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wildemaven · 4 months

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strangers : poolside | dave york

pairing: dave york x f!reader word count: 6622 content warnings: 18+ blog; ANGST, soft!Dave, established relationship, miscommunication (like a lot), mentions of alcohol and food, workaholic Dave, morning breath, Dave’s stupid phone, talks of marital woes, slight exhibitionism, breast/nipple/clit play, a random handsome stranger, jealous Dave, talk of having or wanting children, a kiss of fluff, implied/alluding to infidelity (there is none, reader just doesn’t know this), reader is mentioned wearing lingerie and a bathing suit- but zero description features, no age given but it’s implied she’s at least over 30, no y/n, established relationship, this is au- no Carol or kids, if I missed anything let me know. notes: ahh! I’m so nervous for this chapter!! But so excited for it also. I’m so glad I took my time with it so it could be exactly what it needed to be— which is kinda of a roller coaster of emotions. While the story is completely fictional, this has felt very cathartic to me because I dealt with a lot of similar thoughts/feelings as the reader. Anywho! Biggest thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for literally holding my hand through this and helping me work through it. 💕 strangers masterlist | previous | next | inspo board | playlist

The soft glow of the television bathes the hotel room in a soft ambient flicker. Faint colors and scene changes adjust the room’s atmosphere. Actors silently exchanging words back and forth, expressions all the more dramatic with the muted volume. The movie you’ve been looking forward to seeing, long forgotten, playing out in silence across the screen.

As expected, the bed is better than anything you have ever slept in. Its plush mattress, divine and soft. Similar to what you assume it might be like to doze off among the clouds. It braces your bodies with ease through shifting positions as the evening extends into the early hours of the next day.

The intricate structure of lace and mesh material felt exquisite on your skin. Molding over your body like it was made for you and only you. The cups of the teasing bra cradling the weight of your breast, pushed up on display, enticing enough to bring a man to his knees— the plan at least. Taking your time, admiring yourself in the bathroom mirror once everything was in place. Your eyes roaming over your body, letting your hands follow suit. Imaging all the ways Dave would map over your skin in the same manner. The prospect for what was to come was thrilling. Desire blooming in your veins. Arousal warm and already pooling in the crotch of your panties. It was evident, your body filled with pent up lust, ready to be satiated by your husband.

You delicately dotted drops of perfume to your skin— base of your throat, behind your ears, inner wrists. The warmth from your pulse points amplifying the lush fig and sandalwood notes, blending with your natural pheromones instantaneously. Before rejoining Dave, you slipped a hotel robe over your body, concealing the lacey number with wild anticipation.

His hands, gentle where they met your body with a soft caressing motion. Not rushed or seeking more than they were ready for. Blazing heat emitted from him, scorching your skin with a fieriness you so desperately craved. They stilled. Lingered.

Dave. Your voice cautious, velvety sweet, calling out to him.

The sounds that fell from his lips were beyond anything you could have prepared for. A booming roar reverberated through him. Filling the room. Consuming you. As quickly as the rousing fuse had been lit, it had just as quickly fizzled out mid burn.

Dave’s snoring was like a shock to the system. The warm buzz of arousal dissolved into a cold emptiness as you lay in bed alongside Dave’s sleeping form. No amount of lace or lack thereof, seemed to be enough to seduce the sluggish man, already nodding off when you had come slinking out from the bathroom. Propped up on pillows, his eyelids growing heavy with each forced blink as stared blankly at the television. His dinner plate picked over and discarded onto the nightstand.

This scenario you knew all too well— and regularly. The build up, always so hopeful. The prospect of Dave having his way with you, pure exhilaration. Your body so desperate, in need of a release that didn’t hail from a hurried moment alone with a tiny vibrating wand before crawling into bed with Dave’s sleeping form.

Your brain refused to shut off as you lay staring up at the ceiling, willing away tears. You finally settled on the only thing that made sense at this early hour. He no longer desired you like he once did. No amount of time or vacations away could restore that connection. Then there was also that outcome that you dreaded the idea of entertaining— maybe it just wasn’t you he desired.

The whole evening had been on a constant loop. Replaying and taking precedence over your usual fictional fantasies that unfolded upon entering a heavy slumber. The hotel suite balcony offered a reprieve from the room, quietly sipping your coffee alone.

It was mid morning when you decided to crawl out of bed, in desperate need of something to numb the dullness that settled behind your eyes. Sleep did little to ease the tornado of thoughts that swept through your mind as the sun rose over the coast of California. Your brain had a funny way of tormenting you with fabricated information. On high alert the minute it sensed uncertainty, in search of answers to unasked questions.

As the coastal fog burned off, you were able to properly take in the view. A colony of gulls flew by, their collaborative squawking was every bit as annoying as it was captivating.

Fellow early risers strolled the sidewalks below, coffees and large water bottles in tow, all absorbed in their little private worlds. Couples hand in hand, in search of the perfect ocean view to start their day. A strange feeling of resentment had crept in. These strangers, carrying on with their lives, seemingly unaware of the jealousy you harbored for their happiness.

Your thoughts trail back to Dave and the evening again. It was only the first day and the optimism around this vacation was starting to wane.

“Shit— I must have really needed some fucking sleep.” Dave groans as he joins you on the balcony, his hands rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sheet wrinkles embedded into the side of his face matched the similar ones on his cotton pajama pants and gray sleep shirt. His sleep etched voice is one of your favorite things to wake up to each morning. “I don’t even remember falling asleep at all.”

His body molds into yours, caging you in against the edge of the balcony. He’s warm and soft first thing in the morning. Like a moth to a flame, his lips find your skin. Tiny wet pecks from the base of your neck to your temple.

There was a point in time where things in your marriage felt very easy and Dave wasn’t always so invested in his work. You never felt like you were competing with files and phone calls for his undivided attention. The infatuation he held for you was palpable, leaving little room for doubt or worry.

When you met Dave there was an enigmatic quality about him. Neither of you were in a relationship or seeking out one, but also not completely opposed to the prospect of exploring one if something happened to fall into your laps. A chance meeting at a bar when his drink had literally fallen into your lap led to the rest of the evening spent tucked away in a dimly lit booth. The buzz of alcohol had you talking his ear off, and he allowed you to do so, consuming every little detail about you.

Dave shared minimal information about himself. Very on brand for his reserved but alluring demeanor. Aside from basic introductory facts, the only real thing you knew about him was his recent discharge from the military and his onboarding career in the CIA.

By the end of the night, you felt there was something intriguing about Dave, completely drawn to him. He was kind, generous and clearly the greatest listener. Ideally, he was someone you could see yourself with, wanting to know the ins and outs of who he was. So much so, you gave him your number. Scrawled across a beer soaked napkin, the ink bleeding out as each digit was carefully written out. He even said he’d call, leaving you with a kiss on your cheek before rejoining his buddies and calling it a night.

It was a week before you heard from him again, nearly giving up any hope he would be even remotely interested in you.

You learned that Dave’s walls were strong. Built of the strongest concrete. Resistant and impermeable to the elements. Over time his walls couldn’t withstand the depth at which you were willing to endure for him. Slowly crumbling and exposed. Finding that underneath the rubble was a man who was all in. A man who loved hard and never once made you question his loyalty to you.

“We can blame it on the jet lag.” You laugh softly into the coffee mug, taking another sip— definitely in need of more.

“Good morning, Honey.” He says, nudging his aquiline nose into your cheek, instinctively turning into him.

“Morning, Babe.” Dave turns you, the top of your robe slides off your shoulder— exposing the lace set you were still wearing.

“You’re still wearing it. Didn’t even get the chance to peel it off of you like I wanted to last night.” Pulling at the robe belt, the front falls open. Dave’s eyes widened, taking you all in, his irises now a deeper shade of his usual brown. “

“Yeah, well—“ You huffed, suppressing the impulse to acknowledge the hurt that was still ever-present.

“Fuck— Baby, I’m sorry. I'm two for two now. Let me make it up to you?”

Dave’s hands breach the inside of your robe. His hips flush to you— he’s hard, morning wood ready and eager. His deft fingers slide up the length of your spine, your skin covered in goosebumps once he reaches the clasp of the bra.

“Morning coffee breath— I’m gonna go brush my teeth.” Your head swerves his oncoming kiss, pulling the front of your robe closed again.

A hitch in your confidence. Curling in on yourself as you dislodge your body from where he has you pinned. That hot coiling response building in your lower abdomen, moments ago desperate for the way Dave wants you, now subsiding to a low simmer.

“You— um, have those calls you still need to make this morning?” You ask him, standing half way through the door, turning enough to catch the sunlight illuminating the bafflement on Dave’s face.

“Uh— Yeah. Still need to make those calls.” Dave’s dejected tone hits you like a bucket of ice. His head hanging and palms digging into his eyes.

“How long do you think it should take?”

“Few hours, give or take. Done by noon at the latest.”

“Okay. Maybe, if you’re up for it when you’re done— maybe we can go to the pool? Lounge a bit. Have some drinks. I got some new bathing suits, and have been dying to wear them. I think you might even like them.” An olive branch in the form of you served on a platter wearing minimal clothing. The likelihood of Dave accepting is rather favorable.

It’s unmistakable, devouring you— all conspicuous like and intense. Surveying every inch of your form leaning against the doorway.

Up the length of your smooth bare legs. The front of the robe flapping with the ocean breeze offering a peek of thigh and black lace. The fingers of your free hand toy with the collar, making it lay askew across your chest. A single breast exposed to cool morning air, nipple tight against the sheer material.

His gaze finally meets yours, shoulders lowering to their normal level. The slightest lift at the corner of his mouth, tip of his tongue gliding over his full bottom lip. Both of you landing on the same page, temptation reciprocated with blatant irresistibility.

