#sighs at fuzzy tumblr resolutions

[icys-junkyard]

another comic page, another chance to bully volo

adaman has been selected as roadtrip sacrifice because dialga is this player's preferred legendary and they want to make it his problem

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

Resolution - BTS CEO DRABBLE PT 3

So I started this tumblr thinking I would post nothing and now I’ve posted three things in the last 24 hours, what was meant to be a one shot now has three parts lol. I didn’t think the second part was good enough so I’m hoping this part is x

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The doorbell rings an hour too early, but no one stands at the door when you open it... weird. Until you glance down to see the white box wrapped in purple ribbon. Taking it into your apartment you unwrap the bow and open the box, gasping at the beautiful black dress inside with a little note attached “wear me tonight?”

The butterflies in your stomach caused you to giggle, you try to settle your nerves as you get ready for your first date with the seven men that ruled your heart.

You’re finished getting ready far too early and now you pace the apartment in anticipation, what if it all goes wrong? What if they decide this was all a mistake? What would you do then, to dangle this hope in front of you and take it away would crush you.

Your nerves get the better of you, and the little butterflies turn into stinging bees, causing you to clutch your stomach in pain. Maybe you should call it off before you ruin it all.

In your negative headspace you don’t hear the light knocks on the door, 15 minutes too early to be the boys, but your ears catch the soft murmur of Tae’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Flower?” He calls for you. You hear more voices in the background, as Jimin and Jungkook start to speak.

“Maybe she’s still getting ready?” Jungkook mumbled, his own nerves getting to him as he nibbles on his bottom lip in habit.

“Angel?” Jimin says louder than the other two, knocking on the door loudly, but you’re frozen in place. You want to do this, the universe knows you do but the doubt that clouds over you is suffocating you as you breathe. Why would they possibly want this?

“Angel, Jungkook’s going to knock down the door if you don’t open up!” Jimin calls in loudly, voice clear as bells ringing through your apartment, and you wince hoping your neighbours are out.

“You’re worrying us pretty flower,” Tae chimes in after him.

Would it be the worst thing if they broke down the door? You could always bill them for it and hide underneath the bed...

“Bunny?” It’s Jungkook’s voice that makes you move, you always had a soft spot for the maknae, he was younger than you and you felt very protective over him. “Noona, are you there?” He only ever called you formally when he felt vulnerable or insecure and your heart breaks a little for being the cause of it.

You open the door with downcast eyes, the excitement gone as the cloud that looms over you swallows you whole.

The boys share a look, Jungkook stepping forward to bring your face into his soft hands. You look up at his doe eyes, swimming with stars inside, and he offers you a reassuring smile. Jimin wolf whistles next to him and you cover your burning cheeks with your own palms.

“Hyung!” Jungkook tells him off for teasing you.

“Couldn’t help it,” Jimin laughs before taking your hands and tearing them away from your face. “What’s got my sinful angel looking so sad?”

He bends down until his eyes are level with yours, and you look away hesitantly, hoping he doesn’t see through you.

“You look beautiful flower,” Taehyung smiles as he brings out the bouquet he hid behind him.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, feeling awkward at the compliment. Jimin tuts in front of you.

“I asked you a question Y/n, what’s wrong?”

It’s your turn to nibble your lips self consciously, before Tae presses his thumb against them to stop you. You try not to look at him, you know how well he can read you, and you’re not proven wrong when he hums in thought.

“I think my good girl is having some bad thoughts,” he says in his signature timbre. Eyes narrowing as you shuffle uncomfortably.

“Naughty thoughts?” Jimin smirks teasingly.

“Hyung,” Jungkook sighs at his older friend’s antics, but even Tae laughs a little, boxy grin on show.

“Let’s talk business Y/n,” Jimin continues, as you frown at him in confusion. What did he mean by that? “We are business men after all,” he says as if it’s the most obvious fact on earth.

“We know how to strike a deal that benefits both parties, so let’s make a deal.” His hands are still clutching yours as he steps closer to you, not letting you step back from his new intimidating stare.

“Come to dinner with an open heart, and let us show you how much we want you,” he whispers against your lips and you stop breathing. “We’ve been waiting for this for a very long time angel, and my patience is running out.”

You’re forced to swallow nothing as his eyes penetrate through yours, trying to lean back to get some room to breathe, but that’s not what Jimin wants. He wants you to drown in them until you give in.

You nod meekly, as Tae smirks beside you both.

“Good girl.”

—————————————————————————

The car ride did nothing to calm your nerves, you leg bounced so much that Tae put a big palm over it to steady you but it had the complete opposite effect as you felt the heat from his hand travel through your skin.

When you arrived, Jimin opened the door like a gentleman before grabbing a hand and pulling you out a little impatiently, a cheeky apology leaving his lips as he didn’t let you break eye contact with him. He literally would not let you live tonight it seemed.

You’d visited the mansion before, for official business of course, but tonight it looked a little more intimidating than usual. You felt a palm on your back as Jungkook walked beside you, smiling softly at you, crinkling his nose in excitement. That eased you a little and you reflected his smile back at him.

Namjoon and Hobi stood at the enterance waiting to greet you, you offer them a small smile and they grin in return.

“Wow sunshine,” Hobi looks you up and down, the dress hugged you in all the right places and he reminded himself to thank Tae later for picking it out.

He takes you from Jungkook with an arm around your waist, and leaves a small peck on your lips unexpectedly. Your heart rate skyrockets to the moon, you feel his warmth breath as he sighs, rubbing his nose softly against yours, eyes closed in content.

“Sorry sunshine, couldn’t resist,” he chuckles softy. Namjoon clearing his throat breaks you out of the spell Hobi cast you under and you step away a little embarrassed, you can hear Jimin coo and you hope your ears haven’t turned red.

Ever the gentleman, Namjoon takes your hand in his before bowing down to kiss it. He turns it over so your palm faces the sky before pacing another kiss on your wrist. He hums as if contemplating a difficult equation, before pulling you closer and kissing your arm before the juncture of your elbow. When he looks up at you, you feel your breath hitch in your throat. You definitely weren’t going to survive tonight going by the predatory look in your gentle boss’ eyes. He moves closer still, before placing his lips on the exposed skin of your collar bone, lingering there longer than he had before, humming contently. The next kiss is on your throat and you find the hand he’s not holding grab onto him to ground your self. You can feel the smirk against your skin, and it makes you shudder in anticipation through the warmth that envelops you.

He still hasn’t kissed your lips yet, you think. So when he pulls away slightly you act before you realise what you’ve done. It’s Namjoon’s turn to freeze as your lips move against his, the pillows of your lips so soft he thought he was imagining it, until you pull away with a soft moan and he nearly growls.

“When you’re done, there’s dinner on the table getting cold,” Yoongi scoffs from the door. You’re pretty sure you could contest hell for how hot your cheeks are burning, and the cool night air does nothing to cool them, not with Yoongi looking at you with his feline eyes.

“Is kitten done playing with her new toys?” He teases and you choke on air, causing Jimin to laugh into the air and Jungkook to rub your back soothingly. Yoongi’s gummy grin shows itself at your reaction, he could hardly talk with the way he always played with you.

“Ya Yoongi, if you kill my beautiful girl before she even tastes my food I won’t be happy,” Jin yells from inside.

Yoongi rolls his eyes but holds out his hand for you, an unfamiliar softness in his eyes, one that was always there when he looked at you, but made sure you never saw until now. You couldn’t help the smile as you walked up to him, never annoyed for too long, not when he made this warmth spread across your chest. When you take his hand he looks at you like every star is held inside your eyes, soft smile gracing his features. He was never a fan of stargazing until now, he hated any form of eye contact but with you he could hold your gaze forever.

He places a kiss on your cheek first, looking at you to make sure you were okay. He might tease you until you felt your soul burn but he always made sure you were okay. He tucks in a loose stand of hair the wind decided to blow out of place, before looking at your lips, leaning in to rid the space between you both. You felt a fire ignite as his lips met yours, Yoongi was a closed book most of the time but he always silently told you what he was thinking. You could feel everything he wanted to say in the way his mouth moved slowly against yours, and it took your breath away.

“Yoongi stop hogging her!” Jin came through the door, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, no real anger behind his words. Yoongi groans as he pulls away, looking at you with a peaceful smile.

Softly he pushes you towards Jin, who wraps his arms around you expectedly.

“Hi princess,” he said unexpectedly, making you giggle. That one was new, and he loved the reaction it got out of you, biting swollen lips to stop yourself grinning.

“Hi handsome,” you blush as you try to flirt back, if they made you feel all fuzzy inside you could try to do it back right? You hear laughter behind you as Jin’s ears burn bright red and he stutters a little. You take the chance to kiss his perfect pillow lips and he swears he can feel steam leave his ears with how hot he’s feeling. Maybe he should call you dangerous girl instead.

“Dinners ready,” he says in a small voice, letting you go in a daze and walking through the house. It’s your turn to chuckle now.

“Told you she was having naughty thoughts,” you hear Jimin say to Tae, rolling your eyes at him as they walk past. As you move to follow them a hand on yours holds you back.

You look at Jungkook with confusion, his eyes are on the ground as he shuffles from foot to foot, waiting for his Hyungs to move into the next room.

He clears his throat before pouting, “Noona you’re really mean,” he whispers, and your heart beats with worry.

“Kookie?” You question, running a thumb across his cheek, as your palm held his face to look at yours. His cute pout contrasts the darkness in his narrowing eyes.

“I didn’t get a kiss Bunny,” he grumbles. You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop grinning at his behaviour but he can see what you’re trying to do, pout turning stern as his arms wrap around you, lifting you into the air.

“Kookie,” you squeal in surprise, but it’s his turn to grin. “Jungkook put me down!”

He shakes his head, “need a kiss first Noona.”

You sigh in faux annoyance, this demanding boy really was something else. You take his face in your palms, leaning down to kiss him. He drinks you in fervently, feeling your heat against his mouth. Your last doubts dissipate as the maknae grips your skin tighter, fighting with himself to pull away. He looks at you with hunger in his eyes, but as you smile at him, eyes full of love, he decides to smile back. He could wait a little longer to devour you, his eyebrows wiggle at the thought, making you giggle again, the sound music to his ears, calming his own heart down.

He starts walking towards where the others are waiting, still holding you in his grasp as if you weighed nothing.

“Kookie, I can walk,” you don’t know why you’re a giggling mess but it definitely has something to do with the man holding you. He hums dissaprovingly against your skin, nipping at your collar bone causing you to gasp. He was starving for you, a little taste wouldn’t hurt.

“Why do you need to walk Bunny?” He murmured against you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, enjoying how warm your skin was getting at his actions.

You both enter the dining room, where six other men lovingly await. Their eyes and smiles on you, and you wondered why you ever doubted anything in the first place.

[d-nghy-ck]

Discovery

Pairing: Haechan/Lee Donghyuck x Reader

Genre: Smut, switch!Haechan, inexperienced, praising, fingering, slight choking, wet humping, whiny flustered blushy Hyuck

Summary: Haechan accidentally stumbles upon your private blog and is excited by your secret thoughts of him. None of the confessions on your blog are intended for his eyes, yet here he is, scrolling wide-eyed through your lusty musings. 

Word Count: 4k

"Hyuck, does the recipe say one or two cups of sugar? Sorry, I forgot." Your words hang in the air with no response from your boyfriend in the next room over. Halting your cookie baking process, you wipe the flour off your hands and toss the towel on the kitchen counter with a huff as you stroll into your living room. 

When your eyes land on the view of your boyfriend sitting on the couch, leaning over your laptop placed on the coffee table, it's then that it hits you in a wave of sheer peril: the last tab you left open was your private blog filled with all of your unspoken thoughts of him. As you were both rather inexperienced, you decided to take your sexual journey slow as a couple while you got to know each other personally. Finding yourself with quite a few urges and no outlets, you turned to tumblr to vent all of your candid thoughts of what it would be like to do more than barely skim the surface of your desires, the most adventurous activity so far being that time you pulled him aside in the library and slipped your hand down his pants for a rushed handjob. None of the confessions on your blog were intended for his eyes, yet here he was, scrolling wide-eyed through your lusty musings. 

Donghyuck looks up from the screen immediately upon your entrance, his face flushed and his pants tented. Hastily he attempts to close out of the tabs in a panic and adjust his pants, but the damage has already been done. 

You can feel your face catch on fire with the amount of shame and humiliation you feel bubbling over the surface. "Which one did you read?" 

He raises his hands in surrender, exclaiming excuses rapidly. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to. I was going to look up something earlier and it was already open and -" 

"Just tell me." It's a wonder you can even speak considering how much embarrassment you feel. You wring your hands as you stand before him.

His eyes plead with yours before he resolutely answers, "I read... a few." 

