longer you had been betrothed, the less comfortable you had been thinking of other men to bring you to peak. And the thought of pleasuring yourself to Eren seemed discomfiting at the time. Yet now…

You fidget a little in your seat, absently pressing your legs closer together. You cannot remember ever reaching such heights of pleasure as you did that night you first touched yourself to him, the day of that momentous game. You had only to recall those long, slender fingers of his, the green fire of his eyes, and his voice… his voice most of all, and you were arching on your bed, moaning loudly in the confines of your chambers as you clenched hard around your fingers, wishing they were his. Afterward, you lay staring blankly at your ceiling, naked, sated, and marveling at how long it had been since last you'd climaxed.

Your years as a courtier enabled you to face your betrothed the next day without stumbling, adding to the unspoken consensus between the two of you that acknowledging certain avowals made from the previous day’s game was a subject best discussed for another time. When you are both better primed to face it. One thing is for certain, though; that game has irrevocably changed how you see him now, and you do not know what to make of that.

Nor do you know what to make of the other, decidedly less lustful feelings that day brought on. The little girl inside you, who has grown quiet of late, giggles like a milkmaid in springtime.

Once you fall…

“Flo, get back here!”

You turn and receive an armful of particolored fur.

“Flo!” The Princess Florian runs up to the picnicking party, doubling over with her hands on her knees, panting. “When I say seek, I didn’t mean the girls!”

“Hello there, Flo,” you say, petting the little butterfly dog gently and giggling as she stands on her hind legs, placing her paws upon your shoulders and pressing kisses. The pup was a gift from the Ambassador of Aviçon for the royal twins’ sixteenth yearday the earlier winter. Florian, as Historia’s elder by a full minute, claimed the right to give the dog a name and insisted they call the pup after her own royal self.

She straightens up at last and reaches out to you. “Give her here.” Her two companions catch up to their mistress at last, both equally as winded as their charge had been earlier.

The sudden influx of femininity somehow reminds Isabelle of the royal pleasure barge the rest of your party had taken for a sail down your side of the Woodisle, and pronounces her impatience and need to take a turn with the vessel.

As the other girls chatter and fawn over the royal pup, Historia catches your eye and gestures to the riverside with her head.

Sir Stafan inclines his head respectfully as the both of you pass and offers you a small smile, which you return. You are glad to see him risen so high, for one who is secondborn. The Anasenkos are loyal vassals to your House, and true; qualities that will serve him well in the Royal Guard. Sir Julian Halkin is standing on the other side of the stairway, face as still as the monument towering over you all across the waters. Old Blood both, from the North and the South.

Historia sits down upon the stone quayside, legs submerged to the knee within the deep blue waters of the river. You follow suit, hiking your skirts over your legs and toeing off your black leathern slippers; all at once, you grow desirous of the shorter tunics and sandals of home, garb more fitting for such wet pursuits.

The water is cool against your skin, pleasantly so. You wriggle your toes, gazing up at the gray skies above. It does not look to be breaking any time soon, thankfully.

“How is Prince Urklyn faring these days? And the little princess?” you ask after you have both settled.

Historia sighs. “Ah, Gisela, poor mite… she still cries for her mother, they tell me. Urklyn, though…” Her expression dims even more for a moment. “He’s grave, solemn, the perfect picture of a grieving husband but… I know he never truly loved the Lady Mariya, gods rest her soul. It was all duty between the two of them. At least they weren’t a pair at war, I’ll grant them that much.”

The Lady Mariya Tarasava, wife of five years to the future Urklyn Reiss IV, Crown Prince and Prince of Crownglen, had died of the sweats over a week past. The court erupted into panic then; while not immediately contagious, the sweats are almost guaranteed to be mortal to those who catch the feared disease, and the next few days saw the highborn flock to the Gardener’s temples and drain the Healers’ stores of preventative tonics. There have been no further cases of the illness thus far, though the court remains on tenterhooks.

“Father and daughter are healthy enough, thank the gods. But, argh, the vultures! Already circling around my brother, and Lady Mariya not even cold in her grave! The gall, I tell you!” Historia seethes, hands curling into fists on her lap.

You smile sympathetically and reach over, grabbing your princess’s hand and squeezing gently. You know some of those vultures well, as it happens. “They were bound to come out of the woodwork at some point. At least His Majesty is deferring, as he should for the moment.” As is Father, for that very reason.

Amiable and good-natured he may be for the most part, but Lord Alexander Rhyzkov has a streak of ambition in him as high as the most grasping of lords’. If you are not promised to Eren now, you know your father will be planning to offer you up in Lydia’s stead once the king grows more amenable to a new match for his heir.

You would have been content to marry Roman Meledin, if given the choice; you grew up together and are good friends besides, what more can you ask for? Yet it was not only the scandal of having his daughter fondled by his ward that drove Alexander to turn the boy away. Had you fallen pregnant with a Meledin bastard, he would have been forced to wed you off to his erstwhile page, and he has higher plans for his heir. The second son of the second-most powerful man in the realm is as fit a match as he can hope for for the prospective Lady Rhyzkova, for want of a prince. Better that than just a mere son of a vassal.

Historia returns your gentle grip, though the smile that graces her lips vanishes as soon as it has come. She sighs and glances up at the gigantic stone woman looming before you from the side of the building opposite your part of the Woodisle. Some founder of some institute, you think distantly, gazing up at the great gray face with mild interest.

“Speaking of Father…” Historia hesitates a little, then persists, “He’s been acting rather… strangely these days. Well, more strangely than his norm, in any case.” You chuckle slightly, prompting the princess to continue. “You know how I’ve told you about the vaults, yes?”

You sit up straighter at that, intrigued. You do not know how much of the court, outside of the royal family, is privy to this particular pastime of the king’s yet it is no common knowledge. The Conclave knows, for a certainty; Lord Alexander complains enough of His Majesty’s absences on the council’s worst days, that is for sure. The Royal Guard, as the king’s protective shadows, will also know. Perhaps those of the Conclave’s respective circles, like you, are privy as well, along with the handful of Priors His Majesty has employed to better educate him on the new arts, that which they call the ‘sciences’.

“Father’s been spending more and more time down there lately… this deal with the North must be affecting him worse than he lets on,” Historia confides in a hushed voice.

You chew on that a moment, considering. You suppose that is to be expected; if these sciences (apart from his whores) bring the king even some semblance of peace and diversion, as Historia once claimed, it will stand to reason he will spend longer hours in the vaults where he tinkers with his curios, especially in these more troubled times. “Well, I’m not entirely surprised. If I may speak honestly, he made things a great deal more complicated for himself. But I suppose there is no pleasing everyone… he’s bound to offend one side or the other whatever he does. I am surprised that he’s willing to deprive his favorite at all.”

You and the court both, yet none was as spectacularly taken aback as the favorite himself when the king declared a pardon to all the northmen who laid down their arms. To add salt to the northern opposition’s wounds, His Majesty further promised that Tybur’s hold and influence in the North shall henceforth be revoked; he and his folk are expected to cede their foregoing lands and return to the Tyburs’ seat of Herstadt within the year.

The lawyer Robert left court a happy man a week after his arrival. Though the sudden death of the Crown Prince’s wife delayed his audiences, he did not go home empty-handed and returned North laden down with good news and the promise of a royal visit during the summer progress, when the king himself will deliver his written terms to the Lord Skaryn in sight of his folk and formally offer his pardon to the northmen in his own royal person. The lords Kirschtein and Pixis have much to rejoice as well. Egstatten should be well clear of midlanders by year’s end; the added expense of a royal visit to Pixis lands is a small price to pay for that much-longed for boon.

That session at Conclave was as entertaining as a masque, to hear your father speak of it. It will seem that Willy Tybur has overreached himself at last. Apparently wearied by the constant coercions of his Consul (and perhaps having to endure a family funeral), His Majesty chose to deal with the man as he oft dealt with his Magister and put his lot in with the northmen.

When Tybur had the temerity to balk at the final royal decree, the king had, in no uncertain terms, reminded the man of his rightful place. “You forget yourself, my lord. Kin we might be, but you presume much to think that gives you power over me. I am the king. It is my word, my law, my realm. And you would do well to remember that.” This uttered in front of the very man His Majesty had said much the same thing to a decade past, the Consul’s greatest adversary, and an outsider to the court who has little reason to love the Tybur lord.

There is much to be said about this king, but one thing is for certain: he will not suffer threats to his rule, kin or no, real or imagined.

“Ugh, politics,” Historia wrinkles her nose, making you laugh. “You’re right, dealing with all of that at once would drive anyone to the deepest, darkest pit they could find to toy around with magic.”

“This coming progress is sure to be a very interesting one indeed,” you remark, eyes landing on Sir Julian and wondering how he feels about this recent development, before remembering that as a Royal Guardsman he is not permitted to have an opinion about this at all. If he does have one, it’ll certainly be much better than the opposing faction’s. The Midland lords who stand to gain with Lord Tybur’s rise now find themselves greatly diminished. Tybur’s star is exceedingly dim nowadays, to his enemies’ considerable delight.

But this is all for the best. Peace will return to the North once more (for the moment, at least; they always are such an unruly bunch, these northmen) and be made safer for all. Perhaps you may be able to visit the Godsway of Elibai a second time. If the South has the largest godstone in the realm, the North has its godsway in the Forest of Livda in the Province of Elibai, Zheletov’s neighbor to the northeast. It has oft been said that one of the Old Blood has not truly lived if he has not seen these two wonders, and you are fortunate to have seen both. It will be pleasant to walk through the Woods of the Whispering Pines again after all these years and see the hundreds of godstones lining the forest path.

And this time, Eren will be with you. You smile at the thought and paddle your legs dreamily through the cool river waters.

“Flo!”

The princess and her maid turn as one at the shriek. Historia gasps in abject horror. “Flo!” she cries shrilly and stands up in a rush, heedless of your own squeal of shock as a huge wave of water washes over you from the princess’s headlong dash, soaking your dress and lap.

Flo, the little menace, had thrown herself into the river chasing after her errant ball and had to be scooped up by the returning pleasure barge, which fortunately for her was nearby when she made the leap. The riverside party troops back into the castle sometime later with a sodden dog, a drenched princess, and a dripping maid, much to the confusion of the palace staff.

“And bugger off, ya whoreson, if ya know what’s good fer ya! Ya can get yer cunt by the walls.”

Guido the guard lumbers angrily past the gilt and alabaster pillars of their chartered chambers, cursing pricks, sots, and troublemakers all to the deepest level of hell. A pair of whores, swathed in tiny wisps of silk, titter as they walk by, looking back at the man as they whisper. A most familiar face makes itself present moments later, and Eren narrows his eyes over the rim of his goblet as he watches Porco Galliard- Sir Porco Galliard, he mustn’t forget that most illustrious title, mosey by with a whore under each arm.

Eren rolls his eyes to the frescoed ceiling, his left arm resting behind his head as he lays upon a velvet divan, an embroidered cushion bolstering his neck as he takes another sip of his drink and feels annoyance course hot through him like the rum that burns a track down his throat. The Galliard boy is a bellend of the worst kind; the prat has taken it into his head that being knighted much earlier than his peers gives him the right to lord it over all of them, though this is most pronounced in his relations with Reiner, who he holds a special loathing for.

The annoyance mellows in Eren at the thought of that bitter enmity. And its cause.