“Yeah— Yeah, we can definitely do that.” He replied, his smile widening, the corner of his eyes crinkled— the Dave you fell in love with all those years ago in his truest form.

“Okay. I’ll order us some breakfast then. More coffee too. I drank the whole pot.” There’s a giddy feeling erupting inside of you. It seems like it’s been ages since you’ve seen Dave smile— genuinely smiling.

“Not surprised by that one bit. Hey—“ Capturing your attention before you’ve completely left the balcony. “I love you, you know that right?”

“Of course I do. I love you, too.”

Maybe it’s complacency that makes you feel like things within your marriage are stagnant, even borderline dull as of recently. The lack of regular intimacy, a normal thing all couples encounter at some point through their years together, not a telltale sign of extramarital meandering. Maybe that’s also not a bad thing. Just a season of life. A small hiccup in your otherwise normal and loving relationship.

As promised, it’s noon by the time Dave wraps up his final phone call and you’re both sitting atop the roof of the hotel. Basking in the sweltering rays of the California sun is exactly what was needed after being cooped up in the room all morning.

Breakfast in bed while Dave paced the length of the balcony. One phone call after the next, all varying in degrees of duration and intensity based on how animated Dave’s hand gestures and contorted expressions were. You had delivered his plate of eggs, sausage and toast during his first call, leaving it on the small table along with a fresh pot of coffee. He kissed you and mouthed a ‘thank you’ before sinking his teeth into the burnt buttered bread and continuing his meeting or whatever it was he was doing.

The minute he walked in announcing he was finished, your two piece suit was on and you were throwing Dave’s swim trunks at him from across the room. Tote bag containing pool lounging necessities— sunscreen, sunglasses, current book, wallet —was packed and waiting by the door. Your sheer excitement filled the room, a contagious feeling in the way Dave was mildly laughing at your frantic antics.

Either you both were the only ones staying at this hotel or no one else found joy in a gorgeous rooftop pool like you did. In the few hours spent lounging poolside, there was one, maybe two, other guests that also had an afternoon by the pool on their itinerary, too. There was a silent understanding among everyone that they stay in their respective spaces, evenly spaced out.

No one was complaining though. Fewer people meant less people lined up for cocktail refills at the bar. Fewer obnoxious conversations you didn’t have to drown out while focusing on the romance novel you were close to finishing. Zero avoidance of bodies in the water while Dave and you took a dip to cool off. Aside from visiting the pacific, this is how you intended to spend the rest of your days in California.

The moment you dive into your book, time and everything around you becomesa faint distraction from the fictional world you're absorbed in. The sheriff with his cowboy drawl and ridiculously handsome mustache, falls for the sweet baker. A reunion of past lovers, doing life together somewhere on the east coast in the small town they both reside in. A typical smitten cowboy vying for her love and attention at any chance he gets. There’s a permanent smile plastered across your face, dog-eared corners for future you to return to with the intention to relive the passages all over again. Page by page, you’re so engrossed with their whirlwind romance— you never want it to end.

The book consumes you longer than you planned for. So much so, you're unaware of the fact that Dave is no longer immersed in the LA Times he picked up in the hotel lobby earlier. The inked paper now folded neatly and discarded on the ground next to your tote.

Dave’s tortoise colored shades blocking out the sun and hiding the fact that he’s passed out. For how long, you’re not sure. Breathing is light and rhythmic. His usual thundering snore trades for small puffs of air from his parted lips. His bare golden chest, now a pale shade of red— shit!

Folding the current page of the book, tossing it to the end of your lounge chair, you sit up in search for more sunscreen for Dave, and yourself. Sifting through the contents of your tote, finding the bottle conveniently at the bottom. Hating the feeling of residual lotion getting between your jewelry, you remove your rings and toss them into a secured pocket inside the tote.

“Dave? Babe, wake up!” Gently nudging his bare shoulder to wake him.

“Hmmm—“ Dave grumbles a string of incoherent sleep laden words, lifting his head in your direction.

“Sorry. You passed out and I was so caught up in my book, I didn’t realize the umbrella shade wasn’t covering us anymore. You’re not completely burnt, but we’ve been here for a while. Sit up and let me put some more sunscreen on you.” You motion for him to sit forward, then squeeze a heaping amount of lotion in your hand, tossing the back into the tote.

Dave hissed, his back arching as you smooth the lotion over his warmed skin, allowing himself to ease into your touch after a few tensed moments. His head hangs below his shoulders as you continue to work the sunscreen over every inch of him that’s exposed to the blazing sun.

“Fuuuuck— that feels nice.” He groans when your touch switches to a different pressure. Adjusting your focus from protecting him from the harmful rays to pampering him, working out the built up tension he carries around daily.

Your fingers dig into the meat of his back as they glide up the length of his spine, pinching and squeezing over the rounded muscles of his shoulders. Thumbs pressing into the tender spot in his neck he’s been rubbing at for the better part of the last few weeks, craning his neck to the side. So relaxed you can barely make out his mumbled appreciation. “That fucking knot has been bothering me— Ouch! Fucking hell, woman!”

“Shh! So dramatic.” You laugh, easing up on the pressure. Your hands still lingering, smoothing over his broadness, taking advantage of the closeness.

“Oh, quit it. Those hands always were fucking magic, though. Already feels better when I move it.” Demonstrating how limber and loose it feels, rolling his head from side to side.

Were. His use of past tense doesn’t go unnoticed. It might have just been an unintentional slip, but its use isn’t lost on you in the slightest. It feels like it’s been ages, since you had explored each other— more than just a fleeting brush of hands. Reveling in an endless honeymoon phase, well beyond the traditional sense. You can only assume he had that same realization too, hence his choice in using were instead of are. But this moment feels too good to dwell on the logistics of proper past and present tense, so you push the thought aside.

“I’m sure if you play your cards right, there’s plenty more magic these hands can do later.” You playfully purred, not missing the way Dave’s eyebrows jut up from behind his sunglasses— that catches his attention.

You settle back into your lounge chair, sliding the straps of your bikini top down and off your arms, turning it into a makeshift strapless top as you prepare to cover yourself in a fresh layer of sunscreen.

“What are you doing?” Dave tilts his head forward, just enough so he can peer at you over his glasses.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m reapplying some on myself, too.” Running the oily lotion up your arms and shoulders.

“Here. Let me help you. Seems only fair.” His hand reaches out to you.

“It’s fine, Dave. I can manage.”

You’re not sure why you're shocked by his offer. Probably because you just assumed he would be diving back into reading up on worldly news. Top slimy politician was fighting for his life against rather damning accusations— the man is guilty, solely based on public opinion polls and your inherent duty as a woman to always believe the woman. Research shows more couples are putting their careers first, waiting to have children well into their thirties— that one does catch your eye, making a mental note to snag the article at some point. Sure, you can manage, but you also don’t want to. Not with him right here, so willing and capable.

“Don’t be stubborn, Baby. And don’t think I won’t drag that sweet ass of yours over here if I have to. Give me the bottle and sit down.”

It feels incredible. You have to remind yourself that you’re both in a public setting. This isn’t the time nor the place to let the salacious side of you self-indulge, but Dave’s hands are inducing the most carnal thoughts and it’s taking everything in you to not haul him back up to the room.

Dave had practically hauled you into the chair. Maneuvering you both into a comfortable sitting position, his legs spread and feet planted firmly on the ground and you practically sitting in his lap.

The task at hand is long forgotten, no longer a priority or even a relevant thought as you melted into him. His chest firm against your back, thighs caging and tight against your own.

It’s when his hands cup your breast that nearly sends you into another dimension, so brazen and menacing. A practiced musician, slowly plucking each string of his beloved instrument as the chords play the intro to his well rehearsed song. Rolling your peaked nipples between his fingers, the fabric of your top adding just the right amount of pinched pulsation. Your eyes fluttering shut as your head falls back onto his shoulder, stifling a moan as pleasure surges through you.

“I swear to god, Dave— fuck! Someone is going to catch us! ahh! Y-you need to s-stop before…”

“Hmmm. I don’t know, Baby— I think you want them to see. Want them to catch my hands all over you. Hear the sounds I’m able to pull from you. I could probably fuck you right here and no one would even care.” Dave murmurs into your ear. A husked sonorous tone that has you completely surrendering to him.

He seems to have this whole thing thoroughly thought out in a brief amount of time. Keen to his surroundings, already having scanned the entire area, aware of the people situated in cabanas on the far corner of the pool— paying no mind to either of you. His methodical nature takes hold, even as exposed as you are, he’d never put you in any situation he didn’t have complete confidence in.

“Dave—“ Your body writhes with each continuous change in motion, the way he’s oscillating between a dizzy tweak of your nipples and the sudden dart of his tongue grazing your ear lobe.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you. It’s been so long— fucking miss the way you feel, Baby.” Fuck. He’s not wrong.

You might have even mentioned you would be into it at some point. All vulnerable and the slightest possibility of being detected. It was more thrilling than you had expected it to be. You weren’t even ashamed how you were so absolutely turned on by your own boldness.

“Please—“

“I bet you’re fucking wet for me too. Hmm? Would take much— pull those skimpy little bottoms to the side, bet I’d slide right in.” God you were! Unquestionably so, and throbbing.

His hand traveled to where you’ve been craving him for so long, fingers brushing the top of your bathing suit bottoms.

“Christ! Don’t you d-dare put those lotion covered fingers anywhere near my— Fuuuuck!”