His words are the final hit to your ego that cause you to shield your face in your hands, blindly bumping into the table before taking a seat by him on the couch, your palms over your eyes. A moment of silence hovers stagnant in the air between you before he places his warm hands over yours to pull them away. When he meets your eyes, he gives you his reassuring smile. It would have helped calm you down if it wasn't for the fact that his pants were still obviously tented in his lap. 

"Hyuck, which ones did you read?" Your eyes flicker again for a split second to his lap before returning to his eyes. He surely must have caught the fleeting glance.

Studying your expression carefully, he proceeds in a quiet murmur, speaking through a pout. "Well, there was this one where you wanted to suck on my neck, like leave hickies... and maybe receive some from me, I guess. Right?" He scratches behind his ear.

You stare at him speechlessly, calculating in your mind - if he's read that one, then he only read a couple of posts down your page. Maybe he only read the tame ones. Maybe you're safe.

His eyebrows raise as he opens his mouth, hesitating before asking, "Is that something you want to try?"

Studying your face, he notices that you cast your gaze anywhere but on him. You look down at the floor as you mumble, "I mean, I've never done it, but I want to try it some time." 

"You do? With me?" And then he's impulsively leaning in, hovering a moment as if considering his plan of action before pressing his lips a little too eagerly against yours. Every time he kisses you, you're reminded of the chemical affection you feel for this man, so easily swayed by his taste and touch. As you finally reconcile with the sensation, he proceeds to kiss his way down your jaw to your neck. Your heart immediately thrums in your chest in surprise as he gently sucks, sending tremors through you, but before you can even tend to the fire he's started, he leaves a fleeting kiss to the spot, now cold with spit in the absence of his warm, moist lips. You don't have time to react before his hand is at your thigh, palm flat against the skin, fingertips finding purchase. 

"There was also one where you said you're really sensitive on your thighs, here," he rubs his thumb in circles against your inner thigh, eliciting goosebumps, "and you wished I would touch you there." 

The affect of his fingertips dancing across the softness of your skin tempts you to melt on the spot. The way your breath picks up pace in reaction to him feeds his ego, resurrecting a sense of confidence within him. Despite attempting to hold on to any last bit of willpower, your vision goes fuzzy at his constant touch and you reach forward to feel him, anywhere, and find your hand running up his thigh with a mind of its own. Not able to keep your urges away any longer, you allow your hand to find its way to the hardness in his pants, resting its weight against him. With his breath tickling your ear, you palm and rub against him, feeling him twitch beneath your grasp. He chokes back a noise, attempting to mask it by clearing his throat. 

“You couldn’t have possibly gotten this just by reading those.” 

His eyes meet yours in such close proximity that you can practically see his eyes shake before he nods his head down, his wavy bangs covering his eyes as the tips of his ears turn red. “Well, there was one...” As you continue to trace the imprint of him through his pants, you feel him grow and strain against the fabric. He tries again to hold back a sound, this time in vain, as he groans softly from deep in his throat. He can’t even think straight with you touching him and reminding him of all of your private thoughts. 

You lean forward so that your lips reach his ear. "Come on, tell me." Pushing his bangs out of his face, you grant him your best reassuring smile, a persuasive attempt to will him to speak. All the while, your fingers continue dancing around him, massaging him, toying with the zipper absentmindedly. 

His hand reaches down to steady himself and grip the edge of the couch cushion. Closing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows, he struggles to speak due to his singular focus on your touch. “There was one where you want to ride me.” He gulps. 

Memories of the post flash before your eyes, and you instantly grip him harder. 

“Ah -“ His voice cracks and his hand on the couch tugs at the cushion beneath him. Considering the man in front of you, with his flushed cheeks, nervous fidgeting, and broken speech, you can't resist your impulse. Letting go of his hidden erection, you crawl on top of him, straddling him. Steadily holding his head, you tilt his face up to meet yours. His glazed eyes reveal themselves, pupils blown out with lust. 

"What did it say?" You want him to say it, his words, his voice. His hands find their way beneath your shirt before gripping at the soft skin of your waistline. Though you can feel your embarrassment subsiding in favor of courage to take Hyuck farther than he's been before, you can still feel your cheeks flush. It might have something to do with the way he presses up against you from beneath, straining through his pants, seeking any source of stimulation. You swallow back your needs and feign a look of confusion. "I can't remember what I wrote. Start from the beginning."

"Well, you said you want to overwhelm me in the best way possible, right?" You wrap your arms around his neck and lean forward to press kisses to his temple, pulling his hair off his face by knitting your fingers in his waves. He sighs and runs his hands up your back, hot against your skin.

"You want to make me feel like I'm the only man you desire." You shift down to his jaw and lick at his pulse point before sucking gently. He gasps in response, and you just know sparks fly through him by the way he shifts with the motion of your tongue, swaying his head aside with a sigh. 

You pause to consider his recitation of your thoughts. "Do I make you feel desired?" He nods vigorously, his eyes sparkling with sincerity, only to be cut short as you press down against his stiffness, coercing another low grunt out of him. "Ok, go on. Help me remember the rest."

"You... want to seduce me, you want to see me get all eager and needy, something about -" he stops as your fingers move to hook into the waistband of his pants. He watches as you pull the zipper and he hesitates for a second, looking up into your face with his mouth agape as you sit up to give him room to move. Once realization hits, he nods resolutely before he shimmies them off while you remove your shorts. When you return to straddle him, you hover over his form on your knees while cocking your head to the side, wondering, "What did I say next?"

"You said you want to slowly unbutton yourself... in front of me..." but before he can finish his thought, you're already working your fingers across the front of your blouse. His eyes trail down your chest, button by button, but as you're halfway done, his gaze snaps back up to yours. Before you've even finished unbuttoning your shirt, he reaches beneath the fabric to unclasp your bra and slides his hands to the front, moving them underneath and cupping your breasts in his hands. The warmth of his touch and his sudden forwardness takes you by surprise and you drop your unfinished task in favor of gripping the hair at the nape of his neck and collapsing your weight onto his shoulder. Keeping your composure is starting to become impossible as a whine slips from between your lips, his hands reflexively squeezing at the sound.

He moves forward to place his lips on the supple skin of your exposed shoulder peeking out from your blouse. "You said you want me to suck on -" You feel your breath catch in your throat when he moves part of your shirt aside to expose your breast to the open air, centering his lips on your nipple and running his tongue over you. His eyes close and you run a hand over his forehead, pushing his hair back as you rock forward into the feel of his mouth over you, keening at the sensation of his tongue rolling over and around the nub, his hand softly cupping and supporting the expanse of your breast. You can't help but sit your full weight on him, only the thin fabric of your lingerie and his boxer briefs separating the heat collecting between the two of you. As you rock against him, he opens his eyes and tilts his head up to lock his lips with yours. Using your last remaining willpower, you place a hand on his chest in order to push away enough to breathe while he whines in frustration. 

"Wait, what's next?" You're out of air and clutch on to him for stability as your head swims.

Tone hurried and raspy, he immediately recites, "You want to feel my hardness against you and you want me to feel how -" You take his hand from its position on your chest and shove it beneath you "...W-wet you..." and his fingers push your lingerie aside to feel what he's done to you. You reach down and palm him through his underwear, and he moans right in your ear as you slide your hand underneath the hem of his boxers to touch him skin to skin, his arousal emitting heat. 

Hesitantly, he slips a finger between your folds before sinking in. For every slide of him slowly entering, you feel like you've stopped breathing and your body trembles with anticipation. Pulling out to make way for two digits, he curls them in the best way right where you need it, and you aren't the slightest bit cognizant of how you whimper with each curl of his fingers and how he watches you attentively, soaking in the feeling of you surrounding him, egging him on. When he pulls them out again, his fingers trail down your thigh, leaving a wet sensation that cools with the air around you in contrast to the heat of your skin. He reaches down to touch himself from the base of his cock to the tip, your juices creating a glide beneath both of your hands before he grabs your thigh again, letting you take the lead by steadily pumping him, slowly taking him higher and higher. 

"You said you want to - to mount me, and hear me, you love the sound of my voice when, when I'm gonna -" He pants out and throws his head back, "Please, can we -" As you rub him, the slickness of his precum contributes to the coating on his length. You kiss him fervently before leaning back to remove your lingerie. Taking a deep breath, he steadies himself enough to remove his boxers with fumbling hands and motions to remove his shirt, but you're already on top of him again before he can finish, causing him to abandon the mission when his mind fills completely with thoughts of you, all of you, and then he's whining and pleading again. 

When he's all touched out and at your mercy like this, all you want to do is toy with him. "I'm not sure if that's all I said. I thought there was more to it."

He sighs in frustration. "I can't - I can't say, it's too -" He hums low in satisfaction as you continue to rock yourself against him, nothing between you, skin to skin, lubricated and slick, holding him close and feeling him pulse against you, craving any source of relief. He kisses your exposed shoulder peeking out from your disheveled blouse, his lips dragging against your skin to leave a moist trail in their wake, his hands grasping, traveling from your thighs to your back to your chest, searching for something, anything to help him reach his needs.

"Please say it for me." 

His voice is thick and gritty. "You want me, so badly. You need me in - "

You rip open a condom and position it over his tip before rolling it down. He licks his lips and runs hand through his hair. Raising your eyebrows up in expectation, you still the motions of your hand and look up to admire his messy appearance. With bated breath he waits for your move, lips swollen and hair completely wrecked. You can just tell how eager he is, almost too embarrassed to continue speaking, but just needy enough that he throws his inhibitions out of the picture.

"You need me to fill you, deep, you want to surround me... and - and hear me moan."

Unable to resist him any longer, you lean forward to kiss him, his lips plump with arousal. You've been waiting for this moment after all of the drought you've been living through, constantly being around him, studying the form of his body, admiring the health of his skin, falling into the depth of his eyes. Now you can finally take him like this, just like you imagined. Positioning yourself over him, you lock your gaze with his and begin to slide down around his length. 

The moment is still and quiet. Hovering over him as you slowly cover him, inch by inch, the connection binding your gazes completely seals away the outside world. Lips parted, hair clumped, flushed cheeks - all of this in contrast to the caring, sweet consideration he holds for you in this very moment. His arms shift to support your back, the warmth adding to your feverish struggle to adjust to the stretch of him in you. His eyes glimmer in warm shades of brown before he places a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips, wishing he could press away your tension. "D-do you feel ok?" The lust is still evident in him, his hands trembling against your sides, but he selflessly attempts to remain as still as possible despite it, all for your protection and benefit.

You hum an affirmation, the feeling of being stretched this deeply a new experience altogether. As your breathing syncs with his, you finally feel yourself relax.

"Do you want me to...?" His unfinished question is answered in the form of you raising yourself on your knees slightly before lowering again, the drag of him against you instantly satiating just the start of a seemingly endless need. You slide up and down him once more, and he breaks the stillness of the moment by failing to hold back the smallest whimper. His eyes plead with yours, begging for attention, friction, anything. When you move again, you maintain the rhythm, and he seems to forget that he intended to hold back his sounds in the first place, breaking his eyes away from yours to throw his head back against the couch, his hair splaying out behind him with a vocal sigh. 

He's all whimpers and whines, allowing the new sensations to pass over him in waves of pleasure. Your hands run over his shirt as you support yourself on the stability of his broad shoulders, and out of curiosity to feel the warmth beneath your fingertips, you run your hands up his shirt to feel his radiating golden skin. Satisfying a craving for physical closeness and connection, you lean forward into him, stimulating your exposed breast against the fabric texture of his shirt before you lift his attire up enough to press skin to skin. His hand winds it way from your waist to your breast pressed against him, frantically searching for anything to latch onto. Traveling up your neck and into the roots of your hair, his hand settles on gripping and pulling. You keep your rhythm sure and steady, aiming to curb his immediate need to cum, but still he moans with every move you make, already so sensitive and eager. He bucks his hips up, pumping into you in desperation as sweat begins to collect at his hairline and the curve of his collarbones. Finding his voice again, he attempts to speak. "I -" He mashes his lips as he can't even complete his own thoughts.

Leaning back, you put your hand at the nape of his neck to urge him to watch you with his hazily lidded eyes as you seat the weight of yourself around him and rock from front to back, reaching new depths. The rhythmic feel of you clenching around him is already enough to consume his thoughts, but when you shift your hand to the front of his neck to hold him steadily in place, gripping his jaw, he can't believe how overwhelmed he is at just the idea of how much power you hold over him, swaying him beyond his expectations. You've prohibited his ability to move his hips and he is at the mercy of your actions, and he has no choice but to sit back and take it all in. He watches inquisitively, vulnerable and raw, susceptible to discovery. From this angle, the silky skin of his tummy and soft fuzz of his happy trail repeatedly brush against your clit, growing within you a pool of pleasure. Through the look of wonder and amazement in his eyes and his ragged breathing, you can tell you've surely broken down this coy man into a flustered mess. With his loss of control and inability to pump into you like he so desperately desires, another groan rips through the base of his throat, low and feral. He gulps and tries again, "Please -"

Your hand constricts around his throat, rising a keen from within him. He leans forward, pressing himself against the skin of your neck, breath moist and ragged, taking in your sweet scent, mindlessly sucking on your neck and humming in satisfaction. His swollen mouth meets your chest again, sucking on the nipple, shooting sparks through you. With a resolute grunt, he pulls you back over him each time you stray too far from his reach, breath intake be damned. 