Loud laughter bursts from Reiner’s lips just then, the sort that can bleed into screams at a heartbeat’s turn. The man has much guff to flee from nowadays, to be sure. So flee he did to the one place he can escape from it all, even for just a moment, bringing the whole lot of them with him. As always.

And, as always, the Timid Cushion does not fail to entertain. Participant or spectator, the place makes sure its distinguished custom of the rich and powerful are well-satisfied by night’s end. It is whispered that the Magister before Lord Grisha, the late Lord Linse, had invested heavily in the pillow trade and owned several houses in the upscale Red Walk, the Cushion being one of them. That will certainly account for the tasteful (and costly) decor and the size of the establishment, second only to the Celesta further down the street (another establishment of his incidentally, and his most expensive, according to court gossip).

Recent court tensions have played upon many a lord’s nerves, including the elder Braun’s, who seems to be foisting his ill humors upon his heir. The heir, in turn, foisted his own consternation to his circle, though they at least are benefiting highly from it.

Bertolt and Bethany are sitting on the wide window seat before the leaded glass window playing at cards. And forfeits. Thus far, Bertolt has lost his coat, his belt, and his right boot; Bethany has lost her shawl and her own beaded belt, and both have undone their tunics to the navel. Connie is off in one of the two rooms in the chamber, making Melody sing. Faint gasps and moans of pleasure can be heard from behind the closed door if one cares enough to listen.

On the divan to the left of Eren's sit Jean and Poppy. Being cunt-struck for the Lady Mikasa has never stopped Kirschtein from flirting with the Cushion’s girls; all the same, it never goes farther than that, to his credit. He lost his virtue to Saskia, nevertheless, a couple of years back, much to his complete and utter devastation. Eren had laughed himself sick at the sight of Jean, naked as his yearday, drunkenly blubbering his grief to the Abhanese carpet he lay on and lamenting his regrets about not remaining pure for his beloved Mikasa. He had forsworn bedding whores ever since.

But tonight, Mikasa is in the palace, far from sight (though never from mind, knowing Jean), and Poppy sits curled up against the horseboy, eating grapes from his hand and giggling as he whispers pertly into her ear.

It is striking, really, how much Poppy resembles his betrothed, especially in this light, Eren thinks, resting the pewter lip of his goblet upon his own flesh one and looking on as the girl tosses her head back, laughing at one of Jean’s anecdotes. It is in her hair, her eyes, even the way she smiles…

Eren averts his gaze swiftly and drains his cup in one. His head swims at the abrupt intake of liquor yet he welcomes it, the better to take his mind off the budding tension in his groin. Perhaps he can drink himself to impotence instead of dwelling on thoughts of you wearing Poppy’s exceedingly short gauzy shift, which hides everything and nothing. He wonders how short your shifts truly are, though. You always wear a bedrobe over them whenever you steal out on your nights, robbing him of the alluring sight of your scantily clad nubile body. He had been blessed by the sight of your shapely legs once, as you clambered atop Klesvar’s forehead; brief it had been but he is thankful for that much, at least.

He tilts his goblet to his mouth and frowns at the miserly drop of rum that coats his tongue. The jug is sitting on the wooden table beside his perch, just within arm’s reach, yet it had as well be on the other side of the room. His body feels like it weighs twenty stone, and the divan is getting more and more comfortable by the hour. It won’t be the first time he’s spent the night in this brothel, but a large part of him better desires the comforts of his own bed.

His arm drops limply to the carpeted floor, still clutching his empty goblet, and his head lolls to the side, watching but not truly seeing Reiner pour wine down the nude front of his girl (Lavender or some such) and slowly lap it off.

“D’you like redheads, milord?” May the Maid leans over the back of Eren’s divan, smirking down at him, all seduction and naked as her yearday. She has clearly come from a tumble, by the look of her. Her hair is artfully tousled, her skin flushed and gleaming under the lamplight; bruises and bites litter her pale throat and full breasts, and she smells of lavender, sweat, and sex. “If I’d known, I would’a dyed me hair for you. Might be you’ll like me better then.”

Eren returns her smirk with his own. “I don’t suppose you’re still a maid?”

“Hmm, 'course I am, milord, why wouldcha think otherwise?” May giggles. “Oh, how much we’ve missed you, milord.” She reaches down to brush back his fringe, giving him a better look at her ample charms. He finds it more than passing droll that the barest hint of your breasts excites him more than any whore’s exposed ones, no matter how plump and pretty.

“Have you changed your mind 'bout fuckin’ us?” May glances at her redheaded peer, who is by now busy devouring Reiner’s mouth on the divan right across Eren’s. “Violet’s new. Came to us a maid, a right proper one this time,” she smirks once more, then continues. “‘Course, Talinia asked twice as much for her but she’s well broken in now and should be cheaper. Not by much, though. I dunno why men love reds so much,” she scoffs, tossing her own honeyed curls back haughtily. “They’re no better’n any other girl here. Hell, I’m better than her. She hasn’t been fuckin’ that long, anyways, not like me. Milord’ll have a better time with me than Miss Half-A-Maid, methinks.” She trails a finger down Eren’s jaw to his chest, partly bared by the loosened laces of his shirt.

“And methinks Milord has no desire to spend his time with the Cushion’s maids, half or whole, as you should know by now.”

The Maid pouts her fleshy bottom lip at him. “Milord’s just cost me me precious lapis flower necklace and Poppy’s emerald bracelets.”

“You shouldn’t be wagering on me, then.” He glances at the forenamed girl and spots her eyeing him and May closely from her place beneath Jean’s arm.

May shrugs one lovely bare shoulder, offhand. “‘S worth a try. Any girl’d want the privilege of havin’ Sir Pretty Eyes’ pretty eyes on her.” She touches the golden pearl upon his chest. “Your girl’s a lucky one.”

The corners of his lips turn up a little at that, and Eren moves his arm from behind his head, gently grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from the pendant.

“Oh, my, what’s milord been doin’ with his pretty fingers, hmm? Get in a fight? Trainin’ too hard?” May takes his hand in hers and presses a slow kiss to his bandaged digits, brown eyes dark and inviting.

Eren can feel himself responding to the touch and withdraws, sitting up and swinging his legs off the divan, turning his back on her. He closes his eyes against the spell of lightheadedness that besets him, then slowly opens them again once he is certain the danger of retching half his insides onto the richly carpeted floor is not forthcoming.

“Got in a fight with a knife taking up a new pastime. As you can see, I’m no good at it yet.” He had not thought to enjoy woodcarving so much. What started as a ploy for an Elena’s Day gift for his niece turned into something more personal, and he often finds himself of late whittling away at a block of wood in his slower hours. It gives his hands something to do, at any rate, and skill will come with time, he knows. He will be glad of it, then; mistakes are painful and enduring, as his fingers can attest.

At the least, he can make recognizable figures, according to you, though something tells him that was you attempting to spare him his feelings on the matter (he is still sure Ymir's present can pass for a falcon). The thought of you makes him place his goblet on the table. He reaches into his pocket for his pouch of coins.

“Here,” he says, turning back to the whore and tossing her a silver crescent, which she catches, surprised. “Coin you would’ve made if you actually fucked me instead of talking. I’d hate to have you come out the poorer for wasting your time and attentions on me.” He nods at Reiner, whose girl has apparently vanished to the other room in the chamber. “He’ll make a more willing fuck. Gods know the poor sod needs it. Make him forget his name for the night and teach Half-A-Maid a thing or two.”

The Maid simpers, rolling the coin between her slender fingers. “Always a pleasure havin’ you here, milord.” She leers at Reiner, who responds in kind, and saunters off to join Violet.

“You,” Reiner slurs, pouring himself a cup of rum, “are the best mate a bloke could ask for.”

Eren chuckles. “Happy to please.”

“Truly, you are.” Reiner takes a long, healthy swig of his drink. “Mother’s Tits, that’s good.”

“Easy there, Reiner, you still want to perform for the girls,” Jean puts in, arm draped around Poppy’s smaller form and carelessly toying with the ends of her tresses.

“Ah, sod off.” The big man throws himself against the back of the divan, head tilted to the ceiling. “If it can drown out the image of overbearing fathers, the better.”

Jean and Eren glance at each other. Nothing is more like to sober a man up, Eren thinks, eyes trained carefully at the Braun heir.

“You’re a good lad, Jean,” Reiner continues, still staring at the ceiling. “And I’m glad you'll get to keep what’s yours by rights. We should all just be content with what we have in this world. If only he could see that…”

Jean has tensed a little, Eren sees, and even he himself is starting to feel rather wrong-footed. Neither of them, it seems, truly grasps the depths of their friend’s distress. Bertolt, who is by now shirtless, looks over at them all with his brow furrowed, game and girl forgotten.

“Reiner-” Jean starts, but the older boy cuts him off by getting ponderously to his feet.

“Well, I mustn’t keep the girls waiting. Be free to do as you like. I’ll shoulder it all, as I said.” He vanishes into the second room soon after, leaving the lounge in a still silence.

Jean breaks it with a sigh. “And now’s as good a time as any to leave.” He pats Poppy on the shoulder. “I thank you kindly for the scintillating conversation, my lady, but alas, I must take my leave of your lovely presence.”

The whore giggles as she kisses his cheek and stands. “I’m no lady, milord, but I’m glad you like my yammering. It’s a nice change, it is.”

“A crescent for your time, in the manner of my friend here,” Jean grins, pressing the coin into the girl’s smaller palm and tapping her lightly on the hip.

Since when have we been friends? Eren wants to know, but the thought comes without spite. It isn’t such an appalling notion, that. He knows immediately then that he’s had three cups too many.

“You heading back?” Jean directs at him as he laces on his boots. He nods his affirmation and the two of them are soon departing the grandiose halls of the Cushion, leaving Bertolt and Bethany kissing hungrily over their game of cards as Poppy slipped into Reiner’s room, clearly looking to make most of her own night as well.

“Well, that was… an interesting way to end the night,” Jean comments as they make their way through the Red Walk and into the Golden District proper, home to the richer populace of the capital who just falls short of true nobility.

“I’ll say.” The cool night air is even more sobering than Reiner’s sad little speech, and Eren breathes it in, letting it wash away some of the dregs of his inebriation. He can still walk straight, he is pleased to note. In the distance, the city clocktower tolls Alyrya’s hour, the hour of the cat. “The Northern Matter haunts us all these days. I never thought it would follow me to a brothel, of all places.”

Jean makes a sound of assent. “I’ll be glad when it’s all over. Father’s quite strung up but he’s in much better spirits these days, thank the gods. Summer can’t come fast enough for him.”

“The progress’s only a week away, it’ll come soon enough.” They walk through the Lane of Kings, passing three stone Bertholds, an Ulrich, and an Urklyn before descending a set of steps, which Eren traverses gingerly for fear of tripping over his own feet and rolling down painfully the rest of the way (he does not roll, to his elation). “You northmen and your unruliness. Everything seems to happen because of you lot. Riots, uprisings, sedition, we get those from you every few years. I’m sure there are better ways to warm the blood up there than constant violence.”

“At least we have blood in our veins instead of the milk you have in your little southron bodies,” Jean rags, all northman all of a sudden, complete with brogue and inflection.

Eren blinks at him, thrown. “It’s so strange to hear you speak like that.”

“As opposed to the uppity midland court accent?” Jean laughs, speaking in kind once more.

“I suppose it’s easier to forget where one truly comes from in court.” The towers and turrets of Midford loom ever closer as they walk through the emptying streets.