Dave wouldn’t dare, but that doesn’t mean he won’t work around it. His hand cupping your clothed mound, your eager hips rocking against the heel of his palm. His face smashes into your cheek when he feels how wet you are, your bottoms sticky with arousal and clinging to your pussy as he slides two fingers back up to your aching clit. Groaning as he takes your lobe between his teeth and gently bites down.

“Tsk tsk!” Clicking his tongue in a menacing manner. “Eyes open, Baby. Need you to keep watch, can’t have anyone seeing you while you fall apart.”

You’ve missed this side of him. Spontaneous sex was always something that was a regular occurrence in your early relationship even well into your marriage. You always looked forward to the days he’d come home without so much as a hello when he walked through the front door. His briefcase and coat were abandoned somewhere in the entryway— I missed you so much today. Need you right now —and then he was fucking you like a starved man against the wall in the hallway.

“Dave—“ Your lashes flutter, the sun unforgiving as you fight to keep your eyes focused on your surroundings. Your body so desperate for pleasure, so willing to succumb, just needing a little help to get there.

Each tender circle he draws over your clit has your brain muddled with bliss. A restrained whimper escapes, doing your best to concentrate as Dave continues to work you into a euphoric mess. But it’s so hard when your body has been yearning for this, all of this, for so long.

Your nails bite into his thighs as your lower abdomen begins to tighten.

“Baby, you’re gonna have to be quiet. Those gorgeous sounds are gonna get us in trouble.” Fuck! Almost there! So fucking close—

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

“Dave— is that…” The lounge vibrates, halting Dave’s movements. The orgasm that was just starting to barrel towards you, vanishing from your grasp.

“Shit! I, uh, think someone saw us—“ What?! No one is even paying attention!

Dave extricates himself from the chair, adjusting his sunglasses and his pronounced erection bulging under his swim trunks. He hastily grabs for some things as you sit perplexed by the sudden change in his demeanor. Your sexy audacious husband is gone before your eyes— leaving you with the tight lipped cryptic Dave, who you can’t seem to get a read on.

“What the fuck, Dave!” Watching as he slips on his sandals and throws his shirt over himself, playing no mind to a single button.

“Let’s finish this later— when we get back to the room, hmm? I’m gonna… go get us more drinks.” He says as he kisses the top of your head and heads in the direction of the bar. Hoping he brings back some shots, because you’re gonna need something strong to take the fucking edge off.

“Yeah— sure…” You say. Stunned and breathless.

You're not sure if you want to cry, scream or laugh as you crawl back into your chair. Maybe a mixture of all of them. What a sight that would be.

That brief glimpse of the fun adventurous Dave was intoxicating, even now your body is still buzzing and aroused. There’s a pang in your chest at how quickly he was able to mold back into the man you’ve needed for the past year, yearned to have back. Then instantly closed off and distant as if it never happened. Maybe the sun was getting to you, that whole moment some fucking hallucinated fantasy.

Rather than dwell on it, you push the hurt aside. You reach for your book and settle back into the chair. Finding where you left off and jumping back in with the handsome sheriff, who literally worships the ground that this woman walks on— must be nice.

“S’cuse me ma’am. Sorry to bother you, but is this seat taken?” A deep voice breaks your concentration, realizing he’s in fact asking you if the unoccupied seat next to you is available.

A man in his mid forties, maybe early fifties is standing at the foot of the chair next to you. Your sunglasses hide the fact that you're giving him a once over, noting every detail about this random stranger who’s decided of all the empty seats, he wants the one next to you.

His hair is slightly disheveled in a deliberate manner. Peppered streaks of gray throughout his curly locks. He’s wearing green and red plaid swim shorts and a worn dark blue t-shirt, kind of an odd pairing but it seems to work for him. You notice a dimple hidden beneath the gray scruff that almost hides his angular features. He seems harmless and rather handsome— plus, it would be rude to turn him away with no explanation.

“Nope. Feel free to use it.” You smile at him kindly and go in search of the words you had just read.

“Thanks so much.” He says as he removes his shirt and settles down on the lounge chair.

“Of course. It’s no problem at all.” You tell him.

You don’t even dare to look in his direction. You imagine this is what Eve felt like, tempted and allured by carnality in the form of an apple. Except your carnal desire is a fizzling orgasm your husband couldn’t even be bothered to deliver, now reawakening at the sight of this beautiful man.

You would never act on anything, even as beautiful as he was, you were married and you love Dave— but that didn’t mean you couldn't admire, sunglasses masking your lingering eyes.

“I’m Joel by the way. Joel Miller.” His hand outstretched to you, that damn dimple even more pronounced when he smiles.

“I take it you’re not from around these parts are you now, Joel.” You give him your name and return the handshake— his grip is rather firm, but friendly.

“What gave it away?” He laughs. There’s a hint of southern drawl woven into his rich voice.

“Well, you don’t seem like the California boy type for starters. Not that that’s a bad thing— I just get the impression you’re far from home.” You fold another page and drop your book into your bag, your attempt at reading sidelined again.

“You’d be correct then. Texas— born ‘n raised. Since we’re makin’ impressions, I’m gonna guess you’re not from ‘round here either?” He looks over to you, his arms crossed over his tanned chest. The breeze catching a few of his curls, tossing them about.

“You would also be correct. So what brings you all the way west, cowboy?”

“My daughter, actually. She’s gettin’ married this week. Fiancé’s family is out here and they’ve got connections and what not, so they’re able to do it here at the hotel. They put me up in one of the suites, bein’ I am the father of the bride an’ all.”

“Oh! Congratulations then. I’m sure you’re so excited then.”

“Yea’. Crazy seein’ her all grown up an’ goin’ off on her own. Still got one more though. She’s turning 16– little wild thing she is. Keeps me on my toes, but I love her for it.”

You get the sense that being a father is one of his favorite things. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he started talking about his kids.

“You and your wife must be so proud.”

“Nah, no wife— or girlfriend. Jus’ me and my girls. So, now that I’ve bothered you with my life story. What brings you out this way to California?”

What am I even doing in California? You think to yourself. It’s then you catch sight of your husband at the bar. Dave is already looking in your direction, leaning against the wood counter, waving at you with his phone glued to his ear.

“See that guy over at the bar? The one talking on the phone.” You wave back at Dave. You pick up on the shift in his demeanor from where you're sitting. His jaw clenched and brows furrowed enough you can make out the deep lines across his forehead. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he was shooting daggers at Joel— but you do know better, and that’s exactly what’s happening. “That’s my husband. We’re supposed to be here relaxing— not working. But he’s over there taking a phone call, when he was going to grab us more drinks and I’m here relaxing. Maybe one day he’ll actually show some interest in me again— until then it’s just work work work. Geez�� I’m sorry to dump all of that personal shit on you. Like you even care about a stranger's marital problems.”

“No need to apologize— I get it. My ex and me had our own issues. Tried to work through them, for the sake of the kids n’ all.” He says, waving off your apology.

“I’m guessing it didn’t go so well?” You look out over the pool, catching a few gulls passing over. You can already sense his heavy answer before he even gives it to you.

“Well, she’s my ex for a reason. But it’s for the best. And not saying that’s what’s gonna happen for you. We love our kids and do this whole co-parentin’ thing better than when we were married. Umm— y'all got any kids?”

“Uhh— no, no kids. Yet… I think? I mean, we both talked about once our careers were established we would start trying. And we did try for a bit, but never got pregnant, which we were okay with— figured it would happen when it happens. But now, I’m not really sure if it’s what he wants anymore.” You pick at the polish on your nails.

You realize it’s been awhile since you and Dave readdressed the conversation about having kids. It’s always been idling in the back of your mind. Becoming a mother was something you would love to do. With Dave never really ever being present or interested in any sort of in-depth conversation, you haven’t really discussed where you both stand now on the topic.

“Have you asked him?”

“No. I haven’t. I probably sh—“

You’re cut off when Dave reappears, holding nothing but his phone and wallet.

“Hey, Sweetheart!” There’s a hint of irritation in his voice, his tone a slightly higher pitch than usual, though he tries to hide it as he bends to kiss the top of your head.

“Babe, this is Joel. He’s here for his oldest daughter’s wedding. Joel, this is my husband Dave. Where’s our drinks?” Attempting to ease the weird tension he brought back with him instead of your drinks. .

Dave’s glaring at Joel. His lips pressed in a tight line and his nostrils flared. Irritated? No, it’s jealousy. He’s jealous and it’s oozing from him. Dave was jealous at the attention, all innocent and friendly, that you were receiving from another man.

“Uh, nice to meet you.” Dave reaches over you, taking Joel’s hand in his. He’s friendly enough, even though his smile looks rather forced. “We hate to run out on you like this, Joel— we’ve got dinner reservations later on and the sun is starting to get to me. You don’t mind if we head to the room early, Babe.”

“Yeah, of course, Baby. Let’s go— you probably need more water and some rest before dinner.” You get up from the chair to pull your cover up dress on and begin to gather everything between yours and Joel’s chair, throwing it haphazardly back into your bag. “It was so nice meeting you, Joel. Hope your daughter has a beautiful day and you have a great time.”

“Thank you. Now you two get outta here and enjoy your evening. My brother is wanderin’ around somewhere. I’m sure he’ll end up here at some point. Nice meetin’ y'all.” Joel says, giving a cordial nod and a two finger wave.

You call out to Dave when you realize he’s already halfway to the exit, hoping he’ll snap out of whatever this thing is he’s doing. Knowing it’s more than just the sun that’s bothering him.

“Dave, what’s going on? Are you okay?” You ask, stepping into the elevator with him.

“I’m good. Got a bit of a headache. Probably just too much sun.” His thumb smashes into the floor number. The elevator doors slowly obstructing the rooftop view.