When you lift yourself to lean in close to speak into his ear, he is granted access again to thrust into you with free will, unhindered by the weight of you on his lap. His whimpers and groans fill your ears and send shoots of lust coursing through you. Pulling his hair back, you lean down to kiss his forehead before moving down to his ear and confessing, "This is so much better than I imagined."

In response, his hips break out of rhythm. "I'm so close, I -" and he starts to snap his hips up into you from a new angle, catching you by surprise. You reach your peak as you surround him, tugging at his hair, moaning for him, setting both his and your senses alight. 

"I'm going to -" He's grasping and clutching onto you, trying to cover as much skin as possible with his hands. He gasps and grunts out air fanning over you, overwhelmed by the sensations collecting in the pit of his stomach as he snaps, shaking, his moans rough, his breathing labored, his hair messy, his chest heaving beneath your hand, his arms around you holding you as close as possible, squeezing so tightly. 

The gasps for air soon turn into steady breaths cycling back and forth between you, the emotion dissipating back to his loving, compassionate demeanor. Softly, he holds you in an embrace as moments pass, both petting each others hair and gifting the occasional kiss to a temple or cheek. His skin is sweaty, his hair is a complete mess, but his eyes are as sweet and loving as ever as they crinkle alongside a chuckle.

"The recipe calls for one cup of sugar, by the way. But I don't need a second desert. I'm full." You can feel his smile on your skin and his tickling eyelashes as he presses another kiss to your cheek. 

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 14: No Call No Show

Characters: Shane Benton (OFC), various other original supporting/secondary characters

Summary: We find out where Shane went Monday after work and exactly why she hasn’t been responding to any attempts at communication…and unfortunately, she’s not just taking some “me time.”

Want to reminisce about when this was just a happy little fluffy romance? Return to chapters past, or look at my other smutty drabbles here!

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings:  SHANE FIGHTS BACK, BUT DEFINITELY GETS HER ASS KICKED, SO FAIR WARNING, IT’S VIOLENT. Language, mature themes, emotional abuse, mention of narcotics (morphine), vomiting, foreshadowing and mention of potential future violent/non-con/dub-con activities, but if those acts occur, they will not be portrayed on the page, but rather between chapter or section breaks, so don’t worry. Also, I use the “R” word, but not to discuss non-con, but rather to add an educational note about why one should yell “fire” when one is being assaulted. Basically no Sy material whatsoever, but he’s mentioned, so I’m tagging it as such! Shane being somewhat blasé about her mortality. I really don’t want to trigger anyone, so please read with caution or wait until you emotionally are ready to deal with our girl going through the shit.

Author’s Note: Really REALLY nervous about this one. This is not the resolution you are looking for, my friends. In fact, it’s not a resolution, at all. Lol. I foresee many people disliking this chapter for some reason or another. That’s actually okay. It’s not a chapter you’re meant to “like” per se. I don’t “like” it. I’m prepared for it to get very few notes, and I’m positioning it anyway. I think it’s some of my better writing, but I hated putting Shane through the ringer like this. It’s just one of those chapters you “get through.” And honestly, if you truly didn’t like it please give me feedback so I can improve and tweak. {For reasons other than “My beebeeeeee!” or “never mention anything less than consensual ever again kthxbye” because a) of all, MY beebee too, and b) of all, that’s what warnings are for and why they should be read.} That being said, I hope it at least tides you over until the next chapter. At least you know where she is…not that THAT’S a big relief under the circumstances! Lol!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Previously, in Virginia…

"Shane left work Monday and hasn't been back since. No one has seen her. Apart from you, I presume. "

"I haven't seen her in about a week and a half. I'm training out of state for a job. I've been away from my phone since Monday, and I just got back to it now."

"She isn't…with you? I assumed…"

"Well, you know what they say, Susan. I'm coming back early if I can manage it. See if I can do something to help find her."

Three days earlier, in Missouri…

Shane blinked her eyes open to little avail. She couldn't tell where she was, other than what seemed to be the back seat of a fairly new-model large vehicle, like a Suburban or a Tahoe. She thought it was new because the new car smell was still overpowering the nicotine and tobacco odor of at least one of its occupants. She could also smell the sickly sweet stench of artificial cherry permeating the cabin. The source must be very close to her nose as she lay there helplessly restrained while the vehicle jostled down the road. The smell reminded her of the horrible liquid pain reliever her mother would give her as a child when she had a fever or leg pains. She had taken enough of it then to make her averse to most cherry flavorings as an adult. She wanted to retch.

She could also make out the faint glow of a dashboard lit with LED lights, brighter and softer than those of older models. But she soon had to shut her eyes again. Her head was throbbing and her memories were fuzzy. She remembered very little of Monday…was it still Monday? But she was trying to think, despite the pounding of many drums in her cranium where a brain should be.

She remembered staying at work late to finish notes. She remembered heading home…and she remembered forgetting her phone at her desk and deciding to turn around to get it…when suddenly she was surrounded by vehicles and unable to move without having an accident. Had she known the circumstances then, she would have tried to muscle through. The horrific events came flooding back in traumatic flashes like lightning, or the pulse of passing streetlights in an unfamiliar city.

She remembered…

The glass by her left ear shattered. A hooded, hulking figure reached in through the new opening, fumbling for the handle to open the door. She'd had the presence of mind to fight back there. To punch at the probing extremity. But the extremity hit back, landing a solid smack against her left cheek, stunning her for long enough that the cruel apparition found the unlock button, pressed it, and opened the door. She didn't go quietly. She fought like the hellcat her mother always told her to be. Her foot found the odd solar plexus and groin before enough dark nemeses arrived to overpower her. They dragged her away from her car and out onto the pavement of the church parking lot she'd used to turn around. She did not make it easy for them. She kicked and punched and tried to twist out of their grips like vices. She yelled "fire" as she was taught as a young woman, not knowing the men's intentions, but certain they weren't kind, and knowing that yelling "rape" was not always effective at summoning help. Either way, it didn't matter. She could have shouted anything. No one was near enough, or cared enough, to come to her aid. As soon as her soft hands hit the gritty pavement, though, the violence intensified. She lost count of how many times she got kicked in the back, stomach, ribs. One asshole even kicked her in the tit. She'd find out who that was and he'd find himself in a special brand of pain…if she ever got out of this alive. She heard them calling her awful names that she was sure she hadn't earned, and especially not from these guys. About six of them, she thought. She hardly knew six guys. She certainly didn't know six guys that would want her roughed up like this. She heard one of the men start to say "Come on, guys, we better save some for--" and with that, she blacked out to the tune of the distinct "thunk" of a wooden baseball bat making contact with the back of her head.

She wanted to forget…for it to be a terrible nightmare…to wake up.

But she was awake. This was a waking nightmare. The cold leather on her cheek was made colder by the harsh air conditioning blowing toward her from above and below. She shivered from the chill and from the terror she was trying to suppress. Where were they taking her? For what purpose? And for whom were they leaving parts un-bruised…though it didn't feel like it.

She finally felt them slowing, heard a turn signal clicking, the courtesy of which she applauded despite her position in the active abduction taking place, and felt the gentle displacement of her body toward the driver side, knocking her head into the door. A right turn. Not that it would matter too much, but at least when she escaped, and she made herself think "when" and not "if," she would know which direction to turn to get back to town.

The blow to the head had left her sensitive to light and sound. As she was yanked from the back seat, all she could see was the glow of a dusk to dawn light above them. Normally a soft, guiding light, this one just as well have been the sun itself the way it stung her tender eyes. She squinted against it, thankful as she never would have thought to be, when a shroud was placed over her throbbing head. She could still hear the power coursing through the bulb and fixture, though. Normally a dull hum, in the state she was in, it was as loud as accidentally switching your TV to the snow channel at full volume.

"Bring 'er inside." She heard an unfamiliar male voice say.

Two strong, ruthless hands grabbed her by the armpits, causing her to cry out in pain. Such a tender place to bear weight, and why even big strong Sy hated crutches…Sy. Would she ever see him again?

"Shut up, bitch, or we'll knock you out again." She believed them, and being fairly certain she had at least a mild  concussion, she wasn't sure what a second blow of an indeterminate velocity might do to her brain. She dealt with the stabbing pain as the men dragged her across what sounded like gravel, then grass, then something hard and smooth, maybe the slabs of an old, sunken, and somewhat uneven footpath. Soon, she felt the pain of her knees hitting what she assumed were porch steps. One, two, three of them. She was trying to concentrate through the fog now setting in, and maintain consciousness. Paying attention to the sensations, she told herself, was not only helpful for that task, it might help her escape. Remember the scents, too, she reminded herself. She tried to shake off the nauseating cherry and cigarette stench from her olfactory glands and take note of the bouquet around her.

Burnt leaves…gasoline…engine grease…the tang of sappy, just cut firewood…straw…manure…this seemed to be a farm. With a barn nearby…perhaps with horses. She loved horses. If she could find a gentle horse in the night…escape might be easier than she'd anticipated.

Entering the house was a noisy affair. There was a metallic keening from the spring of an aluminum screen door. She imagined it had one of those big swirly cross beams like her grandma's used to have that she always though was supposed to resemble a butterfly. A heavier, wooden door creaked open as the three figures muddled their way in, and the floorboards protested, as well, at the weight of her captors. So, she thought, not only a farm house, but an old farm house.

"Where do you want her?" the man on her left asked into what she only knew as the void, so far.

"Take her to the cellar. I've got things set up down there." a familiar voice chuckled and growled. How did she know the voice? Was he a patient? She couldn't think of anyone she'd treated that would want her abducted and brutalized.

"You got it, E." Ugh, for some reason it bothered her when guys referred to each other by their first initials. Girls, no big deal. But bros…there was something so thoroughly douchey and…familiar about it all…

"Hold on." the man called "E" said, and she heard footfalls approaching her. As he got closer, she smelled…patchouli and incense…and the sea…and it brought back a rush of pain from past trauma followed by literal pain from his punch to her gut. She hadn't been expecting it. Obviously. The wind had been taken out of her. Literally and figuratively. She did know this man…all too well.

"We've got some catching up to do, sweetheart." the pet name dripped like venomous honey from the tongue of the snake before her.

"Elliot." it wasn't a question. She coughed the name out like a pill that had gone down sideways.

Her escorts continued their transportation of her prone body to its destination…she didn't want to think FINAL destination, but the more she learned about her situation, the more she worried that she wouldn't make it out alive.

They had to get creative in carrying her down the narrow staircase to the cellar. They argued for a moment about who would take the top half and who would go backwards.

"How about the one who takes my top half goes forward and the bottom half goes backward?" These idiots. Where did Elliott find clowns like this who needed to be told by their prisoner the best way to sort out their domestic dispute.

She thought she felt them shrug, and silently take her advice as she felt herself being lowered down the stairs, feet first, panic threatening to overtake her restrained limbs.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, they stood her up to remove her shroud, and cut the zip ties from around her ankles and wrists. She then noticed a small cell that reminded her of the ones in the sheriff's offices in some westerns she'd seen. She started to freak out, anticipating her future in that horrid place.

"Guys, please. No. Please don't do this. I don't know what Elliott's told you about me, but I'm a good person. I don't deserve this. I have a job and friends and a family who will worry sick about me. I am begging you to let me go. Please!"

"You're wasting your breath, lady." one of the men said, gruffly.