“Not all the time. Times like this like to remind the lords of where their interests lie,” Jean says, as they slip down the more hidden side street to the west wing of the palace. A surly guard is on hand to greet them at the postern gate, which he swings open irritably with a quick jerk of his head. Eren hears him muttering something about cocksure lordlings under his breath once he and Jean are several paces away.

The palace is emptying as well. Dinner’s last few stragglers are making their way to their respective apartments, trailed by servants extinguishing chandeliers and lamps, and lighting smaller torches for the night. Lord Dot Pixis and Jean’s own father stroll by on the lower landing, deep in conversation. Where their interests lie, huh… “Times like this make you want to step away from all of that drivel.”

Jean follows Eren’s gaze to his father, and something flits across his face. “A pleasant thought but hard to realize. You can’t tell me your own lord father doesn’t have a stake in this whole matter.” He leaves Eren to his own devices then, descending the purple-carpeted steps they have just passed to hail Lord Kirschtein, vanishing into another hall with him and their lord vassal.

All that talk of stakes and matters is enough to turn anyone’s head, Eren thinks, a little peeved. I’m not drunk enough for this. He continues down the hall; he had as well sleep everything off. It is only when he passes a familiar tapestry that he realizes where he is headed.

The sight of the golden orb of Rhyzkov flying above the jagged teeth of a mountain range gives him pause.

He had told you about his night’s excursion with the lads earlier that day so you will not be expecting him tonight. And yet…

Eren presses on. He hopes you are awake and in your rooms, not gallivanting off with the Princess Historia in some obscure corner of the castle, giggling and whispering secrets. He goes down a bypath for a privy and takes a much-needed piss, feeling lighter once he empties his bladder. Sometimes, a piss really does feel better than a climax, especially on days like this.

Your face, when you open your door, is one of surprise. Robbed again. Your bedrobe tonight is a pretty confection of blue and violet satin embroidered with cranes and flowers in gold thread. The blue bleeding into the violet gives off the effect of a night sky, fitting for a nighttime garment, and for a time he stands before Ryneas herself, one half of the Lover’s whole and most beautiful of all the gods. Part of him (the part somewhere below his waist) still laments this very much covered-up vision, dazzling it may be.

“I thought you said you’d be out tonight,” you say, puzzled, one hand on the doorframe, the other on the door.

“Yes, but I decided to head back early.” He places a hand on the frame, just a bit above your own.

You frown at him. “How deep into your cups did you get?”

He pshaws at that. “I’ve only had the three cups.” He pauses, considering. “Maybe four.”

“Right.” You glance down the empty hallway and back at him, expression suddenly wary. Your grip on your door seems to tighten. “Perhaps you should head to bed, I don’t think you're-”

He interrupts you with a slow utterance of your name, leaning closer. His proximity makes you step away from him, and the wary look on your face deepens. You drop your hand from the frame; both hands now clutch at your door, poised to slam it shut if he so much as moves another inch. “I’ve drunk myself to impotence, so you don’t have to worry about me trying anything. And I did ask. My lady. If you would let me,” he adds, smirking a little at your sharp intake of breath. “I won't do anything without your express leave.”

Dragons and rain flash through his mind, as did yours, he can see as you stare at him with that most delectable look on your face, the very same you had given him all those weeks ago when he all but confessed to wanting to fuck you. Not that that went anywhere, he made sure of that, averse as he was to discomfit you with such attentions too soon (and too abruptly). The both of you have yet to address all of that in a more… abstemious environment, but it is more than enough to know that his suit is a long way away from being hopeless. At least, he believes so. If your responses to him then and now are any indication, though… he can trust to hope.

He pulls back at last, but not by much. Your grip on your door loosens. “You have nothing to fear,” he reiterates, more solemn now. “You’re not in danger of any rough wooing from me, I give you my word.”

A brief stillness shrouds the air between you. “I’ll hold you to your word,” you say finally, emerging from behind your door and closing it softly.

He smiles, triumphant. “I’d really like some company while I recover.”

“Recover how?”

“Tea, ice water, brandy, the best remedy for the grape. Or any sort of liquor, really,” he announces in the dimly lit silence of the servants’ dining hall sometime later, cradling his mug of tea as he sits across from you on the cornermost table on the left side of the room. The both of you were fortunate enough to catch Lisa’s girl, Sasha, sending some freckled squire off with an armload of foodstuffs as you entered the kitchen, and she had obligingly fixed you up with your drinks of choice before bidding you a good night, slipping out with a custard bun between her teeth.

“You’re surprisingly clearheaded for someone who’s had three, perhaps four cups of rum,” you observe, your hands wrapped around your own cup of tea, goldenglow as always.

“It’s ‘cause I pissed half the stuff out earlier,” he quips, giggling at your scrunched nose. “I could stand to be more clearheaded, though.”

“Yes, you can,” you mutter, taking a sip of your tea. “Did you leave the Cushion alone or did someone come with you?”

He finishes off his own tea and makes a start on his water. “Only Jean. The others were enjoying themselves too much to want to leave with us celibates.”

“Did you not enjoy yourselves, then? Slatterns weren’t charming enough for you?”

Eren has to stop himself from grinning too widely lest he further incurs your wrath, but the way you practically spat out the words of your last sentence is most amusing. “Have I told you that jealousy becomes you?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “I distinctly recall giving you leave to take your pleasures where you will. If you do decide to make good on that, where you choose to dip your wick makes no matter to me.”

Why does it sound like it does? “And I distinctly recall telling you not to play that hand with me, Lady Rhyzkova.” Your eyes flash up to him, and he presses on, “I already told you, wed or no, I won’t do that to you. And it’s no weakness to admit to those feelings with someone you’re already in confidence with. I can admit the thought of you being that familiar with another man doesn’t sit well with me at all.”

Your little cough strikes him dumb, for some bizarre reason. It is a harmless enough sound but for the way Lady Rhyzkova seems to settle herself more firmly on her seat across from him, where moments ago he had thought her like to vanish at last. It seems a great deal hotter in the room all of a sudden. Dimly, he wonders who lit the furnaces.

“Who was he?”

Lady Rhyzkova takes the measure of him momentarily before answering, “Some boy.”

He lets a few heartbeats pass. When it becomes clear that nothing else is forthcoming, he pushes, “I suppose this boy has a name?”

“Like most boys, he does.”

I don't think this is a good time to play coy with me, my lady. “Dare I ask how far Some Boy got to play around with my lady?”

Your expression freezes over at once. “Not far enough, you can rest assured of that, my lord. Have no fear, I’ll still come to you a maid.” Disappointment flickers across your face so fast he almost misses it. “I didn’t know those things meant so much to you.”

The livid growling beast inside him shrinks back at your words and that briefest hint of dismay on your lovely features. “N-no, it’s not that, I’d never think you spoiled. You’re anything but! It’s just-”

I want you only for myself.

He tenses, his mouth drying more than it already has. In truth, the subject of maidenheads means less to him than a rat’s ass. Yet, somehow, yours matter, but not in the way you think. He is slowly coming to find that the matter of your maidenhead is less about you needing to be as pure as the driven snow for him and more about his need to be your first and only one in all things carnal.

Eren’s fingers tighten around his cool mug, as though the chill may help him sort out his feelings. But the more he thinks about it, the more he finds himself wanting to be the first to kiss you, the first to know every curve and dip and inch of you, the first to have you. And to learn that someone else has the privilege of claiming even one of those firsts for you angers him more than anything else ever has.

“It’s just…?”

Your voice breaks him from his contemplative trance, and he looks up into Rhyzkova’s cool, beautiful mask-like visage. Another sense of stillness settles over you, this one more pregnant than the last.

“It’s just as I said earlier,” he says finally. “You being that familiar with another man doesn’t sit well with me. You can never be despoiled for me, never. A hundred men could have had you and I’ll still call you unspoiled. But knowing someone else had the honor to know you that way… it doesn’t sit well with me at all.”

“He never went that far, Some Boy,” you state, after a while. “Kisses, a touch or two, but he never went that far. He was never bold enough.” The way you look at him as you say those last few words strikes a chord with him. Why, it sounds almost like a challenge…

"I-I see." The mug of water is rapidly losing its chill. He downs it all in a couple of gulps, miraculously never spilling a drop, and tosses back the half-filled glass of brandy. He almost wishes it is stronger.

“It didn’t sit well with me, you visiting the brothel tonight.” You look down at your cup, mouth pursed. “I may give you leave but it will never sit well with me should you choose to take me at my word.” You smile a little then. “I’m glad to know that words are more than wind with you. And that you think me still unspoiled. Most men would turn their noses up at even half-used goods.”

He frowns at you. “You’re not chattel, why should I treat you like it?”

Your smile widens into something more real, and it is like watching the sun break through gray drabness after a week’s worth of rain. The silence that falls then is as comfortable as a feather-down quilt.

“I want to show you something,” he pipes up when you finally finish your tea. At your curious look, he tacks on, “It’s in the kitchens, you’ll see.”

He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the servants’ dining hall into the adjoining kitchens, taking one of the two torches Sasha had lit to guide your way. The faint smell of food lingering about the place makes his stomach rumble. He ought to have asked the girl for some nibbles, he thinks regretfully, but perks up once he notices a barrel marked ‘apples’ beside the very spot he wants to show his betrothed.

The barrel’s lid is already loosened, to his delight. He grabs a couple of apples and pitches one to you. “You wanted to show me apples?” you sally, and grin at his look.

“No, my exceedingly witty friend, I wanted to show you this perfectly made stone ledge.” There it sat between a wooden rack of baking tools and the apple barrel, perfectly gray, square, inconspicuous. A couple of empty wicker baskets perch atop it, adding to its perfect inconspicuousness.

“It is… certainly well-made,” you remark, running your fingers over the smooth stone before looking at him quizzically.

He grins as he searches for that third stone on the right, finding it and pressing; he snatches the baskets off cat-quick, carelessly depositing them atop the nearby barrel as the ledge sinks down into the ground with nary a sound and jerk to reveal the entrance to a dark passageway.

“That it is,” he replies, grin threatening to split his face at your shock as you stare at the passage with your mouth open.

“When did you find this?” You take a step closer, eyes flashing around the black cavern.

He grabs your hand once more and leads the way into the tunnel. The ledge slides quietly back into place as you proceed further forward, plunging you into complete darkness broken only by the orange light of Eren’s torch. “Armin and I found it some years back. We don’t usually go through here since it leads outside of the palace.”

“Where does this one lead?”

His smile, when it comes, is as mysterious as can be. “You’ll see.”

You step out into the blue-white wash of lamplight, on the quayside by the Woodisle, right beneath the royal gardens. You gasp in astonishment. “We’re in the riverside below the gardens.”

Eren mumbles his agreement, placing the torch on a sconce beside the hidden entrance behind the stone likeness of Richard I, the mind behind passages such as the one you just slipped through. The cool night air is refreshing, and it helps ease the liquor’s hold on him just that bit more.

“We just picnicked here the other day, there by the apple tree,” your voice floats back to him as you stand by the riverbank, gazing up at the huge black mass that is some woman’s monument.

“So you said.” He goes to join you, then bends down to unlace his boots and roll up the legs of his pants. “Flo is quite the character.” He sits beside the lamp’s plinth, shins sinking deep into riverwater.