The walk back to the room felt like it was never ending. The slap on your sandals against the carpeted floor and exchanged hello’s with the sweet old lady dragging far more bars than she could handle were the only sounds echoing through the long hallway.

Dave’s body, all broad and inflexible, blocked the room door as he searched for the key card in his wallet.

“Dave? Are you going to talk to me and tell me what’s actually going on?” You ask softly.

The door beeps and Dave pushes it open. He seems to not have lost all his senses because he holds it open for you.

“Dave, will you at least look at me— please?” You toss everything you’re carrying onto the bed, watching him walk over to the floor to the large windows.

Even from behind, you know he’s wearing his sharp scowl. Proven by the way his hip is cocked out and on hand resting on his waist, head hanging with his attention on the floor. Too embarrassed to acknowledge he might have overreacted up at the pool.

“Dave, were you jealous?.” You ask, your voice velvety and sweet. Taking a few tempered steps, you close the distance between you and where he’s standing, needing him to know everything was okay. You smooth over his solid back, all brooding with his shoulder blades tightly drawn together. One hand sliding around to his chest and the other reaching for the hand hanging at his side, intertwining your fingers with his, your grip tightening around him. “Baby— you were, weren't you? It’s okay if you were, you know. It’s obviously a natural reaction to have. I know I’d react the same way if it were you and some gorgeous woman. But baby, you know I only have eyes for you and only you— always. I love you, Dave.”

“I love you and I’m sorry.” Dave sighs, his hand squeezing back. I overreacted and shouldn’t have— it's implied without him actually voicing it, but you know he means it.

“Did you still want to go out for dinner? If you’re not feeling up to it, we can just order in again so you can rest.” You ask him, resting your nose and lips against his sun warmed skin, breathing him in.

His aroma is pungent, but familiarly pleasant. A subtle note of coconut blends with his trademark spicy musk and sweat. It reminds you of the summer while you were dating, Dave whisked you away to Rehoboth Beach on the coast of Delaware. Renting out a beach house on the water where you spent every morning watching the sun flee the horizon from the front porch. Evenings spent walking near the water’s edge, recounting your favorite parts of the day and dreaming of a future together.

“Yeah, we can still go out. I just— I need a minute. Gonna get some fresh air.” He says, turning his head to tell you over his shoulder.

“Okay. I’m going to take a quick shower then.” You kiss the nape of his neck before you leave, grabbing the robe off the accent chair as you head to the bathroom.

At the flick of the switch, a soft glow of light cascades from the decorative wall sconces. Everything becomes very automatic as you move through the room, placing the robe over the sink, ridding yourself of your pool attire, thrown into a growing pile in the corner of the room. Intent on unwinding, trusting the spray of hot water will alleviate the weight of today’s tension before going out with your husband, until you hear Dave’s voice fading as he walks out into the balcony, muffled by the distant waves and passing cars.

“Hey, Ashley. It’s Dave, sorry about earlier…”

Ashley. It’s light and beautiful, and yet feels like the most threatening thing to have ever pierce through your heart. All your emotions flowing, congealing as one giant mass within your ribcage. Its numbness best describes the way you feel, hollowing out the pain in your chest. It's too much to deal with or even believe. You shut the door, avoidance being one of your worst traits— but if you don’t confront it, it doesn’t exist.

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loki-cees-all · 7 months

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Ch. 1 - Against the Wall {Against All Odds - TVA!Loki x Female Reader Longfic}

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link / Against All Odds Masterlist / Next Chapter

Pairing : TVA!Loki x Female Reader

Summary : The first interrogation of X-5 doesn’t go as planned, and Loki needs to blow off some steam. He returns to 1977 for a drink, and discovers that not only have his actions have left you abandoned by your date to his movie premiere - but it’s also your birthday.

Thankfully, Loki knows just how to solve both of your problems.

W/c : 4.4k words

Content Warnings : Smut, p-in-v, semi-public sex, strangers to lovers, ruffled tuxedo appreciation

Author's Note : This one is dedicated to my beloved and beautiful friend @infinitystoner as part of our Glorious Birthday Bash. Our ask boxes are open, so get those questions in!

18+ Only - Minors DNI

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Loki was absolutely seething. The Hunter X-5 - Brad, or whatever he wanted to be called, was not just uncooperative in answering their questions about General Dox’s plans - he was a complete asshole about it. And even though they knew he would be, it was still impressive just how quickly he managed to rattle all three of them and completely derail the interrogation.

It was enough to make Loki afraid that he was losing his touch, that his edges had softened too much. But after the catastrophic events he’d endured over the past few months, what else could he expect?

After leaving the interrogation room with Mobius and B-15, Loki had stormed away, his eyes blazing with fury and his fists clenching until his knuckles were white. He just needed a moment to calm himself down, to regain control of his emotions.

Truthfully, what he needed was a break, to relieve some tension and come back to his problems with a clear head. If only everything would just stop trying to implode for five minutes, he might be able to do that. But the weight of everything he needed to fix was slowly crushing him to death instead.

And that asshole thought it necessary to throw the death of Frigga in his face and call him a villain - all in the same breath. The audacity, the nerve of that man to speak to him like that - when genuinely, truthfully and in every sense of the word, Loki was only trying to fix, not harm.

Loki pushed himself further down the endless corridors of the TVA, and the anger radiating through his skin alerted the unassuming TVA employees to continue minding their own business as they slinked past him. Loki’s heavy footsteps echoed off the pristine floors and elegant walls, and he foolishly thought that maybe they’d take the hint and turn around to take a different path towards their destination. But just as soon as he would find himself alone in the hallway, another one would appear, and Loki’s rage would elevate just a little bit more.

Norns, was there nowhere to even think in this place?!

Soon, Loki found himself in another alcove with another elevator, that inevitably led to another floor with even more corridors and TVA employees who were just trying to do their jobs in the face of a Temporal Loom meltdown and total destruction. It wasn’t their fault; it was the only thing they knew how to do.

There had to be an exit around here somewhere - a courtyard, or a sidewalk, or something - any place Loki could go and not be reminded of all of this. But how long would it take him to find it?

Too long. And more likely than not, a new crisis would emerge before he could even reach it.

As he paced back and forth across the granite floor, Loki’s hands alternated between raking through his hair, clenching at his sides, and resting on his hips. His mind raced uncontrollably, and his chest heaved to keep enough oxygen mixing with the blood flowing through his veins. He was starting to feel trapped, doomed, cursed.

Loki took a deep breath to steady himself, and as he closed his eyes, his thoughts shifted to the beautiful woman he’d seen earlier that evening. Her stylish dress, pale amber and loosely cinched around her waist, had been far too enchanting to be wasted on a date to a silly movie premiere. She was much too good to be on Brad’s arm for the evening, and Loki wondered if he had even bothered to learn her name…

But ultimately, it didn’t matter. Loki didn’t have the time or the space to clear his head, and he certainly didn’t have the time to waste on thoughts of a woman he’d never see again. He was just going to have to carry on, to power through the stress and brain fog and dread, like he’d always done.

Resigning himself to return from where he came, Loki shoved his hands in the pockets of his pea coat and turned on his heels to head back to Mobius and B-15 and the interrogation of Brad. But he stopped as his fingers brushed against something, and his brow furrowed as he pulled the TemPad out of his pocket.

Loki couldn’t remember how or when it got there. He turned it over in his hands carefully, running his fingertips across its smooth edges and polished wood grain as he considered his options.

With this, he could easily find a place to think, and he could return just moments after he left the interrogation room. And with the branches of the Sacred Timeline already diverging wildly out of control, no one would ever know he had left.

Loki quickly glanced over his shoulders to make sure he was alone, and he flipped the top screen of the TemPad open. The previous coordinates were still typed in, still active.

All he had to do was press a single button and walk through the Time Door. In another moment or two, he could return to the Zaniac premiere and finally have the drink he so desperately needed.

And maybe Brad’s date would be willing to share that drink with him…

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Date : June 18th, 1977 [Sacred Timeline]

This was not how you thought your birthday would turn out.

Dressed to the nines, after hours in the salon chair getting your hair done and days of planning your outfit down to the perfume kissing the insides of your wrists - all so you could be abandoned by that jackass before the showing of his film even started.

What made it worse was you didn’t even want to be here tonight, with this Brad Wolfe - a man no one had ever heard of before six months ago but was suddenly basking in the spotlight of directors clamoring to hire him and starlets begging to be seen with him.

You could have been out with your friends celebrating your birthday, but your agent had insisted that this would be much better for your career; he was definitely going to be getting a very unpleasant phone call in the morning.

After Brad disappeared, you sat yourself at the bar and ordered a drink; it was less humiliating than the press seeing you alone inside the theater, which would have surely been the only headline in tomorrow morning’s paper.

You briefly thought about calling your friends to meet up at The Roxy, which had been the initial plan for the evening, but ultimately decided against it. Nothing could salvage the evening now; maybe you’d have better luck next year.

The ice from your second drink had all but melted, and after the leftover contents were consumed, you were ready to get out of there. The exciting climax of the movie would be happening soon, and once again the lobby would be swarming with press and London’s finest celebrities, not to mention Brad - who had probably found another woman to have clinging to his arm during the film. You didn’t need to see that.

As you thanked the bartender with a warm smile and placed a generous tip in his jar, your thoughts returned to the two men Brad had been talking to just before he disappeared. One of the men, the older gentleman, seemed pleased as punch to be there, but the other one - the tall, dark and devastatingly handsome one - seemed like he’d rather be literally anywhere else; it was exactly how you felt about this ridiculous event.