"PLEASE!" she appealed, desperate to get through. "Don't you guys have wives or girlfriends? Mothers, sisters, aunts, or female cousins? What if a woman you cared about was in this situ---" and before she could finish the question, one of the men punched her for what felt like the thousandth time tonight. She fell to her knees, vomiting. And the world went black again.

~~~~~~~

There were no windows. There was no clock. There was just a small twin mattress in one corner of the cell, and a bedside commode in the other. As accommodations went, it was hardly a Hilton, but it could have been worse. It was all lit by a 60-watt bulb in one of those hanging fixtures her dad had always called a trouble light situated on a hook on the side of one of the exposed joists outside the cell. He'd had a similar one for the longest time. He and mom will be worried sick before long, if they aren't already, she thought. The light was aptly named for these circumstances she was in. Trouble. A heap of it. And no idea of how to get out of it.

And honestly, no idea why Elliott would want her here. How he could do such a monstrous thing as having her kidnapped. How he came to live in this place when he never worked a day in his life. She was so confused. She hoped at the very least, he'd give her answers before he murdered her, if that was his plan.

She had woken up on her side, almost her stomach, with her right cheek on the scratchy surface of the bare mattress. Whoever put her to bed had been wise to position her like this given the likelihood that she might puke again. She noticed a small bucket, presumably for that purpose, next to the mattress. There was a caseless pillow next to her head, but she hadn't found that comfort during her nap of…she couldn't tell how long. Not that it mattered. The more she slept, the less time she'd have to process this horror movie she was currently living out.

She heard the door open at the top of the stairs and Elliott shout at one of his flunkies, "What do you MEAN you didn't get her phone?" a pause while indistinct words came from said flunky across the room, or maybe the house. "Well, find it. Tear that piece of shit Explorer apart if you have to. I want that phone." She took exception to her sweet little Norah getting called a piece of shit. That was her Millennium Falcon. And yes, she'd gotten flack for naming her Norah the Explorer, but she didn't care.

Elliott stomped down the stairs, grinning the most infuriatingly happy grin she'd ever seen on him. She wanted to maul him. To tear those stupid eyes out of their sockets with her own fingernails. But she controlled her anger and resisted even acknowledging his greeting of "Hey, sweetheart."

She ignored him.

"It's good to see you."

Silence.

"I missed you."

She stared right through him.

"I heard you and that meat head soldier broke up."

She scowled at him.

"There she is. There's my girl."

"I'm not your girl, Elliott, and I haven't been in years. Why am I here?" She broke. She couldn't take it.

"We'll get to that why soon enough. First, let's talk about why you and Cap'n Crunch are no longer breakfasting together? Soggy cereal? Limp toast? Was he letting you leave the table unsatisfied?"

"As if you ever satisfied me when we were together." She spat back, calling Elliott out on his notorious selfishness in all aspects of life and relationships.

"I've changed."

"Bullshit." she rolled her eyes.

"It's true!" he insisted. "I can give you references."

"I honestly don't give a shit. We're not together. Sy and I are. Happily. And you better let me go soon. He was expecting me at his place after work. He's probably out looking for me right now." she lied. It was worth a shot.

"Now it's my turn to call bullshit, because I know that isn't true." He looked at her with that patronizing stare he had.

"You don't know shit, Elliott."

"I know that your boy took off over a week ago for Virginia and hasn't come back, at least not the way he left. I believe he's supposed to be gone at least a few weeks. Maybe a couple of months. He wasn't sure at last report."

She was literally willing him to burst into flames before her. Her gaze revealed her hand.

"Told ya. You think you're the only one with connections at the fort? I've got me a sweet little sergeant who works in ATC over there. She can out-squat anyone else on base…and let me tell you, it shows." he lifted his eyebrow, lasciviously.

"You disgust me."

"Why? You never seemed to mind my…sexy imagination." he winked at her.

"No, I'm happy that you're getting it good on the regular from an ass that won't quit. But come on. You clearly only got with this girl because you thought it would give you the upper hand against me."

"Well, that's very self-absorbed thinking."

"Really, Elliott? Do you see where we are right now?" they looked around at the dank cellar and he shrugged, unable to deny or rebut. "And this woman. Does she know about this little scheme?"

He gave her one of his more evil grins. "Who do you think kicked you in the tit?" Okay…she was new levels of pissed off now.

"Why…the actual FUCK am I here, Elliott!?"

"Well, Shane, you embarrassed me with that little stunt at the bar a few weeks ago. You thought you were hot shit, parading your sasquatch of a boyfriend around in front of me, in my town, humiliating me as all of my friends watched. And then that dickhead sucker punched me in the parking lot. I shoulda pressed charges. But him being a veteran, I knew how that woulda gone in this town. I didn't have a snowball's chance. So I waited. And I planned. And I was patient. And I watched for my moment. And it finally came. I've been watching you leave work every night for the past week, and you're always with someone, or headed somewhere else, or going straight home. Last night…last night I knew was the night when you didn't leave until after 7. You were the last one out, and I knew that it had to be then. The plan, not that you need to know, is to plaster your social media with humiliating photos, piss off everyone that you love, including your precious Sy, and alienate everyone you've ever cared about until you're miserable and alone."

Shane was crying now. She thought she might be sick again. She reached for the bucket. The delusion of this man thinking that anyone in that bar besides maybe the ones that were there with him that night gave a shit about him. Thinking that the town was his. He was a nobody there. He hadn't grown up there, he didn't work there, he didn't participate in community events. He was kidding himself if he thought anyone cared enough about him that he should feel shame over her relationship with Sy, especially five years after their relationship with each other had ended.

"How's that for a 'why,' sweetheart?" he boasted.

"It's making my ask myself a lot of questions. Like why I ever agreed to go out with you all those years ago. Why I didn't see the signs that you were a psychopath sooner. And why I put up with your terrorism for so long thinking you'd ever really change. I can't believe I ever slept with you, you absolute barbarian." and she heaved into the bucket, non-productively. She hadn't eaten since lunch, and that had to be well over twelve hours ago.

"Well, ya did. And ya can't change the past. But I'm about to take your future into my hands. As soon as we find your phone, we're gonna have us a ball, little girl."

"You honestly think I'll cooperate with any of that?"

"You won't have a choice." he held up a little glass vial. "Morphine. A tiny dose of this stuff, and you'll do anything I tell ya."

"Please. Just let me go now, and I won't press charges. I won't go to the cops, at all. I'll call in to work with a headache, or something and you can live your life with Sergeant Squats and we can leave each other alone."

"A good offer, but I need to get something out of this. I need my pride back."

"And you're gonna get that by dragging me through the mud online from my own Facebook account? Is that really the way you wanna do this? When you could just show me what a great life you've built for yourself. This is a great place here, it seems, I mean, I only smelled it, and felt how big it was while I was getting dragged around the place. But, Elliott, if you had just told me about all this, I would have been happy for you!"

"This place is Sasha's."

"Oh." she grasped for something, anything to make him see how insane he was being without saying the words. "Well, I'd still have been happy for you finding an established woman with a great job. Why couldn't you have just written me a letter telling me that? An email! Something."

"This is how it's getting done, Shane. Because this is the only way that truly ruins your life in the process. Because at the end of all of this, the backlash is going to be too much for you, and you're not going to be able to handle this life anymore…"

"No. Elliott, no."

"Yes. You're gonna take one last hit of the morphine and drive that shitty Ford right into the lake."

"You used to care about art. About beauty. You used to be sensitive. You used to have a soul. What happened, Elliott? What happened to your humanity?" Shane asked, crying, in mourning for the man he used to be. The one that she used to care for.

"I fell in love. And she broke my heart. And nothing has been the same."

"Elliott, I didn't mean to…"

"Oh, fuck, not you, don't be stupid. No, Kara. I met her right after you kicked me out, and SHE broke my heart." he  turned and started up the stairs, pausing to look over his shoulder and say, "I'll be back when I have your phone. And I'll bring friends." before he ascended, shutting the door firmly behind him.

She had never been so relieved to NOT have her phone in her life. Hopefully, her coworkers had it safe and sound, and locked up at work.

Up Next: Chapter 15-Recon

[cycwrites]

A Taste of Home

A post-Nowish, Mitchsen-centric, drabble prompt from the Master Beta, @tiny-maus-boots. Sorry this took so long, Nerd.

Takes place in some nebulous future after Beca signs with DJ Khaled, puts out an album and goes on tour.

Rating: Teen

Words: 4236

Also on AO3 and FFN

All my other stories in this series: Tumblr  AO3

~B~

“Vienna sucks.”

“Beca.” Chloe half chided, half soothed. “You’re just tired, love.”

Beca slumped in the chair at the desk in her hotel suite. “I am not. It’s still fucking freezing here.” She resolutely ignored the fact that she’d just been rubbing her eyes like a toddler. She could clearly see the concern in Chloe’s face over their sometimes fuzzy Skype video chat and she wanted to stop whining but it was just too much effort.

At first being on tour had been fun and amazing, except all her girls had jobs and couldn’t take a nine month sabbatical to travel the globe with her. Still, the excitement of the crowds and the energy had been enough to keep her going, along with the frequent video chats whenever they had time, individually or together. She was home for a week or two every couple of months for R&R, but after the first six months the novelty was wearing a little thin once the concert was over for the night.

Then Theo had starting pushing on her to maybe extend the tour since she was doing so well, add a few more months to the end which would extend it to almost a full year of travel. At first he was subtle about it, but then it became almost daily; if it wasn’t directly after her concerts than it was the following morning when they were getting ready to fly to the next stop.

“How can I help?” Chloe asked gently.

“You can’t.” It came out petulant and she knew it. “You’re more miles away than I care to think about.” Just the memory of Chloe’s arms around her, something she hadn’t felt in a month, was almost enough to bring her to tears. “Theo is being an annoying turtle, no one can make a decision without my input and I just want them to leave me alone so I can rest.” The whine was in full force but she couldn’t stop it; she knew her voice was cracking and the absolute last thing she wanted to do was have a tantrum about being on fucking tour when she knew it was the at least the fourth best thing to happen to her. (The first was Chloe, the second was Staubrey and third was the rest of the Bellas if anyone had cared to ask her.)

“Oh, Becs,” Chloe whispered and reached out to touch her laptop.

Beca flinched and realized that she’d been incorrect before; the absolute last thing she wanted was for Chloe to be sad and not have any way to comfort her. Of course, the fact that she was directly responsible for making Chloe sad made her feel even worse.

‘Jesus Christ, get your shit together,’ she told herself harshly. ‘Boohoo, you’ve got a top ten selling album and people are paying to see you sing every two to three days. Cry me a fucking river.’

She shook her head and forced herself to sit upright. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I’m fine, really.” Chloe’s expression didn’t change and she knew she hadn’t fooled Chloe in the slightest.

“Tell that to the dark circles under your eyes.” Chloe put her elbow on the desk and propped her chin on her hand.

Beca sighed and felt pathetic as she muttered, “Bed’s too bigsmall.” It was the curse of being used to a nine foot bed filled with three other bodies; it was also definitely one of the worst things about being on the road. She’d tried sleeping aids but all they did was make her groggy for a good fifteen hours, no matter how much sleep she’d gotten the night before. She was making do with melatonin but she still tossed and turned. It was getting just that little bit harder to work up the level of energy she needed to maintain for her concert and it wasn’t like she had a full ninety minutes of twirling around a stage like some artists.

‘Seriously, how the hell does P!nk do this shit for over a year?’ Beca wondered for the nth time since she’d left home.

“I know the feeling.” Chloe said softly. “We miss you.”

“I mis-” Beca stopped when there was a soft knock at her door. “God fucking damnit!” She slammed her hand on the desk. “I told them I didn’t want to be disturbed!”

“Beca,” Chloe sat up and leaned forward. “Don’t-”