You do likewise, sliding your white silk slippers off and lifting your robe to your knees as you settle down. Eren eyes the smooth perfection of your calves as they dip down into the black waters, and averts his gaze. He reaches into his pocket for his apple and takes a large bite to distract himself. The juice bursts on his tongue, sweet and tart in equal measure.

“Flo’s a sweet little thing but she can be such a handful,” you laugh, starting on your own apple. “Gave her mistresses quite the scare with that lark in the river.”

“If I pass out and get washed away by the river now, will you come and rescue me?” he asks, all guileless eyes and unaffected looks.

“You’re too heavy. We’ll both drown.”

“So you think me fat.”

Your gaze roams down his form a moment, lingering at his partly bared chest, before you look away. “I didn’t say that.”

His apple is now down to its core. Eren chucks it into the river and watches as the current bears it away, bobbing and turning. “Progress starts next week.”

“It’s that close already, huh… before we know it, autumn will be upon us again.” You take your last bite but do not discard your apple, turning the core over your hands slowly as you speak.

“Autumn and home, for you.” Lights still burn amongst the many buildings of Belris, banked and less numerous than its waking hours.

“I can’t wait to show you,” you beam, and your excitement feeds his own. He paddles his legs against the current, the water swirling around his limbs. “Speaking of the progress, though…” You pick at the remaining flesh of the fruit in your hands. “This one’s going to be momentous.”

It really is haunting us all. “And the North’ll finally quiet down and leave the realm in peace for another couple of years until their next grievance.”

You snicker. “If the gods are good, they should.” The wind runs light fingers through your hair and sends the pale ghostly petals of the apple blossoms flying into the air like unseasonal snow. “That lawyer must be an astoundingly good one to sway His Majesty so. That or the king’s finally tired of his favorite pet. That’s better for you and yours, yes?”

“Father did say the man has a silver tongue.” Having been well-acquainted with it himself. There is no doubt that the man is interesting, interesting enough to have a private audience with in his own solar. Eren can only imagine what manner of intrigues and propositions they spoke about then.

You lob your own core into the river, which makes a small splash as it hits the water before tumbling away. “Of course he does. Lawyers can’t do without one of those, after all.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

***

A/N:

The Northern Matter is looming larger and lurks in all POVs, no matter what they're focusing on at the time - it'll still be sometime when true hostilities rise but they have to start somewhere...

But I did love getting inside alcohol-affected Eren's mind - he's an entertaining boy when he's had a drop or so, haha. Made him admit to really, truly wanting YN (for himself) - and a jealous Eren is a rather risky thing. Tread carefully 👀

Also, ajsdjashdsdhsks I am REALLY toying with the idea of writing a smutty one-shot about EreYN if they did consummate the relationship much earlier than planned... but then idk if that'll take away from the actual scene when they finally do it... but then The Smut is... a LONG way away, lmao, so would the one-shot matter??? Idk, I'll think about it... I WILL write it, but we'll see if I post, ahahaha... 😅

Oh, and I thought I'd post (finally, idk why I didn't post the thing earlier) a very simple map of Lovaya instead of letting it gather dust in my Trello board. This better gives one an idea of what Tybur has to lose:

And I can't post Lovaya without posting the Known World. Just for scale. We have the 7 living continents (Eldia is darkened out and dead), and a hint of Paradis in the Anderven continent. Basically, think of Lovaya as something like Australia, both a continent and a country divided into 8 States.

Thank you so, so much for reading and taking an interest!!! ❤❤❤ I hope I can still deliver the rest of the story well and I'm really looking forward to what's coming next and I hope you guys are, too!

Tagging: @princess-jaeger @lukepattersin @erentoes

#eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #eren jeager x reader #Eren Jaeger #eren yeager #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

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niobe-loreley · 2 years ago

Text

Heaven Is In A Shortcake {x}

HEADS UP!!! This will be a short chapter cuz it'll be mostly dialogues~ just wanted to experiment on this kind of chapter content hehe ENJOY *heart emojis*

disclaimer: The Gray Man and the characters are NOT mine, even the reader. I only own the plot and the reader's character lol. Pictures used in the fic are NOT MINE, but only the edited version (u can msg me if u ze owner); credits to the rightful owners and canva + weheartit. Addtionally, I am not a Subic/Zambales native, so my apologies for any wrong locations, descriptions, or languages.

Six x F!Reader / Courtland Gentry x Female Reader

warnings: dialogues chapter. moderate amount of swear words. some filipino dialogues. slow burn. fluff. trust issues. comedy if you use a magnifying glass. culture shock. word count check.

CHAPTER SELECTION is in the ✨Masterlist✨ Chapter 9 - is not hidden here hehe Chapter 10 - this is it

word count: 2.0k (N/N) =nickname *Kiara = Claire *Kurt = Court *cover names = reader doesn't know (except you do know #wreckthe4thwall)

["Or~ we play 20 questions while I wait. I'm assuming you know that game?— Over."]

"Your very first correct assumption about me.” he says amusedly, “And to clarify, yes, I know how to play it. Over."

["Alright, I'll start! What's your full name?"]

‘Courtland Gentry,’ he answers mentally before pursing his lips for a split second and pressing the ‘talk’ button.

"Kurtis Roberts. What's yours? Over."

["(Full Name)."] you pause, ["When's your birthday?— Over."]

"December 12th, 1985. How about yours?— Over."

[“(Month + Day), 1989. Are you just going to be repeating all my questions? Over."]

“No, I also wanted to know your full name and your birthday. Is that another question?— Over.”

[“No. Is that another question? Over.”]

"No. Over."

[“So, eighteen?— Over.”]

“Eighteen.” he laughs, "Over."

Your own laugh rings sweetly through the radio. ["Okay, okay, hmmmm… Do you have a religion?—Over —no! Wait, not over, I just want to add that I'll sucker punch you in the balls if you also ask me about my religion. Okay, over."]

"Alright.. can I firstly say that I'm starting to be terrified of you?" Court grins as he imagines you laughing at him, "I'm Roman Catholic. Next question, what's your dream job?— Over."

["You know my dream job, I'm already working it.. well, almost."] you pause, ["Okay, my turn… When was the last time you played this game?— Over."]

He breathes out, contemplating. "Maybe… When I was 13 or 14, I don't remember it much." he replies uncertainly and runs a hand through his hair. Glancing at the window, he watches the shadows of nocturnal bugs dance on the glass. "My turn.. so, being a waitress is your dream job?"

["Let me just say this first— damn, that's a long time, old man!— Now, to answer your question, yes and no. My dream job is working at a cafe simultaneously baking."]

He can imagine you beaming as you speak.

["My turn!— What's your favorite color? Over."]

"Maroon. How long have you been working at the cafe? Over."

["Five years. Wait, pause for a minute!"] you exclaim, ["Why are your questions progressive? Over."]

Court blinks. "Is there a new update on how to play 20 questions? I can ask anything I want, right? Over."

["No, there isn't. And yeah, you can. But,"] you breathe out a laugh, ["this is the first time I played it with someone whose questions are not so random. Over.]

"Should I be random? Over." he inquires.

["No, no, it's okay! Just do your thing!— Over."]

"Okay… It's your turn, by the way. Over."

["Okay, since you didn't answer this before, I'll ask it as my fourteenth question."] you mimic a drum roll sound, ["Why are your questions progressive?—Over."]

"Before I answer that, can you clarify what you meant by progressive?—Over."

["Oh, what I meant was.. why are your questions very personal? Like you want to know about me?"] you question carefully.

Court contemplates that Kurtis Roberts would be playful and respond sarcastically. But he decides to take off the mask, even for a little while, just to be slightly true to you.

He presses the 'talk' button. "Well, I hardly know you, right? So I want to know you, (Y/N)." he pauses, knocking the transceiver on his forehead. "If that's alright with you. Over."

Several seconds pass before you reply with a snort. ["Of course, it's alright since I get to know you as well. Over."]

Yikes— Court cringes guiltily. Even though there is some truth in his lies, he's still lying, thus not entirely truthful.

["It's your turn, by the way. Over."]

Should he continue trying to know you while pretending to be someone he isn't? Because it's either that or cut off all connections with you. Telling you his real identity is not an option; but he would be lying if he says he's not considering it, which is incredibly bad for him and Claire.

["Kurt, you still there?— Over."]

He stammers. "Uh, still here. Sorry, I just made sure Kiara was asleep. Over."

["No worries. Over."]

Court sighs and presses the button to transmit his question. "Did you finish college?— Over."

["Yup!"] you chirp, ["My turn, what's your current line of work? Over."]

"I'm working as a part-time graphic designer in multiple companies, one of them is CarysTech. Thankfully, they allow work from home since no one can take care of Kiara." he pauses, "What was your course? Over."

["I graduated with a BS in Pharmacy. The BS stands for bullshit in my opinion— no hate to Pharma, I actually enjoyed the course."] you sound like you're smiling sadly, [But, alas, it wasn't the job I wanted until I die off the face of this Earth. What about you, is being a graphic designer your dream job?"]

Court gulps, he knows he's gotten attached to you when even a mention 'I die' from you sends swords through his chest. Yet he continues trying to know you and mixing up the truth in his lies, like the dumb fuck he is. "Not really, it's just good money and enjoyable in a way. My last job wasn't a dream job either, so I decided to quit that." he snorts and pauses to ponder on a question, "Are you a cat person or a dog person? Over."

["(Answer). How about you? I'm curious. Over."]

"Both, except they don't like me for some reason. Over."

["Maybe they can smell the skeletons in your closets,"] you joke, laughing. ["Sorry, it's your turn. Over."]

The skeletons in his closet have already burst out of it and filled up a room. If only you knew.. then maybe you would've ran for the hills.

"How many years did you work as a pharmacist?— Over."

["Two and a half before I quit. What was your job before graphic designing?— Over."]

Hitman, assassin, or whatever kids call it these days. I just killed people for a living.

"I work in insurance." he lies as smooth as silk, "When was the first time you watched FRIENDS? Over."

["I was in high school, season 10 has just come out. A classmate of mine bought a DVD and I asked if I could borrow season 1 because she would tell us about the funniest moments she had watched."] you happily expel a short, nostalgic laugh. ["What series or sitcoms are you currently watching? Over."]

"Other than FRIENDS, I'm watching Cobra Kai, Community, and The Good Place. Over." he replies, which finally has some truth in it. "What's the first cake you baked? Over."

["A vanilla funfetti cake with caramel icing. What's your favorite cake?— Over."]

"Any flavor as long as it has three layers and rock candies. What's the first pastry you baked?— Over."

["Cupcakes!— Chocolate flavored,"] you answered with a giggle, ["What's your favorite pastry? Over."]

"Baguette. Because I can hit someone on the head with it. What's your favorite junk food? Over."

["Let me say first that I love your answer with the baguette."] you reply between laughs, ["Junk food, huh? Hmmm, I guess I'm sticking with local cuisine— Piattos, cheese flavored. Do you have siblings? Over."]

"Yeah, one older and one younger. How about you?— Over.”

[“Oh, Mr. Middle Child, huh?”] you snicker, [“I have one younger sister. Do you play any musical instruments? Over.”]

“No, I’m more into dancing than singing.” he blurts truthfully, “H-How about you? Over.”

[“Contrarily, I’m more into singing than dancing. What’s your favorite season of the year?— Over.”]

“Spring. Do you prefer the books or the live adaption of the novel?— Over.”

[“That’s such a hard question!— Books. Which is your favorite movie trilogy, The Lord of The Rings or The Hobbit? Over.”]