And God was that scowl on his face sexy; but then again, everything about him was positively delicious. His piercing green eyes had threatened to set the room ablaze as he looked around the room, and when he wasn’t scowling, he was smirking.

It was a very confident smirk, and he deserved to have it. He certainly knew how to wear a tuxedo, and you were sure he looked even better underneath it.

Just thinking about it was enough to make your heart race, and the warmth of arousal was beginning to unfurl itself in your core. It was too bad the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen had left already; perhaps you would head to The Roxy after all, to find someone to take you home tonight…

“Leaving so soon?”

Your breath faltered as you turned to see him standing next to you. He looked exquisite - casually leaned against the bar, one ankle crossed over the other, and one hand in his pocket as he raised an inquisitive eyebrow in your direction. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that he had appeared so suddenly and he was looking right at you.

“I suppose that depends on whether something exciting is about to happen here,” you replied with a shrug and met his inquisitive expression with one of your own.

The man chuckled and cleared his throat as he turned his attention to the rows of liquor displayed behind the bar. “And I suppose you wouldn’t think helping me decide on a drink would be very exciting…”

His voice was smooth as silk - polished and refined, and it made everything he wasn’t saying so much more intense. You could see his eyes in the mirror behind the bar, hungrily roaming up and down your form as he paused, and you knew he was thinking about all the things he wanted to do tonight.

And when he turned back to look at you, it was like you were the only other person in existence, like you were the only thing that mattered. “…or would you find that exciting?”

That look was sinful, intoxicating, teasing. It made you forget all about wanting to get out of there before the movie ended. It made you want to do anything to keep his attention, and so you sat back down on the barstool and crossed your legs as you leaned closer to him.

“Surely a classy man such as yourself knows what he likes to drink?” you replied, hoping he enjoyed being teased as much as he enjoyed teasing.

The man laughed again and shook his head with a charming smile on his perfectly-crafted face. If you didn’t know any better, you would have believed a God had sculpted his features with a careful and delicate hand, that only something majestic could have styled the dark curls on his head. He was perfect, and you were dying for him to ruin you.

“Well, I’ll be honest - I just wanted to know what you were drinking, so I could invite you to have another with me.”

He didn’t wait for a response, and immediately unbuttoned the jacket of his tuxedo as he sat down next to you. His long legs were splayed wide as he gazed at you, and he had the kind of thighs you wanted to sink your teeth in.

The white shirt underneath the jacket was stark white and perfectly pressed, save the ruffles running vertically from his throat to his waist. There weren’t too many men that could pull off that look with the same confidence and charm, and you found yourself wondering who he was and what he did for a living.

He had to work in the entertainment industry - fashion, maybe? Another actor? You wanted to know everything about him, from where he grew up to how many different ways he could make your toes curl.

“What a clever, classy pick-up line. I’m truly impressed,” you murmured playfully as you beckoned the bartender over.

The man narrowed his eyes, and his perfect lips curved into a teasing smirk. “I believe it worked, did it not?”

You shrugged innocently, bringing your fingertips to fondle the necklace dangling around your neck. His gaze followed your fingers with a hungry expression, and he opened his mouth to say something else when the bartender interrupted to take your order.

“Yes, me and my new friend…” you paused and tilted your head at him, a silent plea for the man to finally introduce himself.

His expression shifted briefly to uncertainty, as if he wasn’t sure that he wanted to give you his name at all, before resuming his confident demeanor as he met your gaze once more. “Loki. Pleased to meet you.”

“A pair of Slow Screws for me and my new friend, Loki,” you smiled at the bartender before returning to your new companion for the evening. “That’s quite an interesting name, Loki. Scandinavian?”

“Something like that. And you’ve got quite an interesting drink order,” he replied, leaning closer and sliding his arm along the back of your chair. “Tell me - do you usually share Slow Screws with complete strangers?”

His voice was low and husky, vibrating at all the right frequencies and sending shivers of excitement down your spine. It took all of your willpower to not mount him on the spot.

“Only when it’s my birthday, and I’ve been abandoned by my jerk of a date,” you answered, though truthfully you were glad he disappeared if it meant you got to know this man a little better.

Loki’s brow twitched and he looked away; it was an odd reaction, one you hadn’t anticipated. Did Loki know something about why Brad had left, and was he not expecting you to bring it up?

The bartender returned with your drinks, and you were grateful for something else to focus on for the moment. Freshly-squeezed orange juice and gin swirled around the tall glass as you brought it to your lips and took a not-so dainty sip.

Loki glanced over and smiled as he followed suit, then set his glass down and began tapping the bar-top with his long and surely skilled fingers. “You know I, um…was speaking with your date earlier, and I promise he didn’t ditch you. Something very important had come up, and…”

Loki glanced over at you again, his green eyes sparkling as if a thousand distant worlds were burning up inside them. He had an unparalleled mysterious aura around him, like the weight of the entire world was resting on his broad shoulders.

“If he sent you here to keep me company in his stead…” you interrupted, brushing your fingers across the back of his hand as he tapped mindlessly on the bar-top. “…then I’m glad he left.”

That seemed to be enough to make him forget about all of his earlier troubles, and a confident smile graced his features once more. “Well, I couldn’t leave a beautiful woman all alone on her birthday, now could I?”

Loki rotated his hand underneath yours, and his fingertips lightly traced along your inner wrist, sending your heart rate skyrocketing. He leaned closer to whisper against your ear. “So how does the birthday girl want to celebrate then, hmm?”

Your breath hitched, and it felt like the rest of the world stopped except for the two of you. You wanted to spend your evening dissolving into pleasure, screaming his name, breaking your bed - but this man clearly loved innuendos and teasing; it was foreplay for him, just as much as it was for you.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to try…a Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall,” you answered softly, knowing he would understand that you didn’t necessarily mean the drink.

Loki’s arm slipped around your chair once more, dragging his knuckles down the back of your arm. “Is that how you like it?”

Your eyes widened, and your heart thudded painfully in your chest. But it was worth it if it meant he’d do it, so you nodded as you bit your lower lip.

“Slow…and comfortable?” Loki continued, whispering softly and letting his lips brush against the cartilage of your ear.

Swallowing back a moan was the hardest thing you’d ever done. Your thighs pressed together, squeezing them against your already wet cunt and nodded again.

“What about against the wall? Do you like that too?” Loki brought his other hand up, tracing the angle of your jaw with his fingertips and turning your face closer to his.

Your lips parted as your nose brushed against his, and you silently pleaded for mercy. Your pussy was already throbbing and clenching around nothing, and if you didn’t get out of here soon, you were going to explode.

A simple yes was all you could manage, and Loki immediately took action. He pulled a few bills from his pocket and tossed them on the bar as he stood up, and you absolutely could not believe your luck - that he came back, that he wanted you, that he was going to take you exactly the way you wanted.

You quickly followed him to standing, and your knees almost buckled underneath the weight of the adrenaline and hormones carving their way through your veins. Loki placed his hand on your lower back and guided you swiftly through the crowd that had returned after the movie’s end.

And you didn’t even turn your head as you passed by reporters milling about in the lobby, wondering where the hell Brad Wolfe was.

As you stepped outside, Loki’s hand slipped from your waist to grab your hand and pull you after him. You thought he was going to lead you to a cab, but instead, he turned down the alleyway beside the theater.

“Wait - where are we going?” you giggled in anticipation as he squeezed your hand. Did he have his own vehicle parked somewhere back here?

Loki turned around and yanked you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist as he continued backing down the alleyway. “I’m giving the Birthday Girl what she asked for. Remember?” he murmured against your lips as his hands splayed wide on your hips.

You couldn’t take the wait any longer and crushed your lips against his. Loki’s groan was deep and powerful as he eagerly returned the kiss. His lips tasted like gin and lust, and his hands gripped you tightly, pulling you all the way against his body.

Your hands found the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, pulling on the material as you parted your lips around his. He eagerly slipped his tongue between them as he started to walk you backwards.

Loki towered over you, even with your heels on, and soon his lips were moving down to your neck, sucking on the delicate skin as his hands slid down to squeeze your ass. You gasped, and immediately started to unbutton his tuxedo jacket.

He hummed an approval against your neck, and his hands grasped your ass harder, making you grind your hips against his. “I thought the Birthday Girl wanted it slow and comfortable, hmm?”

“Changed my mind,” you whispered breathlessly, opening the jacket and untucking his shirt from his pants. “I need you now…”

Loki grinned as he pushed you against the wall, trapping you between the firm, cold bricks and his firm, warm body. “Ah, so you’re an impatient Birthday Girl,” he growled against your lips.

This new tone, so wild and animalistic compared to the opulent and sophisticated one he had used back at the bar, was more than enough to make you forget that you were in public, that he was a stranger, that if anyone saw this then your career would be over. But you were being driven by pure lust at this point, and nothing else mattered anymore.

Your lips met again, moving frantically against each other as your tongues and hips writhed together. It was incredible that your bodies and minds were already so in sync with each other - when you moaned against his lips, he’d groan against yours, and when you gasped, he’d exhale in a deep hum that threatened to drive you insane.

He pulled the strap of your dress down as you untied the knot of his bowtie and began to loosen the buttons of his shirt. Loki kissed his way down your neck and you arched into his touch, even as your hair snagged on the bricks behind you.

You quickly slipped your arm out of the strap, and Loki slid the top of your dress down to your waist, exposing your breasts. Your nipples hardened from arousal and the cold evening air, and Loki leaned down to take one between his lips. You moaned out loud in response, encouraging him to keep going as you spread your legs to grind against his thigh.

His tongue flicked against your stiff nipple as he sucked, and your fingers curled tightly in his hair as you hooked a leg around his waist. Your hips gyrated wildly against him, soothing your aching clit as you chased a release.