“No.” Beca said as she glared at the door across the room. “I specifically told Theo I didn’t want to see him tonight. That I needed to get some sleep. He fucking chucked me under the chin and told me ‘You do look a bit knackered. Get some rest.’”

“I know but…” Chloe started with a sigh; Beca had bitched at his audacity at least twice in the hour they’d been talking.

“And… Okay,” Beca kept going, already launched past her tired frustration into actual anger. “Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled ‘what the fuck do you want’ when room service came by –”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Chloe murmured. She’d been witness to it and forced Beca to call down to the desk to both apologize and ask that she be undisturbed for the rest of the night.

“So…” The knock came again. “Sonofabitch.” She stood up so hard the chair almost tipped over.

“Beca!” Chloe said but Beca was already stalking to the door.

“I said,” Beca snarled as she ripped open the door, “I do not want to be dis-…” She blinked three times, sure she was hallucinating. Maybe even having a stroke or something. Maybe she had brain damage. Because Aubrey could not be standing in front of her. In her hotel. In Vienna. Aubrey was at home. Being an amazing lawyer. With Chloe and Stacie.

Except Aubrey was there. Standing in front of her. Wearing faded and ripped blue jeans, a rumpled t-shirt that looked suspiciously like one stolen from Beca’s closet, a leather jacket, her hair in a ponytail and a gym bag slung over her shoulder. And, Beca’s eyes dropped from where she’d been staring into the tired face smiling gently at her, Beca’s Stitch onesie in her hand.

When Beca stood frozen in the doorway, Aubrey gently nudged her backward until she could step into the room and close the door behind her. The second Aubrey dropped the gym bag Beca’s paralysis broke and she threw herself at the blonde, wrapping her arms around Aubrey’s waist. With a soft oof when Beca collided into her, Aubrey cradled her close and tucked Beca’s head under her chin as she stroked her back. Immediately Beca felt warmer than she had since they had landed in Austria a week ago. Aubrey’s warm body relaxed her but it was nothing compared to the warmth of ‘home’ that Aubrey’s scent brought her.

“Baby.” Aubrey whispered.

Beca lifted her head and found Aubrey’s lips already waiting. The soft kiss soothed the last of Beca’s frayed nerves and she felt almost lightheaded as the tension left her. She parted her lips and Aubrey slipped inside, deepening the connection; reassuring more than building the fire that was always banked between them.

When they broke apart, Beca sighed and rested her ear against Aubrey’s heart, listening to the strong comforting beat. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, love.” Aubrey squeezed her again. “Chloe sent me.” Aubrey pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Stacie sent this.” She jiggled the hand holding the onesie.

“Oh shit!” Beca jerked upright. “Chloe’s on Skype!” She stepped back, taking Aubrey’s free hand and tugged her over to the desk where she found Chloe waiting patiently with a happy smile and a single tear running down her face. Sometime in the last few minutes Stacie had appeared behind her, her chin propped on Chloe’s shoulder. “You guys… I…” She went to sit but Aubrey beat her to it then pulled Beca into her lap. “I can’t believe you guys didn’t tell me.”

“Can’t ruin the surprise, B.” Stacie blew a kiss at her. “Plus Chloe tells me that you might need a lawyer anyway because you’re going to kill some innocent hotel staff person for doing their job.”

Beca winced. “Not one of my finer moments.”

“No.” Chloe agreed but smiled to take the sting from it. “But this is still new and strange and while you’ve come a long way from the ‘I don’t even sing’ girl we met years ago, sometimes…”

“Change and I don’t get along.” Beca sighed as Aubrey rubbed her back. “I still can’t believe you stealth sent Aubrey like a cuddle ninja.”

“And now that she’s there,” Chloe looked past Beca. “You’re gonna put our girl to bed so she can stop being a cranky pants about sleeping alone.”

“To be fair,” Aubrey laughed. “I remember you being disgruntled the last time none of us could stay overnight at one of your competitions.”

“I have no memory of this. You must be super jet-lagged.” Chloe said innocently. She stuck out her tongue when Stacie poked her in the side.

“We’ll talk again tomorrow,” Stacie said. “We’re going to hang up on you now. I’ve gotta get back to work, but I came home to see the big reveal when Aubrey texted us she landed.”

Beca checked the clock. It was almost 9pm in Vienna so it was only 1pm back home. “I love you guys.” She reached out and pressed her fingertips to her screen. “Thank you.”

“Have a good rest of your day, loves.” Aubrey said, her hand resting over Beca’s on the monitor.

“We love you both.” Chloe smiled gently.

“Maybe now that you’re in good hands, you can sleep.” Stacie paused and Beca knew what was coming. “Or not sleep becauseyou’re in good hands.”

“How long did you take to think that up?” Aubrey asked affectionately.

“Just now.” Stacie shrugged. “I’m good with my mouth.”

“You mean with words.” Chloe half turned to look at her.

“That too.” Stacie shrugged and looked back at the monitor. “It’s killing me to do it, but I really am going to disconnect now.” She smiled gently. “You really do need to get some sleep, Beca. Let Aubrey take care of you. I love both of you.”

“I will.” Beca promised, feeling sleep eagerly tugging at her for the first time in what felt like months. ‘Probably since the last time I was home,’ Beca mused.

“Love you too.” Aubrey said just before Stacie hung up.

They sat there a moment more, Beca having turned sideways to cuddle, before Aubrey’s yawn startled them with its suddenness and volume.

“Oh Bree,” Beca reluctantly stood up and offered a hand. “You must be exhausted. It’s like, what, thirteen hours if you’re lucky to get a direct flight?”

“I may have had dad help me with the arrangements.” Aubrey took her hand and rose to her feet and picked up the onesie she’d draped over the chair. “Plus I got a few hours’ sleep on the plane, but… yeah. Sleeping sounds really good about now.” She held out the outfit. “Stacie says you have to sleep in it since you’ve been cold. She doesn’t want to lose any of your important bits to frostbite. She says, and I quote, ‘I’m too fond of her goodies to risk it.’” She pursed her lips. “Personally I think it’s because of that day you told her it made you feel like she was hugging you.”

Touched at her girls’ thoughtfulness, Beca laughed and took it. “Alright. C’mon, bathroom is over here.”

Aubrey followed her, detouring to grab her bag from beside the door. “This is a pretty nice suite they’ve got you in.”

Beca shrugged one shoulder, still not used to having a multi room suite just for herself. “It’s too much for me. I generally just stick to the bedroom or curl up on the couch when they get me these.” The room was nothing compared to the opulent setup that Khaled had had back on the USO tour, but they generally had a separate bedroom and master bath, a sitting room and sometimes a secondary room that was usually set up like an office. “I feel stupid complaining about it… ungrateful maybe.” She rolled her eyes at herself and voiced her earlier thoughts. “‘Oh boohoo and woe is me. I’m quasi famous and people pay to watch me sing.’”

“But you don’t even sing.” Aubrey flashed a smile at her that Beca couldn’t help but return. “But I can see how it could be lonely,” Aubrey offered as they walked into the bedroom where she set her bag down and began unpacking it. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be with you sooner.”

“Sometimes the band comes up.” Beca shrugged as she watched Aubrey pull out clothes that were still somehow neatly folded even though they had come out of a duffle bag. “Theo and a few of the other brass types make an appearance.” She smiled fondly as Aubrey put her clothes in with Beca’s in various drawers. “We haven’t lit the place on fire yet though, so I don’t know if that counts as a rager by your standards.”

“Pfft.” Aubrey said as she folded the bag and set it on top of the dresser before grabbing her toiletry case.

“You want to shower before bed?” Beca asked as they walked into the bathroom where Aubrey whistled at the size of the walk in shower and the whirlpool bath.

“As heavenly as that tub looks,” Aubrey said wistfully, “I think just want to wash my face, brush my teeth and curl up in that small bed with you.” She opened up her case and began to unpack it just as efficiently as she had the duffle, lining her things next to Beca’s.

Beca chuckled. “Aubrey, that’s a queen sized bed.”

“Right. Small.” Aubrey looked at Beca through the mirror and smiled. “Someone’s gotten me used to something bigger.”

Beca shrugged. “Guilty.” She moved over to the counter, setting her designated pj’s on it. “I must be tired because I know I should be turning that into a super dirty innuendo but I don’t have the energy.”

“I’ll say it tomorrow.” Aubrey offered as she began to wash her face. “Stacie would be disappointed in us both if we let it go.”

“You do love me!” Beca joked as she did the same.

“You’re my moon,” Aubrey said simply after she’d rinsed and Beca felt the threat of tears swelling at the back of her eyes.

“You’re our Earth.” Beca stroked Aubrey’s arm, still partially unable to believe she was actually there.

“Sap.” Aubrey sniffed slightly but Beca could clearly see her own emotions reflected back at her.

They finished cleaning up after the long day, brushing their teeth and hair, before changing into their pj’s: Beca in her Stitch onesie, though she left the hood off, and Aubrey in a pair of sleep pants that looked like ones Chloe had worn in college and… Beca laughed when she realized what Aubrey had pulled on. “Is that my Boob Man hoodie?”

“Maybe.” Aubrey turned off the bathroom light and Beca turned on the lamp beside the bed. For Beca’s 24th birthday, post Fourth of July drunken party videos, Stacie had gotten Beca a hoodie that said “I’m A Boob Man.” Aubrey had put her foot down on including a picture of Beca’s hands on her chest even though Stacie had promised to leave out their faces.

“I wondered where that went.” Beca turned off the main overhead light, watching as Aubrey pulled back the covers and crawled into bed with a grateful sigh. “Should’ve known.”

“Probably.” Aubrey settled into the middle of the bed and looked up expectantly. “Well?”

Beca slid into bed and half curled, half sprawled on Aubrey’s left side. “I still can’t believe you’re here.” She wiggled until she found the right spot and Aubrey’s arms closed around her.

“You needed me.” Aubrey shifted and pulled Beca closer.

“As if it were that simple,” Beca said, thinking of all the planning that had to have happened. Even with General Posen’s help it would’ve cost a pretty penny… though, Beca reminded herself, with the tour sales as well as the album still getting decent numbers, money wasn’t something they had to worry about when things like last minute flights came up.

“It was.” Aubrey’s hand gently stroked her back through the fabric. “You needed us. I was able to come.”

“How long did work let you go for?” Beca asked, not wanting to admit how much she wished Aubrey could stay with her the rest of the tour. She lifted her head when Aubrey hesitated and the smallest bit of tension went through the body under her.

“I…” Aubrey took a deep breath. “I quit.”

“What?” Beca pushed herself up. “You what?”

“Quit.” Aubrey reached up and brushed aside the hair that had fallen into Beca’s eyes. “You know I haven’t been happy there since we got back.”

“Yeah but…” Beca trailed off. “Aubrey, please tell me you did not quit because I’m being a big baby over the fact that I am alone on my tour?” Her brows drew together. ‘Jesus I sound like a spoiled brat.’

“I did not quit because you actually are alone on your first tour since none of us have been able to come with you.” Aubrey met her eyes. “Beca, I haven’t…. Oh I don’t know.” She sighed. “It’s… too routine.”

Beca snorted. “I never expected to hear you say something like that. You’re the Posen with the plan.” Aubrey’s brow arched and Beca said quickly, “Which is important because I never have one and sometimes I need to be kept in line.”

Aubrey’s mouth quirked. “Nice save.”

“Thank you.” Beca watched her, worried. “But to quit?”

“You know when I’ve had the most fun doing deals lately?” Aubrey waited and Beca shook her head. “Negotiating your contract with Khaled’s label. Finalizing the details of your tour.”

“You were kind of amazing at it.” Beca mused.

“It was something new, something other than just getting the most out of an artist for your old label.” Aubrey’s eyes had gone distant but now they focused back on Beca. “And I was wondering if you’d… maybe allow me to be your manager full time.”

“Yes.” Beca said without hesitation. She was currently on her fourth – or was it fifth – manager through the agency recommended by Khaled and she already knew the two of them didn’t mesh and it wasn’t going to last. “I would love you to be my manager, Bree. No one else can boss me around like you can.”

Aubrey laughed. “I don’t think that’s exactly the way it’s supposed to work…”

“Fine, you can boss Theo around for me and keep me from calling him Turtle Man when I get pissed at him.” Beca leaned down and kissed her. “But only if you’re sure.”

“There’s obviously going to be some things we’re going to have to figure out, like… do I need some sort of license or to form a company or…” Aubrey trailed off as she yawned so wide her jaw popped. “But we can talk about it tomorrow.”

“I think you just want to be your own boss.” Beca said as she rolled over to turn off the light before snuggling down again. “But I don’t envy you coming up with a company name.”

“BCS Talent.” The reply was so quick it was like she’d known Beca was going to say it.

“Of course you already have a name. You don’t do anything until you’ve covered all the angles.” Beca laughed and lifted her head again to smile down at her.

“Since you’d be my only client, I pondered ‘Mitchsen Talent.’” Aubrey’s eyes twinkled at her. “But I didn’t want to keep answering questions about why I mashed our names together.”