“The Lord of The Rings. Which is an important value to you, honesty or loyalty? Over.”

[“Seriously, your questions are getting harder. Loyalty because I’d rather be loyal yet dishonest rather than disloyal yet honest. Not everyone says the truth 24/7, we have our own reasons for that, plus it’s hard to unknot a bond that’s been twisted with betrayal.”] you huff confidently, [“Why do you have Sisyphus’ name tattooed on your arm? Over.”]

Court tightens his jaw. “.. There was a time when.. I was not doing well. Like, I was caught between a rock and a hard place. And because of that, I relate to Sisyphus.” he clears his throat, “I feel like after what I did, no matter how much I believe it is right.. I’ve received an everlasting punishment. “Anyway, do you like spicy food? Over.”

[“....”]

He presses the buttons and calls your name, trying not to sound nervous.

[“I’m sorry, Kurt.”]

He waits for you to add more, but when you haven’t, he replies— “Why are you apologizing? Over.”

[“I’m sorry you had to answer my question. I didn’t want you to feel bad about telling me anything about you. Over.”]

“I don’t feel bad at all, (Y/N). Over.”

[“Really?— Over.”]

“Really, really. Over.”

[“Well, if you’re going to be quoting Shrek, then I believe you. What was your question earlier? Over.”]

“I asked if you like spicy food. Over.”

[“Depends on the level of spiciness. Now, my second to the last question for you… Which do you think came first, the chicken or the egg?”]

He groans. “I hate this debate. But maybe the egg, because God or whoever the creator is would want to see how the creature grew up. Have you traveled to another country? Over.”

[“Not yet, but hopefully someday I’ll be able to. How about you and Kiara, how many countries have you traveled to? Over.”]

“We’ve gone to five different countries together.” Court pauses, heart leaping up his throat as his last question dances around his tongue.

Does he deserve the right to ask?—

[“Still there, Kurt? Over.”]

—When he hasn’t told you who he really is?

[“Kurt, do you read me? Over.”]

“Yeah, I read you. Over.”

[“Stop turning up the suspense!— Over.”]

Court sighs. ‘Here goes nothing..’

“Are you in a relationship? Over.”

[“....”]

The crickets are having a musical segment as the silence swarms over your transmitted calls with Court. He counts from one to thirty before deciding to take back his question—

[“No, I’m not in a relationship. Over.”]

“Okay, okay..” —because I was thinking about asking you on a date.

Court knows this is a frightfully small window of opportunity. Speak now or forever hold your peace kind of deal. Unfortunately, his confidence is sputtering fumes, he’s losing momentum.

[“Ho-How about you? Are you in a relationship?”]

Instantly, his head explodes with an abundance of thoughts.

You returned his question to him!

Why do you sound so cute when asking him that? Why are you asking it in the first place?

Do you want him to ask you out? Does that mean you like him?

What if you ask him out? That’s a bad shade on him— he should ask you out now.

But what if you say no?

“No, I’m not. Over.” he answers stiffly.

[“Alright..”] you trail off for a second and a faint music erupts in the silence, [“Oh, shit, my alarm.”]

Court calls your name through the radio.

[“Hey, I gotta go, Kurt. I didn’t notice my alarm has been ringing for two minutes now. Over.”] you laugh.

“Right, your laundry..” he fails in hiding his disappointment. “You should get it. Over.”

[“Yeah.. I’ll be back, but I have to hang them up first. Over.”]

“No problem, you should sleep after. It’s getting late. Over.”

[“Okay.. you should get to bed, too. Over.”]

“Duly noted, ma’am. Over.”

You chuckle. [“Good night, Kurt. Over and out.”]

When the device crackles, signaling the other line has cut off their connection, only static remains to scorn Court with a wagging finger. Speak now or forever hold your peace, right? Another fitting punishment for almost roping an innocent person in his life.

But when you swim up in his eyes, drowning his mind with everything about you— laws can be broken, like hell he’ll hold his peace.

A/N: short but sweet? hopefully??? sdkjbksjewuiryovoh sorry just me fangirling over my own fanfiction HAHAHAH hope y'all fangirled/boyed as well hehe may not update in a while, but rest assured the next chapter is already in progress :3 if it isn't any obvious yet, i like to write a few more chapters before posting the next one

Keep your hard hats on cuz the portal to Chapter 11 is under construction! already posted and will probably knock your heads off your shoulders! Stay safe! *ducks under the table*

✨TAGLIST✨

@kat-thepoet @queenofhellhasrisen @sierrasixswife @vallyb @lyuir @yvxcy @justareaderdude

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xsapphirescrollsx · 3 years ago

Text

Creamsicle

Written: 02 Jul 2020

Pairing: Black Female Reader x Robert Pronge; Black Female Reader x dark! Andy Barber

Summary: Set in 1980s, you are a nurse with a peculiar side job.

B-day gift for my bff @titty-teetee

Somewhere in New Jersey 1984

Alleyways appeared like musky, dank, dark traps. Tall buildings with narrow passages lurked for you to stop long enough to sink you into what awaited. It had been days, caffeine fueled hours upon hours of staying awake. To stay aware, to be on your feet at a moment's notice. It took skill, that you honed, and passion, that fed the murky abyss within. Murder was your obsession, and it had turned into a habit that paid well.

But now, you were seeing things. Had to be, tree limbs slapped the pale yellow street lamps sketching figures along the sidewalk. The shadows looked like knives, the bulk of the smooth casts appeared as long blades serrated or short ones, for quick delivery of the eventual end of a life.

You rubbed hard on your eyes, squinted into the dark and held your duffel bag closer to your rushing beating heart.

Gotta get home, gotta make it out, your mind chanted.

You had handled worse, been through revolting things, so you paid your surroundings a never mind and kept walking. And that was a mistake. Half past midnight, on the seeder side of the city made for an interesting set of characters. Strangers drifted in and out of the black of the alleys as you passed along the street. Your mind was focused on other events, it was concentrating on the task you had just perfected.

You were elated, even with the burden of fatigue.

And with that dark joy still humming in your head, you were snatched off the street. A man yanked you in, he swung you by the arm into the nearest brick wall. The back of your head impacted the grimy stone causing your eyes to shake in their sockets. Filthy lips pressed against the side of your face as you rolled your head away.

When you fought back he slammed you harder, more violent back into the wall. After that, your memory was choppy. Blackness filled your eyes and you were at the mercy of the streets.

You awoke to a man holding your face and pawing at your clothes. You fought him too. Being discovered, realized was the biggest fear you had. So you hit him with a tight fist, but nothing really landed.

“Hey, calm the fuck down lady.” he griped and you took another swipe at his face. “Okay, alright have it your way then. But your fucking dress is up over your tits. Everybody plus Christ can see those chocolate drops.”

You shuddered when the wind swept over your body. The stink of the street, garbage and shit covered your senses. Bruised and hurt you haphazardly began to right the dress around your breasts while straining to get a bearing on your surroundings.

You hurt, deeply. A horrible cramp clashed up the sides of your thighs as you sat upon your knees.

“Jesus, you look like hell.” said the man.

You didn’t look up at him. Your eyes crawled over the shitty paved alley floor for your bag. It wasn’t there. Oh, shit. Panic rushed through your veins and you attempted to stand only to fall back down.

“Fuck,” hissed the man. “Let me help you.”

You scowled at him, eyed him from head to toe but didn’t take in much about it at first. So you let him help, at least he was better than what was out there. He was surprisingly gentle despite the tone of his voice. He held you around the back while his other hand gripped your wrist, cocooning you in warmth. The day had arrived, but gray skies held back the sun. He walked you out of the alley, and even still you weren’t sure if he or this was real. But as your head lobbed to the side you stared at him. His warm hand held you closer as his eyes darted back and forth along the street. The scent of sweet cream, and sour on his beige jacket was faint but you still picked it up.

You managed a faint, feeble whisper around swollen lips, “Thank you.”

He gave you an aggravated nod and then directed you further.

“Thank me when I can get your goddamn blood outta my uniform. What kid wants to buy ice from a man with blood on his sleeve?”

Your reddened eyes, blurry and shaking, turned back to see a large truck. It was plastered with images of ice cream that kids loved. He directed you to the back, he opened the hatch and suddenly you were hit by cool air falling from the interior.

“Get in, I know someone around the corner here that can help you.” he said and helped you lift yourself up into the inside. “No cops.” he added and joined you, slamming the door shut.

“Unless, that’s what you want?” he asked.

A small space, made even tinier by two, you hobbled to the counter furthest from the sliding window. You shook your head furiously. “No..no pigs.” You said hoarsely.

“Good,” he said, with his middle finger he pushed his glasses back over the bridge of his nose. You leaned back against the cool surface of the truck and stared at the man. His face ducked in and out of focus as you slowly slid down to the floor.

He grumbled something under his breath and stepped over to the serving window before returning to you. He straddled your legs and then squatted down as he rolled a damp cloth within the palm of his hand.

You watched him seemingly watch you back. His eyes drifted down your face, over the lumps and scrapes around your lips, to the gash at the base of your throat.

The man licked his lips, tongue softly skirted the edge of his bushy mustache. Finally he glanced at your hands, broken nails and all.

“-Put up a fight, huh?” he asked quietly. You said nothing, your mouth was dry, tongue thick in your mouth you shrugged instead. The man put a knee down and leaned over into what looked like a deep rectangular freezer. He rummaged a minute, he unwrapped something and threw the plastic somewhere on top.

When he returned back to you, he held out a long orange ice cream, smoky with cold and thrust it towards you to take.

“I’m Robert.” he said as you took it. “Kids around here call me Mr. Freezy.”

A slick back haired man, smooth skin impaired by a series of scars dotting his cheek clicked the heel of his loafer.

“Eh, thanks for the tip.” said the man. With a permanent, up-to-no-good expression he tossed the cream colored folder over to you.

“Why do they call you Sunshine?” he asked in a thick surly tone.

The representative for the local gun running mob demanded attention. But you ignored his question and picked up the folder. Another man, shorter and fatter, walked around the corner, into the small room you currently occupied. “She kills at night.” he heckled. “Brings the glory of a new day only to take it from’em.” he laughed.

The first man scoffed, shoved his hands into the pockets of his polyester slacks. “It doesn’t look like she can do-”

“Big Top isn’t going to kill himself. So do you want my assistance or not? ” you cut the first man off and then glared at the second, who gave you a curt nod.

You pulled your eyes off him and opened the folder.

“The last one got you pretty good huh?” asked the second man with a petty flare in his tone. Obviously he was eyeing the bruise around your cheek, and the lined scab splitting your bottom lip.

You wanted to pop off a smart-ass scoff as you etched the face and name of the person on the piece of paper. But then you remembered what happened after the last job. That went off without a hitch, clean, precise...you just let your guard down after. Shitty.

“Nope, I got this from my mother,” you laughed and tossed the closed folder back on the table. “She has a hell of a right arm.”

Your day time job was, for lack of a better word, repulsive. Plunging your hands back into the sink you could smell yourself. Sweaty, musty with the smell of hospital seeping out of your pores.

A nurse. A fucking great nurse. But would the administration recognize it? You yanked out a ball of paper towels to dry your hands and caught your reflection in the mirror.

“Nope,” you said to yourself with the pop of your lips.

Chunking the paper into the bin you walked over to your locker to grab your purse. End of shift, end of a work week, finally, and you swung on the strap over your jacket and walked out of the break room.