“Oh, yes. Keep going, love,” Loki groaned against your skin and shifted his hands to keep you balanced on one leg, gripping your hips tightly as he brought his face back up to yours.

He pushed his leg further between yours, watching eagerly as you continued grinding against his thigh. You gasped and moaned breathlessly, each one louder than the last as the alleyway faded away and all that remained was the stranger bringing you ethereal levels of pleasure.

“Yes, that’s it. Come for me, dear,” Loki rasped as he brought his lips over to your ear, and his teeth nipped at the cartilage as he spoke. “I’ll give you more - as many as you wish…”

You could barely hear him as blood pumped frantically through every vein and every nerve ending prepared to fire off, but it seemed as though he was getting as much pleasure out of this as you were. What a blessing this was - it was your birthday, and this man only wanted to make you come.

You gasped as your orgasm washed over you, sending endorphins and molten lava through your veins. Your fingers dug into his neck and shoulders, and your leg shook and wobbled as you died and reborn anew.

Loki moaned with you as you came, his hands grabbing your hips to keep them rolling against his thigh. Your eyes rolled back into your head and unintelligible whimpers of pleasure tumbled from your lips. And just as the orgasm started to fade, his hands slipped around the back of your thighs to lift you up.

Somehow you managed to lock your arms around his neck as he held you in the air, and he hooked his forearms underneath your knees as your bare back scraped against the brick. It hurt so good, and you buried your face in his hair, breathing in his scent and savoring the way he was going to ravage you.

Loki grabbed your ass as he rolled his hips against yours, both of you moaning in unison at the skin-to-skin contact. His heavy exhales washed over your skin as he panted against your jaw, and you were still trembling from the aftershocks of the first orgasm when his cock slid inside you.

He groaned in pleasure as he pushed deeper within your soaked cunt, and your toes curled inside your shoes. You hadn’t even seen his cock yet, but you could feel just how perfect it was, how perfect he was - and you couldn’t help but squeeze as he bottomed out inside you.

“Such a tight and lovely little thing,” Loki hissed as he started to thrust, slowly at first but quickly increasing his pace. His hips rocked back and forth, and your fingers scratched at his scalp to beg him to keep going.

He held you in the air, easily supporting your entire weight as he drove himself into you over and over. It was like magic, he was like a benevolent God of Pleasure, and you would forever worship the ground he walked on as long as he continued doing this to you.

You buried your face against his shoulder to muffle your cries of pleasure as he filled you up, and his lower back arched as his thrusts became frantic. You moaned his name and he moaned yours, and his fingers gripped you tightly as yours dug into his neck.

“Yes! Come for me, darling!” Loki growled against your ear as he adjusted your hips, pulling them away from the wall. His thrusts became urgent, and this new angle allowed him to move deeper, pressing against the most sensitive flesh that other men could only dream of reaching.

You crossed the threshold again, coming even harder than you did the first time. Loki grunted like an animal as he made his final pushes inside you before following you off the edge. Your thighs shook as his hips bucked, and your muscles squeezed every ounce of pleasure out of him.

The sounds he made were sinful, and it was almost enough to keep you going. Neither of you were on Earth anymore; floating in the cosmos, higher than you’d ever been before, your hips writhing and mouths gasping for air as you came together.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that, but eventually your bodies became still, and you could feel his lips pressed lazily against your jaw and his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek. “You have no idea…just how much…I needed that…” he murmured breathlessly.

You could feel the gravity of his words bringing you back down to the ground, and while you didn’t know what he was referring to, you wished that you could. “I’m glad you convinced me to stay for that drink then…”

Loki chuckled to himself as he pressed his forehead against yours and carefully pulled the strap of your dress back to your shoulder. His fingertips were delicate as they traced along your collarbone, and as his eyes traveled up to meet your gaze, you could see a thousand lifetimes of sadness hiding behind them.

“Thank you…for the drink, and the birthday present. Maybe we can do this again for your birthday…” you continued with a smile, hoping to be able to see him again soon. You didn’t know if he needed the reassurance, but you wanted to give it to him anyway.

He didn’t respond at first, and you gently caressed his cheek. This evening was too magical to not let it happen again, and you prayed that he felt the same.

Loki’s expression was one of anguish as he turned his head to kiss your palm. He let out a heavy exhale, and forced himself to look at you again.

“Yes. Maybe we can…” Loki smiled as he gazed into your eyes, and your heart ached as he leaned down to kiss you once more.

⊱ ── ༓ ── ⋅•⋅⊰ ── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ∙ ⋅ ── ⊱⋅•⋅ ── ༓ ── ⊰

Cee's Loki Fic Masterlist / AO3 Link / Against All Odds Masterlist / Next Chapter

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mylovelies-docx · 11 months

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Sorry, I Love You - Part 7

Heyooooooooooo. I'm back and there are no longer any parts backlogged - I'mma have to get to work on finishing this series lol

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Meeting new people, feels

Word Count: 1,900

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6]

The sunset blazes through the kitchen window, bathing you and Bucky in soft golden light. The focus you had not even five minutes ago is a distant memory when faced with the view in front of you. Bucky looks so fine sitting across from you with the light shadowing one side of his face and illuminating his shorter hair.

You still can’t get over the fact that Bucky actually cut it – you’d mentioned a haircut on more than one occasion, but he’d always brushed it off and said it wasn’t his style anymore. You disagreed then and you absolutely disagree now. His long hair was gorgeous in its own right, but nothing compares to the uninhibited view of his face now. His hair is mussed in spiky clumps where Bucky has run his fingers through it in frustration, but you can’t help but think how good it looks even like this.

You’re pretending to type something on your laptop, ensuring Bucky thinks that you’re actually working and not staring at him like the love-struck idiot you are. Every once in a while you’ll catch his eyes flickering up to meet yours, so all you can do is act like you’re thinking about something really hard and you’d just so happened to have blanked out on him.

It’s been quiet between the two of you for the last 30 minutes – the vigor and excitement for planning ratcheting down once you got into the gritty details. That’s why you’re not expecting the thump, thump, thump that echoes down the hallway from the front door. Bucky’s head jerks up and he looks at you with a quirked eyebrow, asking silently if you knew someone was coming over. You shake your head and rise from the table.

Stepping under the kitchen archway and into the living room, you pad across the carpet and into the entry hall. “Just a moment!” you yell out to the stranger behind the door. Without looking, you slide the dagger hidden inside the entryway table into your hand and approach the door. Rising slightly onto your tiptoes, you peer through the peephole in the door.

A couple stands on your front porch, the view fishbowling to where it appears their middles are huge but their heads and feet are the size of golfballs. You look over your shoulder at Bucky, who stands behind the living room wall with gun ready. You laugh silently and mouth the Greten’s at him. He puffs his cheeks out when he exhales and drops his gun, tucking it into the waistband at the small of his back. You slip your own knife up and into your sleeve.

Opening the door with a reserved but polite smile on your face, you greet the nextdoor neighbors. “Oh, hello! I wasn’t expecting company.”

The tall woman before you blushes slightly and dips her head. “Apologies. We were just wanting to stop by and introduce ourselves. We wanted to wait a day and allow you the time to settle in. I’m Tessa and this is my husband Christopher, we live right over there in the blue house.” Tessa points to the home directly beside yours with several windows boarded over and paint peeling off in some spots.

You smile brightly at the pair and introduce yourself before yelling behind you, “James, we have guests!” Turning back to the couple, you step aside and usher them in. “Come, come! It’s freezing out there.”

Christopher tries to decline, but you won’t hear of it. You and Bucky had already decided to meet and befriend this couple, so them showing up works out well. Their dossiers noted that they were a well-off family that knew everyone and everything going on within the community, but you can’t help but note the discrepancies you find between the surveillance photos taken a year ago and the people in front of you now.

Christopher’s thinning hair and exposed scalp are covered by a thin toboggan that can’t be effective in this weather, and you see that Tessa’s dress is threadbare with nearly half a dozen patches when she takes off her overcoat. Regardless of the state of their clothing, Tessa offers you the small bowl she’d been holding in her hands.

“It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Everyone says it’s the best they’ve ever had!” She smiles proudly at this statement and you can’t help but grin back.

“Well, I’m excited to try them!”

Bucky walks into the living room, acting as if he hadn’t been behind the wall with a gun only moments ago. You escort Christopher and Tessa further inside and close the door behind them. Bucky walks up and shakes Christopher’s hand and introduces himself.

“I am so sorry,” you begin, “but I haven’t started on dinner yet. I can whip something up real fast, though!”

“No, no, dear,” Tessa declines. “We didn’t mean to intrude – only wanted to introduce ourselves and then get out of your hair.”

“Nonsense,” you say. “The more the merrier.” You pat Bucky on the shoulder as you walk by him and into the kitchen. “Tessa and I will be in here. I’ll let you guys know when the food is ready.”

Bucky nods and holds his hand out to the couch, offering Christopher a seat. Bucky takes the armchair across from him (which has a loaded gun stuffed between the arm and seat cushion). With your hands full, you look at Tessa and nod your head towards the kitchen.

She starts to shuffle across the living room carpet towards you, her hands clasped in front of her. “We really didn’t mean to intrude on you and your husband. We just –”

You let out a hearty guffaw to mask your displeasure in correcting her and shake your head. “He’s my brother,” you explain to them.

She stops where she’s at, standing behind the sofa next to Christopher. They share a look with each other before Christopher turns to Bucky. “Brother?” he asks.

You and Bucky look at each other with small grins. There’s no way you could ever pass for blood-relatives.

“He’s adopted,” you say.