“Because we mash ourselves together as often as possible.” Beca said, kissing her.

“Yes, but I don’t want to tell strangers that. But this way…” Aubrey stroked her fingers through Beca’s hair. “It’s named after what matters most in my life.”

Beca inhaled deeply through her nose. “I hadn’t… I should’ve… put that together.” She inexplicably felt like crying again, touched beyond all measure at how much thought Aubrey had put into it already.

“Stacie took some convincing. Something about the last time she let me go out of her sight and into another country… But she came around. Chloe took less, once I explained why I wanted to do it.” Aubrey tugged a lock of Beca’s hair. “She has never trusted that your managers had your best interests at heart and not just their own.”

“Probably.” Beca said lightly. “I’ll fire Kas tomorrow.”

“Beca!” Aubrey laughed. “We need to talk first.”

“No, we don’t. You’re my manager and that’s final.” Beca put her head back down on Aubrey’s chest, happier than she could’ve dreamed possible.

“Then as your manager, I’m telling you that we’re going to sit down and talk logistics.” She put her hand over Beca’s mouth as she drew in breath to answer. “Tomorrow. After a giant breakfast that’s going to fill the massive table in the other room.”

Beca nodded and Aubrey slowly removed her hand. “Alright. Whatever you say… manager.” She grinned as Aubrey let out an overly exaggerated sigh. “Bree?”

“Yes, Beca?”

“Thank you for coming to Vienna.” Beca felt Aubrey’s hand on her chin and let her head be tilted up until Aubrey’s lips met hers. When they parted again, she said softly, “You’re not a dream, right?”

“I’ve got you, love.” Aubrey said and kissed her again. “I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I love you, Aubrey.” Beca kissed her one last time, a lazy comforting stroking of tongues and lips.

“I love you too.” Aubrey’s fingers slipped from her jaw to wrap lightly around the arm across her waist.

Far quicker than she’d gone to sleep since the last time she’d been in their arms in The Expanse, Beca felt herself drawn into slumber, the steady beat of Aubrey’s heart matching her own.

~A~

Aubrey woke to gentle kisses. They were placed delicately at the corner of her mouth, along her jaw, her eyebrow and even her closed eyelid once Beca knew she was awake. She sighed in contentment at the weight resting against her side and the hand drawing designs on her stomach.

“You kept your promise.” Beca said before kissing the tip of Aubrey’s nose.

Aubrey smiled but kept her eyes closed. “A Posen-Conrad always keeps their promises.”

“You guys are good at that.”

Aubrey opened her mouth to answer but Beca’s lips covered hers in a kiss far less chaste than the ones they had exchanged the prior evening. She gave out a happy purr as Beca licked down into her mouth, languid but passionate; unhurried but definitely an indication of how the rest of the morning would go and Aubrey felt desire coiling as the rest of her body woke up.

At least until she opened her eyes, intending to wish Beca what was apparently going to be very good morning and found Beca leaning over her, all sleep tousled and warm…

With the Stitch hoodie pulled up over her head.

Aubrey began to laugh.

Beca propped her head on her right hand, watching as Aubrey fell apart every time she took in the blue ears on top of Beca’s head. Aubrey laughed so loud and so long that she snorted, which caused her to giggle even while she was mortified, but then she’d catch sight of Beca’s patiently waiting face, surrounded by blue fuzzy alien, and she’d lose it all over again. When she’d almost exhausted herself, Beca merely pursed her lips when Aubrey took a peek at her and snickered.

“Aubrey.”

“Yes?” Aubrey let out a giggle, keeping her eyes closed.

“Stacie has made love to me in this onesie.” Beca hadn’t stopped tracing designs on Aubrey’s stomach since the first giggle and now she curved her fingers around Aubrey’s hip. “I don’t see what the problem is.” Her tone was nothing but pure amused affection and despite the fact that she just can’t, Aubrey felt herself melt.

“That’s because you guys are aca-pervs.” Aubrey giggled again, high pitched and borderline hysterical at the image that formed and she knew at some point she and Chloe would have to watch them re-enact that. ‘Would you like to be pot, or kettle?’ she mentally asked herself and snorted again.

“Guess you’ll just have to take it off me.” Beca said silkily in her ear and Aubrey’s laughter tapered off into a moan as Beca’s hand moved up to cover her breast.

“Yes please,” Aubrey breathed as her back arched into her lovers touch.

Beca kissed her. “Let me properly thank you for saving the rest of the team from a very cranky artist.”

“I think, and I mean this from the very bottom of my heart, that the pleasure is about to be mine.” Aubrey’s hands slid over Beca until she found the row of buttons on the onesie. “After I get you out of this and naked.”

Beca smiled at her as Aubrey slowly undid them one by one, humming in anticipation with each inch of skin exposed.

“I love Vienna.”

[zacharybosch]

Playing God - chapter 1

*brushes the dust off my tumblr account* hello? anyone still here?

i have effectively abandoned my tumblr after the banning nonsense of december, but i am also hungry for validation and not above using this platform that i now despise in order to promote my work

so! here is a hannigram vampire AU! it features art by @theseavoices and i really hope you all like it!!

the fic is complete and a new chapter will be posted every saturday

read Playing God chapter 1 below or on AO3

Beverly Katz was not much prone to gazing forlornly out of windows and letting her mind churn itself into soup, but right now she could very much see the appeal. Jack was repeating the benefits of the Bureau’s secure witness protection unit for the third time in ten minutes, and all Bev wanted to do was throw herself repeatedly against the bullet-proof glass.

“This entire unit is completely secure, but we’ll keep an agent on the door to your suite twenty-four-seven. Every possible entrance to the unit is covered by CCTV. No blind spots. No-one can so much as sneeze in your direction without us knowing about it.”

“Are you expecting someone to sneeze at me?”

“We’re not expecting anything out of the ordinary. But I want to know that you’re safe.”

“Right now I don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe again. But I appreciate the trouble you’re going to,” Bev said, fully cognizant of the fact that it had less to do with her personal safety, and everything to do with Jack giving himself a sense of control over the situation.

“We’re working on procuring evidence. Hard evidence. Something that will stand up in court.”

Bev pushed away from the window and turned to face Jack. He was stood in the middle of the room steadfast and resolute, silhouetted by the weak afternoon light streaming in from the opposite window. “You don’t need to chastise me again. I know it was stupid. I just couldn’t let it lie, Jack, do you understand? Chilton is a lot of things, but he is not smart enough to be the Chesapeake Ripper. The whole thing stank from the beginning, but apparently I was the only one who could smell it.”

“If you had just come to me--”

“I did, but you were too wrapped up in Chilton!” Bev shouted, and then stopped herself. Few people could get away with shouting at Jack Crawford once; no-one could get away with shouting at him twice. “You know me, Jack. What did you expect me to do? I had to be sure.”

“Your sense of surety came at a price.”

“It’s a price I’m happy to pay if it means we can cage Hannibal Lecter for good. What I saw in that basement will stay with me for the rest of my life. Please make it worth it.”

“We’ll get him, Beverly, I promise you that. Things are in motion as we speak.”

***

“I’m a vampire.”

Hannibal blinked once, slowly. Then he blinked again. “A vampire.”

“Yes,” Will said. “Whatever shitty little note you’re about to make in my file, don’t make it. This will be a lot easier for both of us if you take me at my word.”

“I see,” Hannibal said. And then, after a too-long pause, “Does Jack know?”

“He does. I have a handler at the bureau who acts as my liaison. Knowledge of my condition is on a strictly need-to-know basis, and so long as I’m working for Jack, he needs to know.”

Hannibal’s eyes glittered in the late afternoon light. “And when he no longer needs to know?”

“I can’t wipe his memory in my current state, but I can scramble it enough that he forgets what I am.”

“And what state is that?”

“I’m on a strict feeding program. ‘Subsistence appointments,’ they call them. I’m given enough to keep me alive, but not so much as to let me thrive. I have… things I can do that go beyond the normal scope of human capability. The feeding program is there to keep those abilities in check.”

“Diminished but functional,” Hannibal mused, “and easier to control.”

“Right. If I don’t turn up for my subsistence appointments, or show up having already fed elsewhere, there are consequences.”

“What does a vampire have to fear from mere human consequences?”

“Plenty. My Keepers have become creative in their methods of control.”

“Fascinating,” Hannibal said. “The Bureau has made a lion into a housecat.”

Hannibal sat quietly for several moments, savouring the secrets that had just been revealed and no doubt already planning ways to twist them to his own ends. A short while later, he got up from his chair and made for the top right-hand drawer of his desk, producing a small gilt hand-mirror from within.

Will huffed a laugh. “If you’re hoping to get some proof with that mirror, it won’t work. Modern mirrors are backed with aluminium. They reflect my image just fine.”

“A good job then that this mirror is very old, and backed with silver,” Hannibal said, coming to a stop by the arm of Will’s chair.

“Of course you have something like that just kicking around in your desk drawers,” Will sighed, rolling his eyes. At least Hannibal wasn’t demanding that Will extend his fangs and hiss. “Give it here then.”

Instead of passing the mirror to Will, Hannibal kept his grip on the handle and leaned down to circle his arm around the back of Will’s chair, a scant breath from pressing against his shoulders. He raised the mirror before their faces, and Will watched as Hannibal’s solitary reflection smiled slow and wide.

“Outstanding,” Hannibal said, as he remained there, looking.

It was difficult to tell how much time passed after that; possibly minutes, maybe hours, but to Will it was just more fleeting seconds in the endless stretch of his already impossibly long life. Hannibal appeared transfixed, tilting the mirror this way and that, letting his gaze shift slowly between the glass and Will’s steady, unblinking face. Fascinated by what he couldn’t see.

Having Hannibal’s body so close to his own made Will’s teeth ache. He could smell the skin, the meat that sat beneath it, and the blood that snaked through it. He knew that, were he to turn his head and bite right now, Hannibal would taste sublime.

Will shifted in his chair and pushed the mirror away from his face. “I’m not a specimen, Doctor. Sit down.”

If Will’s brusque instruction gave Hannibal pause or offence he showed no sign of it, but instead of sitting he went to replace the mirror and then remained there by the desk, fingers curled against the smooth wood.

“You mentioned a need-to-know basis,” Hannibal said. “Do I need to know? Why isn’t your handler conducting this meeting?”

“You don’t need to know. I could get the therapeutic benefits that I need from you without revealing what I am. That’s what I was ordered to do when they signed off on my coming here.”

“But you’re flouting the rules and telling me anyway.”

“Yes.”

Hannibal stood silently for a long moment, considering. “Am I in any danger, Will?” he asked, not sounding the least bit frightened.

“More than you were yesterday. Less than you might be tomorrow. A great deal depends on what you choose to do with this information.”

“Do I have a choice?”

Will rose from his chair and buttoned his jacket. “Not really. Goodnight, Doctor Lecter.”

Outside, the streetlights had just begun to flicker to life, picking out piles of snow and slushy puddles with a sodium-yellow glow. A woman walking down the other side of the street was bundled up in scarf and gloves, so Will drew his thin coat around himself accordingly and hunched his shoulders against what he assumed must be an unpleasant chill.

He had one leg and most of an arm inside his car when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. On the other end of the line, Jack’s voice was fuzzy and impatient.

“How did it go? Did you hook him?”

“He’s interested. I don’t think it’ll take very long. But, Jack--”

“Good. Don’t dawdle, Miriam wants to see you when you get back.”

[marie-lamb-b]

The Ink DeMonth. Day 5: Dark.

The time trapped in the studio really stresses the old man. And not even a peaceful dream could save him from the studio's horrors.

Nope, this is NOT cheating. There are 2 separated things, can’t you see?

xDDD

Ok, actually, the first one was supposed to be its own story, be snaped out of that enviroment by Bendy and then it would end, and I was supposed to write an entire different thing for Dark Day. But as I kept writing, this turned darker and darked and... well... better divide it and make its own entrance as Dark Day :DDD

Tumblr Version under the cut!

(Tag Warnings: Body Horror)

“I’d wish you could really see it...” Henry said, closing his eyes rather somberly. “The lights in here... are so tiring, buzzing all the time, with that orange glow that tires your eyes but don’t let you get some real rest...!”

Bendy peeked up feeling such buzzing orange glow hit through his eye lids. With alarm he looked around, finding how their surrounds changed into a nasty copy of the studio the man was currently trapped in. there was no more field of green, but splintered floorboards beneath them; and no longer a tree was where the man was leaning on, but a dripping barrel of ink.