You passed the last guard on your way out of the double glass doors without much on your mind. A chilly breezy hit you while admiring the setting sun, your time to shine, and was met with a sight right out of your memories. Robert, the man with the ice cream truck, walked toward you while pulling the lip of his thin jacket up around his neck.

“Hey.” he said. “How are ya,” He scratched his fuzzy hairy chin while flicking a finger your way.

“How the fuck do you know where I work?” Your words come out rough around the edges, accusatory and hostel but he seemed to take it in stride. Robert’s long stringy hair was pulled back away from his neck, he gazed at you through the dirty lens of his glasses and smiled.

“Just came to check up on ya.” he said as the wind died down. Robert gave you a weak wave with his left hand while the other held the jacket at his neck. “Hey, can you eat?” he asked.

The grate near you burped up stale air from the subway as you checked out the traffic of the main street. You rolled your eyes and stared back at him.

“I guess.” you said, still eyeing him carefully.

Later that night..

“I swear to God-- his fucking eyes were as big as donuts.” cackled Robert, he bit down on the cigarette between his teeth and scooted in closer. You didn’t press him away or pull away either. The last hour he spoke little of what he did for a living, and focused more on you. That was rare. It was different than most around here, so you let this mysterious man keep his secrets, for now.

Robert’s thighs nestled against the back of your stool and your knee as he breathed in hard. He pulled the cigarette out as he spoke. “Big as fucking donuts,” he exhaled the pearl colored smoke, slow, passed the side of your head.

He was the complete opposite of the man of your dreams. He was cruddy as he sat there and smiled like a shark about to devour its prey, with leftover crumbs falling off his beard. No feeling there in his eyes, dangerous, ya that was the word for the current feeling channeling through you as he leaned in further. He was rough, frayed for sure in appearance, but you didn’t mind. You ignored it, and thought parts of him were even cute.

He suddenly snapped to and snuffed his cigarette out on what was left of your hot dog.

“What’d ya say we get out of here,” he said.

You swallowed the last of your coke and put the cup down on the table. You shrugged, blithely grinned, while his hand behind made its way up the valley of your spine.

Robert leaned in closer, tipping the stool forward on two rickety legs. “-Come on,” he chided, “Let’s have a little fun.”

Something about him was irresistible, bilious and hostile, but honest and it was seductive.

He didn’t even make it to his place before Robert pulled off on a side street between a deli and a laundry. You glanced around confused as he stood up after putting it in park. He shoved the keys into his pocket and grabbed you by the hand.

“This can’t wait,” he mumbled under his breath. He knocked open the gate partitioning the back of the truck from the front and guided you inside.

He was all about the moment, whether it was planned or not he ceased upon it. He ignored your gasp and shoved you on top of the nearest deep freezer. Panting already, he tugged at the edges of your dress uniform. It concerns you, his intimidating behavior, but it slid away with the sensation of his tongue slipping into your mouth. Tasting like smoke and pickle relish Robert tore through your hose. He scraped his smooth beard over your chin, nudged more urgently with his lips upon. No one had ever tasted you like this, fascinated by his lack of patience you responded heatedly by swirling yours with his.

By the time you wrapped your arms around his shoulders he was in you. Thick, rough fingers pushed into you without remorse. And when you yelped he chuckled low under his breath and slithered a third finger inside of you.

“That’s it girl,” he smiled, “Let me fill this cunt.”

You kissed him again and strained to stay focused on the pendulum swing of sensations in your belly. The push and pull, the need and resisting of satisfaction made you grimace in want. Your hips thrust forward as you clung to his shoulders.

And just when you felt it, the climax coming to an end Robert’s low voice tunneled through your head.

“This pussy got raped in the alley didn’t?” he drawled low and swiped over your clit. Your eyes shot open. Robert wasn’t smiling, dark bottomless eyes stared back at you.

He curled his fingers, pulling a long moan from your throat. “It did, didn’t it?” he asked again and fucked you harder with his fingers.

Your eyes grew wider with his increasing depravity. Finally he smiled, wicked and demeaning, your arms dropped from his neck and palmed the top of the freezer to get away.

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere little girl.” he whispered dangerously. Robert pulled his fingers from you, he grabbed the back of your neck pulling you in closer. His other hand fumbled his belt, his button, finally his zipper while he wrangled your hips back to his.

Before he had a chance to really get a hold, you slapped him across the face. He matched you by back handing you into a dizzying sob. He let go of your neck, jerked your entrance back to him and his hard cock standing at attention. You clawed at his arm when it returned but he didn’t stop.

Robert was committed now. He sank into your wet slit and forced your legs over his arm as he clasped his fingers behind your neck. He mashed you into a compact form, legs waving with every pump, your head and neck at a breaking angle he took you.

“Does he feel bigger than me?” he asked angrily.

When you didn’t speak he smacked you again until you did.

“Who?” your voice gurgled out.

“I’m not fucking stupid,” Robert’s hand quickly went back to the nape of your neck and knotted his fingers tightly.

“The bad man, baby.” He grunted. “Did he fill you up like this?” Robert moaned as he stepped closer to ram into you harder.

“Did he dump his load?” he panted.

Your hands finally moved to his shoulders and tried to push him off. It didn’t work either and only seemed to drive him to handle you harder. Robert’s fingers slipped around into a strangling hold. His eyes bore into you, urging you to play along in his sick game.

He rattled your head with a sharp shake. “Answer me,” he threatened. His voice was low and perilous, and it sat inside you.

Fuzzy thoughts floated around your air deprived brain. He was deep, sloshing your wetness and disrupting your attempts to resist the growing feeling.

Carelessly you swiped at his arms to lessen the hold. “Don’t chicken out now,” he said through grinding teeth.

He shook you violently and forced you to take the last inches of him without recourse. “Now, fucking answer me bitch,” he demanded.

An unrestrained whimper tumbled from your lips as you struggled to speak. “You’re bigger…” you groaned.

You clenched around him, sinfully, and watched him savor your answer by rolling his eyes back and shutting his lids. He grinded into you harder rubbing against your clit. One minute you were scared out of your mind and the next an explosion of pleasure burst from your battered cunt.

Robert opened his eyes and stared at you with his glasses sliding down to the tip of his nose.

“I’m going to cum in you.” he hissed the threat between his teeth. “Now you’ll be my filthy whore.”

Robert bent over, your legs spread wide for him, thumping harder, deeper into you. His eyes never left yours as he hoisted himself up with a knee on the edge of the freezer. He forced your head into an unnatural angle as he pressed it between the freezer and the wall. He fucked you hard, relentlessly as he watched your expression of shock and shame.

“Pretty girl,” he rasped on a breath. “You’re my whore now, no one else -- do you hear me?”

“I fuck this cunt from now on. It belongs to me...I claimed it.”

His slimy tongue slid out between white shiny teeth and his fuzzy beard. “I fuck this cunt,” he whispered close to your lips.

Despite your pitiful whimpering noises, Roberts hips shuddered against you and stalled out completely as he buried himself. He groaned low and turned into a raging extended growl. He convulsed with short, sharp thrusts as his mouth hung open.

“Fuuuck…” he stuttered out between jerks. “God, fuck, damn.” he moaned.

Robert released your throat, his clammy hands held himself up on the surface of the freezer. You tried to pull yourself up with his softening cock still inside of you. But Robert only smiled down at you, he pushed his glasses back up with a finger and chuckled.

“You’ve got a fucking great pussy,” he complimented.

Pushing on his chest he finally slid out of you and staggered back while tucking his wet cock back into his pants.

“That wasn’t a fucking lie,” he announced. He zipped up his pants and watched you hobble off the freezer. And when you looked back at him he shook his finger at you.

“You’re fucking mine.” he reminded with a satisfied smile. “Don’t fucking forget it.”

Your heart raced as the head rolled off the bed with a squishy slap and thump. The room smelled like iron and freshly severed skin, you stood back, completely naked and observed your hard work, with a crooked smile.

You teetered the ax between slick bloody hands and turned its sharp end down to the soaked carpet. Dry lips skimmed under your tongue while laboring breaths puffed out of your chest. You looked down at the top of the man’s still twitching, still bleeding body.

Vacant eyes stared up at you in a last expression of terror.

Without much more thought of who he had been and why he had to die you leaned the ax to the side of the bed. You grabbed a thick plastic black bag from underneath the mattress. Stepping carefully, lightly, you lifted the head by the crown of wiry gray hair and junked it in. You twisted it up, knotted the end and placed it into your duffel bag.

Not much emotion passed over your expression, indifference was one thing. But what you had evolved way surpassed the disregard for life, this was a job. And like a job, you played your part- muscle memory, a skill of knowing when and how to wrap it up was something you excelled at.

After you finished washing your body in the shower you made quick work of scrubbing the motel room down. The doorknobs, the bathroom, the ax, you grabbed your old clothes and placed them in a separate plastic bag.

That’s when you saw flashing lights, glowing in the seal of the window from five stories down. The cold streak of fear of being caught went straight to your head. Don’t panic, you told yourself. This was the shitty side of town, it could have been for any reason they were there.

You didn’t bother to look out the window. You picked up the bag, grabbed a fresh cloth and used it to open the door. It wasn’t until you were half way down the hall toward your own room that the cops came barreling down the hallway.

Damn, maybe the target had been louder than you thought? And how did they get here so fucking fast?

Inches away from the knob of your motel door, you pressed your body and the bag into the hallway wall, all the while, slowly sliding toward your escape. Slinking in, you shut it quick and leaned against it. And for the first time in a while, you prayed that your face was as forgettable as the world made you feel.

Banging rattled behind you. Shaking up the tension crawling up your back you stepped away from the door. Another round of knocks and you hurriedly placed the bag into the nearby closet. You ruffled your hair, squeezed and twisted your thin blouse to make it look like you had just got up.

Slowly you answered the door while wiping your eyes tiredly. Cracking it to the face of a thin white man, short wisps of ash brown hair poked out around his cap.

“Pardon the--” the man began, his eyes floated over the state of your hair and clothes. “-for the intrusion. Sorry to wake you. I need to ask you some questions.”

You didn’t open the door further and simply nodded. “I don’t know anything.” you sleepily croaked.

The cop stood up straighter, pulling all that staunch righteous in, at the fact of being denied. Never taking his eyes off you he cleared his throat. “There’s been a murder four doors away from you. I’m going to need your information.”

“No.” you said quickly and attempted to shut the door in his face. But the cop caught the edge.

“I’m trying to be nice here.” he bared his teeth as he spoke. “Give me your name and address now. “

The vaguely threatening tone had you nodding. “Fine.” you said and he stepped back, he pulled out a small pad and wrote down your name and address quickly.

Before he could say “We’ll be in touch,” you slammed the door in his face.

One of the most powerful men in the district crossed the busy street. He ignored the shuffle of on-coming cars, in fact, he strode right in front of crawling traffic. A homeless man jangled a cup as he set foot on the sidewalk, he bullshitted a quick no and then walked into the hospital like he owned it.

It wasn’t hard to spot the admissions station. A tight lipped smirk curved the corner of his lips as he unbuttoned the hounds tooth bazer and dipped his hands into khaki slacks. He demanded the whereabouts of the witness haphazardly scribbled on a napkin. He flashed his badge when it looked like the woman behind the tall counter hesitated. When she still dared not to tell him, he used his canon, the pinpoint glare of hell-fire he reserved for court.