“Oh, well in that case,” Tessa says as she continues her walk towards you and the kitchen, “I have a son about your age…”

***

Dinner was a simple affair, but the Greten’s seemed to enjoy it immensely. Barely any food remains on the shared plates in front of you, your guests having taken second and third helpings. You’re glad to see that they enjoyed the meal.

The conversations were very surface level ‘getting to know you’ topics, which is always the most tedious part of meeting new people. But laying the foundation for your life in order to establish your cover sometimes: like now, when you and Bucky can relax into an easy ‘sibling’ rivalry and rib on each other. It keeps everything lighthearted and doesn’t allow you think on how this would have played out differently as ‘husband and wife’.

The couple are in their 50s and have lived in this town their whole lives, so if there’s anything you and Bucky need to find out then they’re probably the ones to help with that. They have 5 children ranging in ages from 28 to 13, all living at home with the exception of the eldest son that Tessa is dying for you to meet.

You laugh merrily as you follow the Gretens back to the front door.

“You both must come,” Tessa is saying as she pulls on her coat. “Most everyone in town is going to be there and they need to meet you.”

Christopher slides the thin toboggan out of his pocket and places it on his head. “You both are going to be a hit: it’s been so long since anyone new has come around.”

Bucky stands next to you and puts his arm on your head, leaning on you as if you were short enough to be leaned on. You scrunch your face and slide out from under him, elbowing him in the side as you do it. “We wouldn’t miss it,” Bucky replies.

“Great!” Tessa claps her hand and ushers Christopher out the door. “Saturday at 9pm. Don’t forget!”

“We won’t,” you agree.

After a quick goodbye, you close and lock the door.

“They were nice…” you begin.

“But…?” Bucky continues.

“But…something isn’t adding up.”

Bucky hums his agreement.

You both stand at the door, contemplating what could have happened to this sweet couple since the intel was gathered, but without the people in question there to ask (and it being much too rude to ask) there isn’t much point.

You walk away to begin cleaning the kitchen. Tessa offered to help, but you wouldn’t hear of it – after her stories of how hard she’s worked to take care of her family and this community, you couldn’t dream of accepting. Bucky follows you into the kitchen and removes the plates from the table. You work in silence, the camaraderie from dinner fading away into something else. Not uncomfortable, but nowhere near as companionable as the silence used to be in the beginning of the year.

You and Bucky used to lay in the quiet dark after sex. Clothes on the floor, sheets rumpled, hair messy. There wasn’t much that needed to be said that couldn’t wait until after you’d caught your breaths. But the peace that arrived after the frantic activities led to you falling asleep in his arms on more than one occasion.

But you were always alone come morning.

The clack of plates stacking on top of each other rouses you from your thoughts. You’d been mindlessly scrubbing dishes while Bucky dried, but you realize that your hands have been floating in the soapy water with nothing to do. You quickly pull the plug and watch the liquid form a tight spiral over the drain. The glug, glug, glug precedes Bucky as he clears his throat.

“You wanna…” You look up at him as he says this and see him nod his head in the direction of the living room. “Uh. Wanna watch a movie?” His arm scratches nervously at the back of his neck and you can tell he’s uncomfortable. Why would he ask?

“No,” you say. “No, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Tomorrow’s the first day at the facility, ya know?” You give him a brittle smile as you say this. Stepping forward, you make sure not to brush against Bucky as you slide past him and out towards your bedroom. You hear him release a heavy sigh behind you, probably glad that you didn’t take him up on the offer.

He may have only mentioned watching a movie together to be polite, but a couch and a dark room with Bucky hadn’t ended platonically the last several times it’s happened. The memories will probably prevent movie nights together for as long as you still have feelings for him.

Which will mostly likely be for the rest of your life.

@jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

Part 8

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #Sorry I Love You

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armpirate · 3 months

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Soundleasure | Choi San || CH. 9

Pairings: Soft!San x fem!reader || Strangers to lovers, fake dating

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, online sex, ghosting

Warnings: inexperienced!San, fem!reader, masturbation, online sex, camboy, first times.

Summary: You can do whatever you please and be whoever you want on the Internet. And San knew that a little bit too well.

After finally following all the signs the universe was throwing at him, he started living a double life that no one was aware of. Everyone in his daily life knew him as Choi San, the reserved and quiet boy who wouldn't raise his voice, and would barely communicate with anyone outside of his comfort group. But only a few knew him as Soundleasure, the man with a sexy voice and a filthy mind that had their toes curling just with his narrations.

He never thought of the possibility of those two lives ever meeting, he had always tried for them to follow a parallel route and had always played safe to keep his friends from ever suspecting that side even existed. But his plans will start to crumble when he gets a little too close with one of his subscribers and she invades his real-self and altergo's universes without being able to stop it.

Y/n will not only help him to keep his secret from his circle, but will also show him there's more of Soundleasure in him than he'd like to admit.

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

Aprox. time of reading: 14 minutes

A loud scream from somewhere in the house interrupted whatever it was he was trying to type on the computer. By how loud and powerful it was, almost making the walls tremble with it, San could tell it came from Mingi. It worked like an alarm, because not even a minute later, both Wooyoung and San were showing up at the living room with a confused look.

—Who used my razor?

Mingi lifted it, to show off the rusty blaze. As if neither of them would be able to see the tiny brown marks over the shiny silver color from their positions.

—Mingi, are you sure you weren't the last one to use it? —San tried to knock some sense back to his friend— Last time you pulled a scene like this, you were the one who ate your last yogurt.

—Yeah —Wooyoung seconded—. Try to think about what you did before blaming others. You probably were the one who left it in a random place after shaving.

—You think so?

His determined gaze quickly changed to a confused and insecure one, looking at the razor while he tried to remember what exactly happened the last time he shaved to know whether Wooyoung was right or not.

Slightly pouting his lips, Mingi went back to close himself inside the bathroom, leaving San and Wooyoung alone in the living room. As soon as the door of their shared bathroom closed, his best friend turned to him with a devilish smile and a contained laugh.

—I actually was the one who did it.

San gave him a scolding look, tilting his head in annoyance when he was aware of the war that would start if Mingi knew about it.

—He always leaves his things everywhere —Wooyoung tried to excuse himself—. You'll see how he'll be careful with his things from now on.

—I knew it! —Mingi screamed again, opening the door to their bathroom— You little gaslighting asshole.

San just stared at them, seeing Wooyoung barely able to move his right arm as he tried to move the chairs from their dinner table to block Mingi to get any close to him as they ran around it. The doctor told him that, even though his arm seemed to be alright already, at least enough to take off the bandage, to be careful with the movements he could make and the pressure he added on the joint. And what was Wooyoung doing? Exactly the opposite of what he was told.

—Don't be a pig and I'll respect your things —Wooyoung said, testing what direction he should run to, as Mingi stood at the opposite side of him.

—It was a new razor that cost forty dollars.

—Forty dollars for that?! —San interrupted, opening his eyes wide at the price.

—I don't care. It's on the Rules Board —Wooyoung insisted—. If you leave your things unattended in a common space, deal with the consequences.

San sighed at the mention of the Rules Board. It was their way to get used to one another and their way to live. Actually, it was created mainly because Mingi worked night shifts, and it was their best way to settle the times in which they could make noise and when they should keep the volume as low as possible. Once Mingi finished his degree and started working in the position he was in, that board found a comfortable space behind the bookshelf in the right corner of the living room, next to the dinner table.

—It was a gift from my mom, you dumbass —Mingi ignored his comment.

—Your mom bought you that? —Wooyoung's cocky expression changed to a concerned one.

—Yes!

—Sorry, I didn't know.

Wooyoung walked to their taller friend, trying to calm down the mood, before he spoke again.

—I'll buy you the same one —he said—. Send me the model, and I'll make the order right now.

As soon as Wooyoung left, a smirk appeared on Mingi's face, turning to San with a proud look.

—It wasn't a gift from my mom —he whispered.

Of course San was already suspecting that. Mingi was such a bad liar, stuttering as he dropped those words, that he was surprised Wooyoung didn't catch on to the lie as soon as he heard it.

—Use one of mine for today, and hope Woo doesn't find out about that —San simply said, after rolling his eyes—. I need silence to finish my research, and with you two bickering like five year olds I will never finish.

—Alright, alright —his hands raised to the air—. I'm meeting up with some friends, anyway.

Said that, Mingi closed himself inside the bathroom again, leaving San alone in their living room. After sighing, he went back to his room, closing the door behind him, before he made his way to the turned on computer and the blank sheet on Word.

His research was actually the new theme for the weekly video that he had been trying to think of for almost an hour already.

His fingers taped over the black desk, trying to get some inspiration back -although it wasn't like he had any before Mingi interrupted.

Trying to write a proper script was the most difficult part of what he did, although he had never been in such a big block as he was that day. He had gone through several tropes ever since he joined the website: cute boyfriend, angry sex, friends to lovers, friend's brother... even he sometimes went over some dark concepts that people asked him to do in the comments. Not even with those he had a hard time writing them as that day.

Whenever he came up with an idea, Y/n instantly showed up in his head taking the position of the lead of his fantasies. Innocent girlfriend? Y/n was there. Hot neighbor? She was there. Sister's friend? She fitted the role perfectly.

His head was thrown back, hanging over the backrest of his chair, as he closed his eyes.

The memories from the previous night were still fresh, the warmth of her body against his was still there, he almost could feel her if he concentrated enough. Even her floral scent invaded his nostrils as soon as he left his mind blank.