He looked up to the man, feeling how his grasp on the demon was tighter and heavier; he was starting to cry, too much stress. Even their surrounds were starting to tear apart like ripped paper, and through the tears black started to drip, pooling right under they were and more like crawling up to the man’s pant-leg and even reaching to the demon.

Nightmare.

Bendy returned his focus to the distressed man as their environment starter to also quake and rumble; he needed to make him react!

“Hey, Henry! Henry, snap it out! Henry? Henry, c’mon! Don’–”

But nothing else but a shriek could he have said, as the man, in some sort of grieving trance, slowly slumped over the demon, engulfing him and sending him to... nothing. But it’s not the same nothing as the wide white space that used to be the man’s mindscape, no. Instead, darkness surrounded him, suffocated him. If he didn’t wiggle his fingers would have thought he didn’t even have a hand, for this was real nothingness.

But something else was there... humidity? Bendy could feel it, but wasn’t able to place from where or what it came.

A low, warm breeze pushed against his face at intervals; to be followed by a cold one hitting by his back.

“Henry?” He called. “Henry, were are ya?!” His voice trembled.

“Henry!” Someone else called, voice severe and cutting, although familiar. “Oh, for God’s sake. Henry, WAKE UP!”

Sudden light hit Bendy’s sight, and once he could customize to it, he saw him. Henry –young Henry!– was just above him, long hair all fuzzy and eyes narrowed, leaning in his old desk as if he was sleeping on it. And he himself was just a mere drawing in a page, unable to get out as he was totally inside Henry’s dream –no longer a lucid one– and completely ignored.

“What. Do you think. You’re doing.” Cold and full of anger; Bendy knew that voice. He didn’t like it.

“Sorry, Joey” Young Henry stiffed a yawn while rubbing his eyes. “It’s just that it’s already late. I’ve been working on these cells the whole day and I just–”

“Well, doesn’t seem it if whenever I find you, you are sleeping at work!” Bendy certainly flinched at his tone, too terrified to try anything. But the animator only sighed.

“Look, Joey. I’m sorry, okay?” He seemed too tired to try and keep that argue. Did this happen before? Was a memory dream? “I’m about to finish, so what if you just let me and–”

“This cells were supposed to be down two hours ago. And now, thanks to YOUR laziness, we have Nothing to work with!”

And a wave seemed to spread from Henry. It seemed to be the last straw.

“My laziness, Joey?” He repeated very so softly. “What do you think I’ve spent the last 34 HOURS? Joey, I haven’t gone home in all that time!” He stood up; Bendy wasn’t able to see more than the young man’s back. “I’ve... I’ve been Right. Here. Killing my back in that stupid chair that you said ‘it was just fine for anyone that didn’t really need to move around’, sketching, lining, inking and then repeating Every. Fucking. Part of the process. For you to come here, accusing me to be the one to blame for things not being done in time?!”

He started to pacing around, and Bendy was able to take a look at the man next to his animator, but his face was completely distorted, like scratched and glitching.

“What about you, Joey?!” He kept ranting. “What, in your fucking sake, have you done around to ‘help things to be done’, huh? Complain about the things undone? Yelling at poor interns to hurry up, maybe? Or it was to demand another ‘inspiring speech about dreams and belief’ to the poor guys at the writing department while you just slump in your big, cushioned chair and just–!”

“DON’T YOU DARE TO REFER TO ME IN THAT TONE, STEIN!” He violently retorted, and Bendy was sure he saw that face deform into a giant, screeching maw, even filled with fangs as he dangerously sneered. “Don’t forget all I’ve done to you. And as easily as I got it for you, I could take it down.” He threated. That’s why Henry didn’t work in animation anymore?

But Henry just stood there, panting for a while, facing the distorted man with resolution in his eyes.

“I’m out.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Joey. I’m out.” Henry repeated, approaching to the desk and starting to ruffling among his belongings, ready to pack and leave, although Bendy’s page was not included; only seeing him to move towards the door. “Go find some other to take all of your jackass ‘leadership’, as you call it. see if I care. But I won’t take it anymore.”

“Henry, no. You don’t–”

“Good riddance, Drew.” He moved, but the one he referred as Joey didn’t move from his spot by the door. “Joey, I said ‘good–”

And that now vaguely humanoid shape held his wrist, rather painfully if dreams could transmit such sensations. But instead of it, a wave of cold dread shook the now darkening room. And Bendy was hit by it.

“Y̸o̷u̴ ̶w̵o̶n̵'̷t̷ ̸g̷o̶ ̷a̴n̵y̵w̸h̷e̸r̴e̶.̴.̶.̷” That thing said, his voice now terrifyingly distorted.

“Joey...?” Henry said, stepping back and stumbling against the desk, as he was aging more and more as he reached the appearance he held nowadays.

The thing-supposed-to-be-Joey stretched as black, inky trails took place all over the room, taking away almost every sliver of color. He– It!– now looked skeletal; spine peaking from its spine like thorns and ribcage and hips so prominent...! from its head a black substance started to drip and cover every single part of his body, taking place as skin covering the lanky shape of the thing. The sole thing that didn’t cover was that misshapen maw, but still ink dripped from every syllable it spat.

“I̴̢̭̒ ̴̡̳̏̋s̵̜̳͒a̷̳͖̒́i̸̙̽̔d̸̙̍ ̴̲̰̒y̸̲͙͂ô̸̗͠ủ̷̠͈ ̶͈͈̔͋w̸̛̭ơ̷̼̞n̷͕͒͝'̸̖̕͠t̸͕͊͗ ̴̦̗̀̊g̸̟̞̈́Ȏ̵̬̜͝ ̸͖̞̋Ā̷̛͓N̴͎̑͠Y̷̺̼̌Ẁ̴͇̪H̶̖̐̂E̵̘͌̆R̴̲̽E̸̙̩̐̌!̵̧̡̈́!̶̹̃!̵̳̮̍̉”

The thing lurched towards him, misshapen black horns protruding from his dripping head as he closed every way of escape from the old man.

“Y̴̢̼̔O̸̱̅U̴͓͉͘ ̷̞̮͂͘W̴̭͔̾O̴̹͒͊N̵̗͂'̸̡̝̆͗T̴̯̦͋ ̸̹̈T̸̿̔ͅÄ̷̫́̅K̶̝̀̾E̵̩̜͑ ̷̲̠̉͊H̵̘͕̍̈́I̴̺̖̔̅M̸̛͈̀ ̸̲̫͗F̵̠̄̕R̵̿̀͜O̷̭͑̾M̸̗̈́ ̴͈̹͆M̴̨͒E̷͚̍͌!̴̟̩͝!̵̞̈́̌!̵̺̥̐̏” That thing screeched, and Henry flinched, recoiling and slumping over the desk, covering his head. And Bendy only watched in terror.

“G̸̘̃I̴͔͝V̴͔̦̋Ẽ̸̺̇ ̷̬̎͗H̵̺̣͌Ī̸̢̭̋M̷̗͘ͅ ̶͍̐B̶̘̊A̶̬͆͒C̶͓̲̅K̷̡̾!̶̛͔̅ͅ!̷̦̹̀͊!̶̖̖̿̿”

Bendy only watched.

“R̶̳̖̟̘̔͐Ė̷̟̄͐T̵̯̪͍̏̓Ŭ̶̲̈̽̕R̸͙̙͈͂͐N̸̡͓͍̞͒ ̷̪̙̆̂H̶̬͍̦̑Ḯ̴̧̭̝͙̀M̶̱̯͋͂̓̚ ̴̫̂̀̓͜͠T̶̢͉̞̺̔͐O̷̡̤̽̓͝ ̶͙̺̥̈́̒͛M̵͓͕̘̦̉͘͘Ę̶̖͉̰͋͝!̸̨͇͖̻̈́̊͘͝!̷͉̫̈́!̸͚̓̆̃”

He couldn’t just watch!

“G̸̮̘̾̒͗̅͠ͅĮ̶̦̪̳̹̚V̴̡̯̺̥͍͆̏͑̚͘͝E̶̱̝̾̂̈́̉͛͘ ̵̨̞͙̱̩̹͆̀̌͘M̷̫̓ͅĔ̶͓͇͠ ̸͓̹̪̬̣̋͘B̵̯͈͉̎̈́͗ͅE̸͔͚̝̳͑͒͌͠N̵̟̤̈́̾D̴̗̜̩͌́͆̃̓̐Y̸̛̗̦̖̪̱͎͗͂̎̚͝ ̷̦͙̟̈B̵͍͉̭̗͎͛̕A̶̳͙̤̎͗̿̾C̶̡̹͈̱̘͆̃́̀̕͘K̸̢̡̼̞͆̇̈́̂!̵͎̹͔̓͑̔̋ͅ!̸̙͖̬̲́͒͒̔!̶̟̉͗̾̌̃”

“HENRY, WAKE UP!”

The old man gasped as he sprung from his cot. With the air some saliva got into his throat and started to cough quite violently, adding to it the sudden movement that made his head heavy and pumping.

Heavy steps could be heard from the hall; Boris appeared from the threshold with concern frowning his features. Slowly he approached the man, hovering his gloved hands over him, undecided about how to help.

“I’m...” His voice was hoarse. “I’m fine, Boris. It was just... just a nightmare. That’s all it was...” Henry said, although worry took over all his thoughts.

He held his head between his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees, focusing. Back in his mind, a flash of fear seemed to be there, shaking if it could, yet he was sure it wasn’t from himself.

“Oh, God... Bendy, I’m so sorry...” He leaned on his hand closing his eyes. How could he leave a nightmare take place in his mind? They were fine before that, and now he had no way to reach for Bendy as he wasn’t in conditions to get back to sleep at the moment.

A jerk on the cot; Henry looked next to him as Boris took seat by his side, holding him in a side-hug and whining a little, trying to comfort him somehow.

“Thanks, Boris...” He muttered, leaning on his side, thoughtful. “Just of curiosity... there’s no way you would go to sleep at the same time I do, wouldn’t you?”

Boris peered out his head to respond with doubt and fear written by all his face, obviously not too keen to the idea.

“Heh, I supposed so.” Henry said more to himself, but Boris still tilted his head with strangeness. “Nothing, it’s just... nothing.”

It had no case insisting on the topic, as danger was real there and the wolf wouldn’t allow to low his guard, less if he felt he had to protect the man somehow.

Until he could fall asleep again, he won’t get any other choice to calm down his little mind companion.

[bard-secret-santa]

Happy Snowdown

A/N:This is for the Bard Secret Santa on Tumblr. @macabrelamb, I hope you like this. I couldn't decide between Draven or Darius, so... Why not both? Heh. Enjoy! Also, Ao3 link here! [x]

Summary: Darius has just returned from a campaign, but while he wants nothing more than to sleep, his brother has other plans... A Secret Santa gift for @macabrelamb on Tumblr!

Strings of lights, red and green and blue and gold, were all strewn about, flickering and bright against the dusk. Some lined rooftops and windows, while others twirled around bushes. Snowdown decorations littered any free space in entrance-ways, and parked in plain sight through every open window sat Snowdown trees, trimmed with ornaments and covered in tinsel. All around, people flocked to parties and bustled with energy, despite the late hour. Noxus was always crowded, with so many gathered in such tight walkways, shoulder-to-shoulder, Darius found it silly for him to have worn any furs at all. The streets were warm from so many crammed bodies, but at least when people saw him, they stepped aside. 

  It was late, and Darius was long overdue for a good rest. Late nights of strategies and training were draining enough, but he had been assigned to a small faction. An elite force, handpicked by Cyrus, that had traveled to the rough lands of Freljord, where the winds howled and the ice cut. They had seiged and captured a key border fort, and upon their return, the soldiers had been praised for their successful campaign, and given an audience with Emperor Boram Darkwill himself.

  Darius was proud of what he'd accomplished, but he was also tired. His limbs were sore from marching, and as he finally reached his doorstep, he still hadn't decided whether he should take a warm bath or fall asleep on his bed first. The door was bare, the lights off, just as they'd been when he'd left, months ago. The key slid into the keyhole just the same, and the doorway was as finicky as ever, squeaking in protest as he pushed it roughly ajar. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and turned the lights of the entrance on.

  "SURPRISE!!!"

  Darius winced at the sound, half-way into a crouch already, before he registered who the voice belonged to.

  There was his baby brother, leaning back on the couch, looking as comfortable as ever. His legs were kicked over the edge, and his boots dangled lazily in the air. Draven's moustache was tidy and trimmed to perfection, and he donned a Snowdown suit, right down to the red, fuzzy hat. Darius had definitely not given him a key to his apartment, but he should have known that wouldn't stop him.

  This was not how this meeting had gone in his head. 

  Before he left, Darius had had a rough argument with Draven. His little brother, upset that he hadn't been chosen for the campaign, had walked away fuming and cursing. Darius himself had been just as frustrated, but had pushed the fight aside to focus on his mission. Now, he was home, and having to confront his brother when he was on the brink of exhaustion was just about the last thing he needed.

  But of course, Draven was as nosy as he'd been since childhood, and endearing though it might be, Darius was simply too tired to match his brother's energy, let alone settle a fight. He relaxed his posture, slipping out of his crouch, but kept his narrowed eyes on his little brother.

  Draven's grin quickly turned downward.

  "Jeez, no reaction? You'd think you were dead inside or something," he said. He made no move to leave the couch, or even lean forward, for that matter; rather, he seemed to settle even further back. "I mean, I know hanging out with frosty cavemen isn't anything like being in my company, but did you really forget how to smile?" Draven gestured at his own face, and he broke out in a wide, toothy grin. "Shee? Laike dish." 

  Darius stood there for a few moments before walking past his brother.

  I'll go to bed, he thought to himself. Draven can wait til--

  "Darius!" There was a distinct clatter as Draven hopped out of the couch and rushed to catch up. "Hey! It's Snowdown!"

  Darius stopped walking, took a deep, calming breath, and turned around.

  "I'm tired," he said. "I've been gone for months, and I want to rest."

  Draven waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, that can wait. You can sleep after this." Draven struck a pose, and Darius would have rolled his eyes if he'd had the energy. "I brought you your Snowdown gift!"

  Darius didn't move. "It can wait until tomorrow," he said again. 

  Draven shook his head. "No, it really can't." He flashed his toothy, curled grin at his brother. "Trust me."

  Darius sighed, raising a hand to rub his forehead in exasperation. Draven always had a way of getting under his skin, but... Darius turned around.

  "Let me unpack first, at least," he told his brother. Behind his retreating form, he heard Draven let out a victory cry. He could almost imagine him leaping in joy.

  Sighing again, Darius carefully placed his pack onto his bed, and began to gently rummage around inside it.

  --

  By the time he wandered back out to the living room area, Darius found that his brother had managed to produce a small tree, feebly decorated with five bulbs and a half-hazard tinsel job. He'd placed it by the window and opened the curtains. He heard his brother humming Snowdown tunes to himself as he sat by the tree. By his side was a small box, wrapped in paper covered in candy canes. When his eyes met Darius's, he grinned, practically glowing with pride.

  "I did the decorating myself," he said, as though it wasn't obvious. "It's not... flashy enough in here, you know?" 

  Darius allowed himself a small smile. "Flashy is for you, not me."