Fuck, he didn’t want to be here. He continued to stare at the strawberry blond woman, she didn’t offer much resistance after he threatened her. He didn’t want to have to do the local force’s job either. But here he was, blue eyes scanning the piles of paperwork without much intent, it was an instinct, a habit of bring justice he couldn’t shake even outside the profession.

“She’s at the end of her shift on floor eleven, mister.” the woman squeaked.

He turned from the desk just as she called at him once more. “Do you want me to let her know you are coming Mr. Barber?” she asked.

Andy Barber turned on the slick bottom of his brick colored loafer. “And let her know I’m coming?,” he said back and continued to the elevator. “No thanks.” he said over his shoulder.

Once again, you gathered up your bag from the locker. Praise for the next few days off was celebrated by throwing tattered pantie hose into the garbage on your way out. You took a long sip off your covered lukewarm coffee and walked passed the nurses station to the elevator.

An orderly waved you off as you stood there waiting, taking weak sips from your coffee as the doors opened. A few got off but one remained, a familiar looking man.

Parted dark brown hair appeared impeccable against the checkered jacket. He was leaned back and propped up with his hands gripping the metal handrail along the back. A businessman, you considered but when his eyes met yours and stuck, your stomach dropped.

Ignoring the instinct to turn and use the stairs you stepped into it. His eyes stayed on you, scratching up your back as you pressed the button to the first floor.

“Andy Barber, district attorney’s office.” he announced and you froze inside, this was going to be a slow ride down.

You stood there emotionless, inscrutable even as he approached on your left. He turned toward you washing your senses in his heady cologne.

“It’s been almost a week and half, you’ve been hard to reach. I’m here to get your statement.”

“No comment,” you replied.

“Now why is that? You have something to hide?”

Quickly you turned your head toward him.

“I have nothing to hide.”

Andy pushed his hands into his pockets and tilted his head curiously. Your eyes roamed over his bushy beard, the rise of his cheek bones, but his eyes- damn he wasn’t a dead ringer for your rescuer.

“What did you hear that night? The closest rooms were empty until yours.”

“I was asleep.” you answered shortly.

“Sleep?”

“Then why did one of the officer’s say they saw you going into your room?”

Fuck, your mind blared.

“That’s my business and has nothing to do with whatever shit went down that night.”

Andy switched gears, he took a couple steps toward you, directly in front of you.

“Then let's hear it. What business did you have?” he asked.

Andy stared at you with very little regard for space or boundaries. With two blazing blue eyes he burned his will into you. He wasn’t just flexing his authority, he pressed in, slowly but deliberately forcing you to take a step back.

“I have nothing to say!” you bit back, but your footing was lost and with it Andy smiled. God damn, he looked like Robert when he did that. And his mouth, buried underneath a perfectly trimmed beard matched his too. Only thing really missing were the moles, Robert had a few more down his neck than this guy.

“I think you have plenty to say,” he said with a bright smile. The door slid open behind him, and you walked around him. “And I’m going to find out what it is,” he added, whispering into your ear as you quickly strode away.

You weren't hard to pin down. Andy parked his crown victoria and dropped his hands into his lap. Rows of brick apartment buildings lined and crowded around the occasional shop along the street.

He checked the paper for your address and glanced back out through the windshield that read that exact number. Couldn’t have been more than a one bedroom loft by the looks of it. One story above a Polish dive, Andy watched for a few minutes before he decided to get out of the car.

But just as he opened the door a van sped by that caused him to slam the door back shut. It parked just in front of him, but it wasn’t a van. Stickers, bright and childlike were plastered all over it around the word ‘Mr. Freezy’.

“Fucking cock sucker,” he hissed under his breath. And once again he opened his door but paused when the man who drove it walked from around the front of it.

Shoulder length hair, wavy like he remembered with the bottle cap glasses that tortured his dreams. Images of a boy torturing ants with the glasses off his face flashed through his thoughts. The strut, the man walked like he owned the street and every life on it, had Andy’s eyes glued to the figure crossing in front of oncoming traffic.

The man flipped off the car and continued across, Andy’s body tensed as he leaned forward and gripped the steering wheel. His eyes only moved from the man when he saw you, walking in front of the diner. He swallowed hard and hoped that this long haired freak wasn’t coming to see you.

His stomach turned, felt like his epiglottis hung nearly down his throat as you smiled at him.

Andy groaned and spied the smirk growing around the man's lips. “Fuckin’ Robert.” he grumbled.

The case was pretty much closed, and labeled cold and quickly dismissed by the district attorney for lack of evidence. It was bullshit, swept under the rotten rug that the mayor stood on while snorting his line of coke. Andy knew the odds of finding the killer, the real piece of shit that did it, was small at best.

But that wasn’t really on his mind at the moment as he stood on the other side of your street. He casually thumbed at the folder tucked under his arm and remembered it had been years since he had looked at its contents. In the dark and a bit buzzed, near a couple of barren bushes, Andy gazed up at the light of your unshuttered window. He had to know you were alone this time. He looked both ways over the street and decided that maybe your visitor was a no-show tonight.

At least he hoped that was the case, but he didn’t care much. He had been watching your home for long enough to know you usually came home right after work. Except on Wednesdays when you shopped at the store down the street. And the man, Robert, arrived when he wanted. No rhyme or reason to his visits so Andy took the chance. He crossed the street, and from his observations he also knew that your buzz box was broken, as was the lock to the entrance door.

He pulled it open and was promptly hit in the face with the fragrance of onions and cabbage then he stepped lightly up the stairs towards your door. The way up to your door channeled perfectly the sounds of the kitchen next door. Maybe his footsteps were masked, he wasn’t a natural thrill seeker, he enjoyed the chase sure. In court it offered a thrill of using knowledge to bury his opposition in humiliation. But this was different. It tickled something inside of him and wiggled a need he wasn’t sure what to do with.

Andy banged on the door, he pursed his lips tight and reminded himself to relax. He didn’t mix words when you opened the door, eyes bright, beautiful with a warm smile across your thick smooth lips. Wearing nothing but a yellow tube top and a skirt, Andy forced his eyes to focus on your face.

“Why are you with Robert Pronge?” he asked harshly.

Your eyes and face hardened on contact and you attempted to shut the door. Andy stepped over the threshold, he knew that this was crossing the line, he knew that it was satisfying too. He grabbed the lip of the door and slapped at your hand when you tried to close it on him.

“What the fuck are you doing! Get the fuck out of here!”

Your harsh shout landed on deaf ears, Andy slammed the door behind him and grabbed one of your arms.

“I told you what I did that night! Get out of my fucking house!” You yelled.

Andy jerked you further into the apartment. “Listen to me,” he insisted and shook you slightly.

“That’s a dangerous man, he’s done terrible shit. You want to get caught up in that? He’s a fucking murder!”

You stopped struggling. “Why do you care?” you asked.

“He’s not right...in the head. I just haven’t caught him in the act yet. Listen, I’ve known him my entire life.”

Andy released you slowly and took a deep breath. “That’s my brother, my twin.” He held up the folder and then thrust it into your hands.

“Look at it,” he said nodding to your small table. You eyed him for another minute, glanced at your door and stared at him again. “Please.” he added quietly with his breath smelling like hard liquor.

“I’ll give you ten minutes and I’m going to start screaming.” you said.

Andy nodded and followed you to the other side of the table. He didn’t sit like you did, he hovered as you opened the folder.

It looked like the contents of a case file. A sheet of paper with a timeline dating from the sixties covered an image, a photo. You flipped over the paper to reveal the dismembered parts of a body crammed into a hole.

Revolted, you stared up at Andy in disgust. “What the fuck is this? Barber?”

“His victims,” answered Andy. Irritated with having to stop and explain every detail he stepped closer, and began to flip over the pages as he spoke.

“This one was a kid we knew, Bobby hated him- he was fourteen.” He grabbed a few between his fingers and flipped them over. He pointed at the photo of a woman's face, pretty with black curly hair and a beautiful smile. “Her? She was the waitress Bobbie admired for all the wrong reasons. She pushed him off and this was the result.”

“Okay alright.” you scoffed and flipped to the end.

Andy hesitated, a pitiful sharp sigh puffed around his words. “That was my wife and son. They were killed eight years ago…”

“You think he did this?”

“The investigation concluded it was due to faulty break lines. But I know better…”

You suppressed a smirk at the pain in his eyes, and hoped he didn’t see it. You reprimand your antics by staring at the photo. It was grounding to the proclivity you had to cross the wires of sympathy and joy. Death, it seems more real, more permanent than life itself. But your calculating side, couldn’t help in thinking about the pesky consequences of leaving a trail as Robert had done. Sloppy.

“Wait,” you asked quietly and shook your head-baggage away. “Why is your last name Barber?” you inquired genuinely, although, you always did your work.

Andy shoved his hands deep in his pockets and gazed at you thoughtfully. “He’s using our mother’s maiden name, clever..”

He nudged your bare shoulder causing you to react with a flinch. Andy knelt down at your side and put his hand on the back of your chair. The weight of his stare, not on your face, but your body burned your skin to the point you refused to meet his gaze.

You wondered how this family tempered its crazy. He was an attorney, an authority and here, in your kitchen, he was watching you like a starving man.

“If you have any information,” The skin of your back prickled with heat. Turn him in? You thought and still refused to react to Andy’s offer.

“I can use it to put this monster away…” he asked, more needy than you liked. So you turned to him and attempted to shove him off his feet.

It didn’t work. Instead of falling backwards Andy grabbed you by the wrist and with him you fell forward. Your ears rang, heart raced up into your throat when you continued to wrestle away.

And when you managed to get to a standing position, half with Andy grabbing your waist and your arms reaching for the nearby couch. He wouldn’t let go.

Andy couldn’t let go. It was something about you. Whether it was the dark amusement in your eyes at the news of his family’s demise, or the hilarity of you actually loving Robert enough to protect him. It split his nerves, your gall pissed him off to the point he no longer struggled with restraint.

And when he got you back to the floor your screams tore through him and the space around him. He forced you belly first on the cold linoleum, your neck pinched in the crease of his arm and you no longer screamed.

Something inside you suddenly froze, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeve you didn’t move. Sweat dripped down to the end of his nose as he fought to take a complete breath. His hips laid on the tops of your ass while his growing chub became wedged in the tight mounds underneath.

Andy went right for it, without really thinking. Fuck that. He fumbled with his belt, while slowly grinding his now raging hard on into you. He didn’t say a word when he pushed your legs apart with his bony knees or as he yanked your panties to the side.

Still digging on his sleeve your mind tunneled back to Robert. With his hot nicotine breath simmering on your skin, his thick cock shoved up inside you without remorse. This man, he really was his brother.

And when Andy pushed the head in, passed your tight entrance, they felt related too.

Andy’s free hand grabbed at your right wrist and twisted it down onto the floor underneath his. He pressed his fingers in between yours while he panted rhythmically in your ear.

Such a quiet fuck. Not like Robert, at all. When he took you, he made sure you were aware - terrified yes, but completely coherent when fucked you hard.

Andy’s hips slowly bucked and bobbed over your ass as he squeezed your hard. “I’m sorry,” he apologized with a soft grunt.

He kept saying it with every thrust like he was apologizing to the air more than you.

Sweet, you felt so slick and smooth around the girth of his dick. Andy blurred the lines, convinced himself that this was right and you wanting Robert was wrong. Never mind about your struggle, and never mind you were a raging tease by the way you were dressed. You had made eyes at him. You wanted this.