  "Truer words have yet to be spoken," Draven declared, enthusiasm pouring from his voice. Then he sat up taller, eagerness lighting up his eyes. "Snowdown time!" He stood, and the bells on his belt jingled as he pulled the box up with him. "Here." He sat beside his brother on the couch and handed him the box. Darius took it, but he put it down on his other side, then turned to face Draven.

  "We need to talk," he said. Draven made a face; he knew that tone from when they were young. Darius reserved it for only the most serious of situations. 

  "We are talking," Draven replied. Darius didn't bother answering that; Draven slumped forward, looking across the room. He avoided his brother's gaze. He sighed then, and Darius knew he'd resigned himself to their discussion. "Fine... About what?"

  Even though Draven refused to meet his eyes, that didn't stop Darius from seeking him out anyways. His brother was young, but he'd gained a few scars since Darius had left, and they made him seem older, just a bit. Even so, he was still more or less the same spirit he'd been as a child, overeager and proud and quietly, quietly afraid of his shortcomings, afraid of being a shortcoming. 

  "I know you wanted to go on the campaign," Darius said. He had meant it to be quiet, but as always, his voice was gravelly and deep, projecting more than he'd intended to. But he pressed on. "But you weren't ready."

  Draven let out a gust of air he'd been holding.

  "You always say that," he said, "But I've proven myself plenty." His hands clenched into fists against his knees. "But I just didn't want..." He trailed off, then started again. "I'm always by your side. So you going, and me staying... It just... Felt weird. Wrong." He hesitated. "Does that make sense?"

  Darius let out a breath of his own. "You don't need me to stay with you anymore," he told Draven. "You're not a kid anymore. And we have duties, to Noxus--"

  "I know, I know," Draven cut him off. His clenched fists finally relaxed, settling together as he leaned forward. "I'm not saying I need you around to coddle me. I'm not a child. I just..." Draven struggled to find words for a moment. "I want to be... Equal. Your equal."

  Darius shook his head. "Our strength isn't equal. That doesn't make you weak. As you've said, you've proven yourself plenty."

  "Hm." Draven let out a hum, and Darius let him ponder his words in silence. For a time, there was nothing but their breathing and the dusk light creeping through the open window. 

  Finally, Draven looked up to meet Darius's gaze, and he found resolution in them. "You're wise beyond your years, big brother." 

  Darius smirked. "Of course I am." Without missing a beat, he tore into his gift. Draven started, surprised, but he beamed widely as Darius peeled the paper away.

  "It's awesome, I promise!" he said. Darius lifted a penguin snow globe up in his palms. "See?" Draven grabbed it from his hands, turned it upside down, and twisted a key beneath it. A Snowdown tune began to play. "It's so cool!"

  Darius chuckled. "Thank you," he said. He searched the room for somewhere to put it. His eyes fell on the windowsill. "It is pretty bare in here."

  "Exactly!" Draven said. "That's what I was sayin--"

  A thump from Darius's room made him cut off. He stood, glancing down at his brother in curiosity.

  "Go see," Darius said, his smirk growing into a full-blown grin. "it's for you." Draven wandered off excitedly, and Darius looked out the window.

  It was a lovely night, made all the better by a warm home and brother. He was still going to bed, though, right after Draven found--

  "Oh my Gods, is this a--?!" Draven's laughter tumbled down the hallway. "It's a poro! A poro! Oh, Gods, you're heavy, dude... I'm naming him Glory!!!" 

  Darius heard his brother stomping back to the room, squeezing the life out of a fluffy foreign creature, and he met his gaze with a smile. "Happy Snowdown," he said. Draven grinned back, eyes wide and bright.

  "Yeah," he replied, "Happy Snowdown."

[tb5-heavenward]

talented amateurs (continued)

well. you know these things are hard to leave alone. I don’t know how far this is gonna go, so as with all things of its nature, the bit that isn’t standalone is gonna live on tumblr.

talented amateurs is here, and it’s secretly-a-first-chapter is informally titled champagne and bordeaux.

2 - sheets and blankets

It's half past two in the morning, and there's someone else in his bed.

Although, from a technical standpoint, it's not technically his bed, and probably (technically), it actually belongs to the someone else who's invaded it. Creighton-Ward Manor is her legacy, after all. Reasonably, at least from a legal standpoint, Penelope's probably entitled to be wherever the hell she wants.

Whether or not her rights as the heir apparent to the estate in question extend to poking him---insistently---in the ribs with the point of a manicured finger is not a question he knows the answer to.

But then, John's never been great when it comes to the whole concept of archaic feudal law and how much of it still applies to the modern English gentry.

He makes the mistake of opening one eye, and finds Penelope curled up on the other side of the bed, a bare handsbreadth from his face, her blue eyes big and bright and anxious in the moonlight through the bedroom window.

"John?" she whispers, urgent and then, unnecessarily, "Are you awake?"

"No," he grumbles, an immediately obvious lie, even as he groans and pulls the blankets over his head. "G'way."

She prods him in the ribs again and then draws a single shaky breath, to express several discrete concepts as a single word, "John-I-got-drunk-at-a-party-and-I-made-out-with-your-brother-in-a-back-stairwell-and-now-I-can't-sleep-and-I-don’t-know-what-to-do."

The tail end of this is an anxious whimper, and that's enough to tweak at John's conscience, even as he starts to drop back off---easier to do than usual, after a long day of travel and merriment and liquor and gravity. He's had a bare and grossly insufficient two hours of sleep, even if he'd managed to turn in a little earlier than the rest of his brothers. And now, for some reason, he's got a bed full of Penelope, whining---or whinging, seeing as it's England---at him. It's possible that the only way to solve this problem is to actually acknowledge her, and---even at half-past two in the morning, still a little fuzzy from all the merriment and the liquor and the gravity---John can still think his way through to the quickest path from problem to resolution. He's a little sullen as he pulls the blankets back down, but nevertheless he rubs at his eyes, and wearily asks, "Which one?"

Penelope sighs in a dramatic and tremulous fashion. "The corridor leading into the east wing off the back of the ballroom."

The silence that follows is painfully unironic.

And so John's not particularly apologetic as he reaches out to pat the top of Penelope's head and then informs her, "I'm going back to sleep."

This is received with a dismayed cry of protest and she seizes hold of his wrist plaintively. "John, please!"

"Okay, okay." It's playing absolute hell with hardwired instincts, the notes of genuine helplessness and distress in her tone, and the way she clasps his wrist with a sort of desperate urgency. She's pushed herself up to kneel on the mattress beside him, desperately entreating him for---well, something. He's not exactly sure what she wants. But whatever it is, whether he likes it or not, John's awake now. He's groggy and still partway drunk and grumpy---but awake. And apparently back on-call. And the first step in any disaster situation is to get himself an accurate sit rep. "Okay. What happened?"

Penelope gives another disconsolate sigh. "Your brother kissed me."

A quick inventory of the roster weighed against what he knows about his brothers, their ages, and their personal preferences suggests only two major possibilities, and Scott's got John and the bottle of cognac they probably shouldn't have split between them for an alibi.

"Gordon kissed you," he hazards, just to make absolutely sure.

Penelope nods, blue eyes wide and guileless in the dark. Her gown for the evening had been a confection of soft purple lace and airy tulle, but she's since changed into a long camisole with a dressing gown to match, and these are both rendered in shimmering ivory satin. It only adds to the illusion of Penelope as a delicate and innocent English Rose, but John's known her far too long to believe that this is anything but an act.

If "English Rose" can be considered a technical classification, then in Penelope's case it extends exclusively to the fairness her complexion, and no further. John's known Penelope to throw arms' dealers through plate glass windows and to vault chain link fences in pursuit of cyberterrorists. Penelope routinely outfoxes the foxiest of the criminal underworld, and does so in more than one sense of the word. Penelope is no more a shrinking violet than she is a ditzy socialite, even if sometimes she'll play the latter, and sometimes---as relates to the inopportune exchange of selfies and assignations in what could apparently have been any number of back stairways---John's not entirely sure that the ditziness is entirely an act. Even so, it's incredibly rare for Penelope to act the damsel. Something isn't adding up.

"Okay," he says again. "Why are you in my bed about it?"

"Your. Brother. Kissed. Me."

John rubs at his eyes again and wonders if this is possibly some sort of lucid nightmare. He doesn't drink often. He resolves to drink much less in future. "Yeah, I got that part. Look, is the implication meant to be that this was something not entirely consensual? Clearly you've had a couple drinks? Penelope, if you're telling me I need to go thrash my little brother for impulsively sucking on your face, then: A---I'll do it, but I'll need to put pants on; and B---pretty sure you could've handled that one yourself."

Penelope huddles miserably in her nightgown and shakes her head. "No," she protests, but weakly. "No, it was---we were both---I mean, I did kiss him first. I started it. That was me."

This is really about as far as it gets from John's general area of expertise. So he reverts to the basics.

"This was a bad thing?" he guesses, basing the assumption on Penelope's general air of distress and the fact that she's huddling miserably in her nightgown on the opposite side of his bed.

"It was lovely," she answers, mournful.

Oh, well, obviously.

John amends his assessment. "This was a good thing."

"I don't know! It was---oh. I just---John, I think he's in love with me. And I---I don't know---I didn't expect..." Penelope takes a shaky deep breath. "What if I hurt him?"

John was not aware that this was a hazard of kissing, as a matter of course, and he winces a little at the mental imagery. "Uh. Well. I don't know about that, but I feel like I can reassure you about Gordon's---um---general...uh...durability? I guess? He's pretty tough. I don't think you could've done anything to him in a back stairway that would've done him any, uh, any lasting harm." He pauses, corrects, "I mean, not if you weren't actively trying to."

Penelope swats him on the arm. "Not like that. I mean...I mean what if this isn't what he wants it to be? What if I'm not? What if I've taken the most terrible advantage? I wasn't thinking about it, he was just there and we were just talking and then it just happened and---oh. Oh, I don't know. If I broke his heart, I don't think I could bear it."

This is either a problem of perspective or a problem of scale, and John isn't certain which. This is really, absolutely not his area of expertise. "...is that...I mean, do you think that's likely?"

"I don't want it to be."

"Well, it sounds like that's a start, anyway." John hesitates a moment and tries to come up with something genuine, useful, and likely to make Penelope get the hell out of his bed. "Look, you know this isn't really my area. But I guess---just as general advice goes, I'll tell you what I tell anyone in an unfamiliar situation: don't be hasty, think carefully, and try not to do anything stupid. You'd be shocked how often people actually need to be told not to do anything stupid. Not," he adds hastily, before Penelope can catch up with the sentiment, "that I think you'd do anything stupid. Honestly, Pen, I think the fact that your biggest fear is that you might hurt him is the best indication that you probably won't."

She's listened intently to this instruction, and seems at least a little relieved to be given a clear directive. "Do you really think so?"

"I really do," John tells her solemnly, and hopes that he's been sufficiently convincing. It's very late. He yawns pointedly.

"He's just dreadfully sweet, your brother."

"When he wants to be."

"I do like him quite a lot."

"I'm told he's fairly likeable."

"And he's very handsome."

"This family has reasonably good genes."

"And he's a fantastically good kisser."

"I really don't need to know about that."

"I would very much like to go kiss him some more. Do you suppose he's still awake?"

John pauses. This, actually, sounds like it goes against exactly the advice he's just given---but it would probably get her out of his bed. He wrangles with the answer for only a moment, before he settles on the careful statement, "I think if he's had as much to drink as you have, he's probably off sleeping somewhere equally as ridiculous as in my damn bed."

"So you think I should go find him?"

Categorically not, but---"I think you should get out of my bed, so I can go back to sleep."

"I suppose I should, shouldn't I?" The mattress jostles as Penelope clambers off it, but she doesn't quite leave. In the moonlight through the bedroom window, in her long white dressing gown, she looks almost ghostly. John's already settling back down, nestling beneath the blankets. "You've been very helpful," she whispers, finally taking the hint.

"Just doing my job."

"Thank you very much."

"Mmhm."

“Good night, John.”

By the time the bedroom door opens and closes softly again, John's already halfway back to sleep. He wonders only briefly if he'll even remember this conversation in the morning. Privately, it's possible he hopes not.