But he still managed to whisper another soft ‘sorry’ when his thrusts grew more ragged. And he felt justified when you didn’t struggle anymore, that your ‘nos’ turned to moans.

Fuck, you were a complete slut, thought Andy and grabbed for your right shoulder. Your head was still captured in the crook of his left arm, slowly he leaned you that direction, pressed his fingers into your shoulder and fucked you harder.

Flashes of your face, your smile burst into his want. And then he burst, with a long painful moan Andy came inside you in a haze of seeing his brother’s face slowly melt away in his mind.

Still with the taste of booze in his mouth Andy let you go. On his knees, he put himself away and stood up.

“Fuck…” he said regretfully.

When you looked up at him from the floor he was running his hands through his hair while pacing.

You managed to pull your skirt back over your ass and sat, still watching him whisper to himself. Andy issued another round of apologies, after that he didn’t look at you again. Quickly, he walked over to the table, scooped up the folder with the photos of blood shed.

“I--I should have never come here…” he muttered, and leaving you there he walked out of the apartment.

A thick heavy boot stepped off the sidewalk and right into a puddle of gray runoff. It was joined by the other, Robert craned his neck up to your window.

It was the shadows that caught his eyes, plural. He had told you not to have company- ever.

So he waited around the corner, a perfect angle to watch.

A short haired man with a thick beard mirroring his own brought him out of the shadows. Robert took another step, this time out of the puddle as he watched the man stand, from what he assumed was the floor.

He hadn’t seen his brother's face in eight years until this moment.

“What the shit is he doing here,” hissed Robert into the dark.

His mind raced as his eyes rolled back to the blankness of his lids he remembered Andy’s curiosity. How he always stayed in his business and somehow always barged into his life. Robert couldn’t take his eye off the ball for a minute, he thought and looked back up at the window.

This time his attention jerked down to the door of your building being shoved open. Even from his distance, he could see Andy’s forehead covered, and glistening with sweat. He continued to watch his brother until he disappeared into a crowd of drunk men at the end of the street.

Robert brought his gaze back up to the window. You were there, staring at the table and hunched over it. No expression crossed your face and still you pulled him in. The curve of your face - that turned smooth, always, under his touch became his focus.

He wondered what you told Andy.

And he was going to find out.

The smoke hung heavy under the low ceiling, strobing lights of blue, green and yellow flashed through them like a murky spot light. Signalling sex, raw consumption of liquor and passion you leaned back on the bar and observed. The beat bounced through the air and vibrated through your skin as you sucked hard on the straw. With the alcohol pulsing through your veins, the sticky sweet drink coated your tongue as you wobbled gently to the music. Bodies rocked with the music, men swayed, women gyrated to the beat while you sat alone on your stool.

It was the happy ending of yet another long work week. Blood soaked clothes, gloves, poking the unruly receivers and that was just your side hustle. And Robert, you had decided to let that lay for a bit. Ya, he was a murderer, but what were you? Your silence with him and his equally fucked up brother had given you the space to think.

But all of the peace you had gathered was striped away in an instant. All of it fell to the side as your eyes landed on the man casually dancing as he walked, Robert. A fist bump here, and elbow jutting out in rhythm with a flirtatious smile to whoever would look.

You placed the drink back on the bar. Time to go.

It had been a week since you last saw him. Fuck. Not like he hadn’t tried to see you. At your job, at the local shop, where you knew damn well he lived nowhere near, he showed up and showed out.

Whatever he was, he was a risk to your way of life. He had to go, that is, unless you could mold him to your life. But here he was, his glasses flashed and reflected the blast of color from the lights. His head was in your direction and you absolutely knew he was staring.

Pissed off by your space being cramped you hopped the stool. Ignoring his approach you walked toward the exit and utilized the change of songs, crowds of people left the dance floor. And you were lost in it, hopefully, he wouldn’t pursue.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Hey!” called Robert, gaining closeness.

You were already across the street, walking like you were out pacing a fire, you dug in your purse for your keys.

“Hey bitch!”

Robert’s voice echoed around you. And before you made it to your car you finally became really aware of your surroundings. His truck, under the street light, the pale blue words stood out in the dark Mr. Freezy.

A dirty cloth coated your mouth. Smelling like oil but sweet too you breathed in deep in an attempt to yell.

“Shush,” whispered Robert. His body clung to you from behind as he dragged you toward his truck. “I fuckin told you. Didn’t -”

In a last ditch effort, you made a fist, struck down and aimed for his balls.

“Cut that shit out!” he hissed.

No fresh air, the sweetness filled your nose and mouth.

“That’s it, take it in cunt.” his voice smeared in your mind. Robert let go of your waist, your legs buckled so he pushed his body on top yours against the closed door of his ice cream truck. Another deep breath, and your eyes stuck to the image of him grabbing at the handle. It was the last thing you remembered seeing of the outside world.

The first thing you saw when your eyes blinked open was a bundle of rope. It sat coiled in the corner of a dark room. Another blink, a few feet from it, a stained bat, what looked like a crow bar, and other long objects. But closer to your head, with another wipe to your eyes for clarity, a flat piece of wood. Was that a paddle?

“Finally, it’s been hours. I was beginning to worry.”

Roberts' voice, confident but aloof, joined the tat-tat of dripping water. You laid, face first on the dingy cement floor. A bulb from above was the only light shining in Robert’s work space.

It had to be a place for his blood thirst. You turned over on your side to get a better look. Meat hooks, dangerously clean hung from the roof, the room had a basin in the far corner and over the only entry thick clear plastic swayed.

It was the only place he never shared with you. And you had made it.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked.

You hadn’t realized you were smirking and quickly stopped.

“You think this is a fucking joke?” he jeered. Robert came full view after he stepped over your body and knelt down near your chest on one knee. He was naked except for his glasses and a pair of black, elbow length gloves.

A puff of white smoke cascaded from his lips and then ashed the cigarettes near your head. “I see you met my holier than thou brother.”

Robert scoffed to himself as he stared at you.

“I caught up with that sack of shit. Scared the shit out of his ass,” Robert laughed this time with glee in his eyes.

“He told me he got to dip into that perfect pussy of yours.”

You continued to watch him, never leaving your eyes from his face as he spoke.

“Also told me it wasn’t exactly consensual too.” Robert bit his lip as if to say ‘sorry about that’.

With a gloved hand he caressed your face. “I don’t like to share normally. If he would have been another man I would have killed him. Andy’s my brother. Whatever he does, I’ll still love him. Whatever threatens us, I’ll kill.”

Robert’s hand skimmed down your neck and he scooted closer. His balls and dick shook with the sudden movement they were nearly to your face. But you didn’t move, if there was a heart in you it might have raced. But you lived for this, craved the chaos that came with dealing with Robert.

“I want one last dip too. You know, for old times sake.”

He pulled hard on the last of his cigarette, junked it and grabbed you by the head. Smoke wafted over your mouth as he kissed you. His tongue poked and slid into your mouth tasting of nicotine.

“I’m not going to tell anybody.” you managed to mumble through the kiss. Robert pulled back, he appeared sad, if that were possible.

He seemingly relaxed at your words as he let you go. But the calm didn’t last, Robert smacked you hard across the face and pushed his body on top of yours. It jarred you, took you by surprise to the point that when Robert finally was inside of you, it was his grunts that brought you back.

He shoved his gloved hand over your mouth shutting out your nonexistent cries. It was a reflex. Robert couldn’t get off unless he thought you really didn’t want it. Something about needing the fight, craving it to the point of drowning out all your protests.

And when he bothered to look into your eyes he found zero fear. Robert grabbed one of your legs, twisted it and yanked it high hoping his deep digging would bring out a cry from you.

Nothing.

And that was when he tried a new tactic. He grabbed your throat with two hands and squeezed. That was it. Your eyes popped open wide as your mouth gaped.

Fear. And it made him rock hard.

Robert had sworn off breeding. But now, watching you take him whole, he couldn’t help but think about how much better it would be to see you big. What does a brother compare to the offspring of you, his captive? He pumped harder as his head tipped back to relish in the sensations of your wet pussy.

“Ugh,” Robert growled. “Just thinking about you big with my kid,”

Your eyes rolled to the side and you struggled to breath. His voice warped with the rush of blood to your ears.

“Maybe I shouldn’t kill you…”

Weakly, your hand left the black plastic around his wrist. You chanced another glance at him, blurry, but he was fiercely pistoning, long hair wild, his glasses nearly off his face as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m goin’ take that cunt every single day.”

Your fingers wrapped around the handle of the padded. Robert came, slamming his hips into you with every long hiss. And with every once of power you could summon, you took the paddle and swung it at his head.

The moment it connected with the side of Robert’s face, he pulled out of you and fell to the cement floor. On your feet, you hit him again for good measure and planted your feet.

Both hands gripped the handle like a pro and stared down at him. “Mr. Freezy?” you shouted with knowing.

“Ya I know all about it.” you pointed out. “I know you.”

Robert gazed up at you with wide eyes, without his glasses on you could get a great look at the emotion rolling over his face. His lips moved like he was going to speak but stopped and blanched.

“You think you’re the only one?” You laughed at him.

Robert grabbed his glasses and put them back on while never letting his eyes leave you.

“What do you think you know?” he asked quickly with his blood running hot.

“Who do you think got rid of Big Top? The motel?” you quipped.

You let Robert stand up. He rolled his shoulders and pushed his stringy hair out of his sweaty face.

“Only one woman ‘round here doing dirty work that I’ve heard of.” he scoffed. “You aren’t Sunshine.”

Robert pointed to the floor accusingly. “You think she would let me have my way with her?”

“From where I’m standing you’re the one with a knot on his head. Seems to me I’m the one who had my way with you.”

The ignorant smile growing on Robert's face fell hard. He remembered the lack of fear in your eyes, the way your cunt pooled with wet around his cock. Damn.

You allowed Robert to move to the nearby counter. He yanked his clothes off and quickly got dressed as he continued to watch you handle the paddle.

“So what about that first day we met?” he asked, pulling on his shoes.

“That was a mistake. Collateral damage with being a woman on the shitty side of town.” You tossed the paddle, the clatter drew Robert’s eyes to the floor.

“I was attacked after a job.” you confessed.

Robert looked at you again. “Prove it.” And walked past you toward the plastic curtain.

You followed suspiciously, but confidently through the curtain. Within was a smaller area, with more hooks hanging from the metal rafters. And on those hooks hung two men. Like observing a stack of books, or a batch of flowers, your eyes roamed over their bodies without much grim fascination.

“Help me get rid of these things,” he said with his back turned toward you. Robert clanged a few long knives as he gathered them up.

He turned around and tossed a pair of long black gloves into your chest. You caught them easily and went about putting them as he watched. Robert stepped forward and handed you the end of one of the blades.

You glanced at the thick blade, it was blotchy with rusted patches and not nearly as shiny as you liked them. “Got anything sharper?” you chuckled.

“Don’t be an asshole,” he replied as you took it.

Robert watched you turn on your heel toward the nearest dead naked body. He knew you were still dripping with his cum as you surveyed the mobster. Fuck that was hot, he thought. Robert began to imagine a life with you, killing for you too.

You grabbed one of the legs, hitched it under your arm and began to cut into the lifeless flesh over the hip joint.

Robert Pronge had truly fallen in love.

#Robert Pronge #Mr Freezy #black!reader

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