His fingers flew to the curve between his lower lip and chin, touching where she kissed him the past night to fool his friends into thinking they actually kissed. His heart started beating faster again when he remembered how her breath coated his skin first, before her lips covered that spot. She felt soft and moist, and it made him wonder if she would've felt better if he hadn't told her she didn't kiss anyone before her. What would've happened if he had allowed her to kiss him like she wanted to?

The click of his tongue interrupted those fairytales, bursting his bubble as he sat straight on the chair back again.

How was he supposed to come up with a story if the only thing in his head was Y/n.

His fingers caressed the keys of his keyboard, positioning his hands properly before he forced himself to write something down. He couldn't fight his own brain, and he needed to get that script done by that day if he wanted to be able to record the video in the next two days.

Suddenly, he found himself remembering how tempting she looked while lying on his bed, and how his most instinctive thoughts, that were only eclipsed by worry the previous night, were emerging again through that memory.

In his head, he adopted the confident persona that belonged to Soundleasure, leaning over her as his two hands were positioned on both sides of her hips, leaving their lips millimeters away from each other.

All those fantasies he built with her as they texted grew deeper after meeting her in person, getting the perfect image of how her face looked up close, and how her eyelids slightly closed before she kissed him.

It was such a realistic thought that he could almost feel the taste of her saliva on his tongue, as he rewinded back twelve hours back. And all that realism only helped him get lost in her, and be engulfed by his own thoughts.

He didn't break off when she needily took off his t-shirt, and unzipped his pants. And he couldn't find a way to move on the second he pictured the way her lips would feel around him.

He was so sick for thinking of her like that, and he realized when he finally moved his fingers away from the keyboard with a deep breath. Finally back to his senses, he realized most of the script was already written down. And that only made him wonder how long he had been lost in thought fantasizing about her.

The leg slit of the long skirt of her floral dress softly moved up her knee, having her instantly moving it back to place, holding the two sides between her pressed thighs to keep the soft breeze from moving it back again.

She hated those brunches with passion.

The only thing that could make of that moment something acceptable was the food, but not even the food was good enough for her to forget how annoyed she was at the superiority complex their supplier radiated.

—You look tired, you didn't sleep well? —Tim Hockman finally asked, looking at her over the bridge of his aviator sunglasses.

Although she arrived back home with no inconveniences, she couldn't say the same thing happened when she snuggled under the blankets of her king size bed. She kept rolling under them, unable to find the right position to feel comfortable enough to fall sleep. Although how uncomfortable she felt had zero to do with the bed or the actual position, but where the back of her mind was as she closed her eyes.

She was so close. If only she had moved her head a bit higher, she'd have been able to kiss him. And probably, if he hadn't told her she was going to be his first kiss, she would have.

Y/n didn't know the reasons why he hadn't kissed anyone yet, but it was enough for her when he directly told her he didn't want to do it. It didn't matter if it was because of his friends, or because he felt insecure of his skills, it was a line that she wasn't entitled to cross -as much as she felt bad for not crossing it. She did well, she respected an invisible boundary that he didn't exactly settle, but that was there, and she was sure she probably would've felt way worse if she had violated it.

Thinking about his lips, or how well they'd felt sucked in between hers, wasn't the worst and what had her losing her sleep. Every thought that came right after linking it to it, every step further she took with the imaginary vision of San in her head had her scolding herself for it.

She had fantasized about him when he was only a pixel in her screen, she had touched herself when he was only a voice she was attracted to, but for some reason it made her feel uncomfortable about herself how she was suddenly daydreaming fucking the real person.

Could be the difference was that knowing him settled some limits for her, could be she only fantasized about him before because she never thought she'd actually meet him -and, in consequence, didn't actually get her to see him as a real person. But he was pretty much real, and her body reacted instantly to that imponent aura he didn't think he had, and those attractive mannerisms he had normalized to the point he wasn't aware of them.

San was aiming to be one big problem for her.

—I slept well —she finally answered—. It might be because I'm facing the sun, and I can't open my eyes without them hurting.

Her tone had a slight glimpse of reproach, annoyed by the fact that he was the one who chose the place, the table, and also sat first on the only chair that was back facing the sun.

Her clenched jaw relaxed when her father kicked her knee, drawing her back to reality and trying to get her to realize who she was speaking to.

Tim was the type of man who had a fragile ego. The minimal sign of disrespect or annoyance would get him to act in consequence. Her father had seen it before, he had to deal with it before. One misunderstanding had him almost feel forced to do business with someone else when he suddenly raised the price of his supplies.

—Not like it's an issue. Vitamin D is always good —she faked a smile, hurrying to drink from her orange juice before looking away.

—Harry, you must be so proud, huh? —he chuckled, pointing at her while talking with her father.

—I am —her father sighed—. Every day, I am more at ease thinking I'll leave the business in good hands.

—One day you should let her take control of these deals —he suggested, shaking his hands in the air as he pointed at the situation they had going on.

—One day she will. Don't worry about that.

She would've been creeped out by his comments if Tim wasn't also her ex boyfriend's father and she wasn't used to that type of attitude from him. Those comments were nothing new.

—By the way, leaving your business in good hands... I guess it'll also depend on who she ends up with.

—Excuse me? I don't see what one thing has to do with the other —she frowned.

Touching that delicate topic did annoy her, and she was afraid she wouldn't be able to control her tongue from running wild depending on the answer he gave her.

—I mean —he started as he laughed—, it depends on what your significant other's ambitions are.

—And what my limits are drawn —she cut him off—. Also, I can't see why the business would be affected if my boyfriend doesn't even belong to the field.

Her father reached his hand to her wrist, trying to get her to control her tone as soon as he noticed the anger forming on the last few words.

—So your current boyfriend doesn't belong to the field? —Tim's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

It was almost as if he got from her the involuntary sign he wanted.

—Current boyfriend? —her father asked, alternating his eyes between his daughter and Tim.

—Oh, was it a secret?

Her tongue moved over her lower lip, in a desperate attempt to control it from running wild before she looked at her father.

—I don't k...

But she was knocked out with the evidence right on her face. As he spoke, she could see him messing with his phone, thinking it was just him being as disrespectful as he usually was, but seeing the picture on his screen made it clear he was just being a rat.

A picture from the past night was occupying a 50% of the screen, where she could be seen snuggling to San while his arm was around her neck. And she probably wouldn't be in that big problem if she hadn't encouraged him to wrap his arm around her, when she held his wrist and placed it on the other side of her neck, to give it a couple vibe. She clearly didn't think of the consequences of taking that picture, and giving Wooyoung her Instagram user shortly after when he asked, mainly because she didn't think he'd upload it, and even less tag her. But also doubted anyone was paying so much attention to her to be aware of the posts she was tagged on.

—My son saw it on his feed today, and I was curious about that. The poor thing is still brokenhearted.

—Others call it obsession —she mumbled.

—What?

—Nothing —her father rushed to answer for her.

He was also the one who broke up with her because she didn't meet his standards, after dating for two years. It just sounded weird for her that Tom was scrolling down her social media to keep track of everything she did -when last time she had news about him against her will, he was snorting coke in the middle of a stripper's tits.

—You didn't know about her relationship? Oh, sorry.

Tim should've been thankful to her father for being there, and being the only reason why she wasn't sticking his croissant down his throat.

—Of course I knew —Harry nodded, adapting quickly to the situation and trying to sound as relaxed as possible—. A really good guy.

As much as her father tried to make it sound like he was indeed comfortable, there was some tiny crack in his voice that she was used to hearing when he got upset at her, and that only showed up when he tried to hide how angry he actually was in public.

She knew all that would turn up against her as soon as Tim walked victoriously out of there.

And he did.

Her father gave her the chance to sit on Tim's chair, as soon as he left with the excuse that he had a family meeting. And he was giving her that exact same scolding look he gave her whenever she failed an exam, or when she didn't behave the way she was expected to in the company.

—You're dating someone and you didn't tell me about it?

—It's my private life. I don't get what fucks that has to do with the company —she defended herself, crossing her arms over her chest.

—It has nothing to do with it until it's linked to your public social media —he accused—. It's important because his background could affect our reputation.

—Not everyone is as twisted and crazy as the Tities to be checking my tagged posts.

—Can you just own up to it? —he tried to get her to focus— Honestly, I'm well aware you've been dating around, and I don't think I've ever asked any explanation from you. It's your private life, and it has zero to do with your position because you've kept it on the down low. But do you realize that, once it connects somehow to your social media, not only you're making it public and accessible, but also linking it to the type of person and professional you might be? As bad as it is. If he's a known asshole, that image will also be added to you. If he's done fraud, that image will also be added to you.

—He's none of that —she waved her hands in the air, getting him to stop.

—That's why I want to judge by myself —her eyebrows furrowed at that answer—. I want to meet him so I can be sure he actually isn't none of that.

—It's not that serious...

She was already preparing the field for the imminent and sudden break up, but her father spoke first.

—You lowkey made it public, and what you have isn't serious? Y/n, no excuses, I want to meet him.

Well, she was damned.

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sammyhasspammy · 3 months

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Switcheroo Au: Branch

Branch was born to the previous Queen and King of the Pop Trolls. His eldest brother, John Dory, was the current ruler of the trolls, and unfortunately, soon after his coronation, their grandmother, ex-Queen Rosiepuff, got eaten by a bergen. King JD realized that they couldn't keep living like this, so he hatched a plan to escape by digging tunnels under the tree in secret. During the escape, all the brothers make it, but their parents are lost in the process. The family is torn apart by the grief of the situation. Bruce, Clay, and Floyd run away, leaving John to raise Branch himself. The prince grew up to be the most fun-loving troll of Troll Village, always planning parties and helping every troll in need, even the ones that were "unhelpable" according to other trolls, like Poppy.

He never gave up on her, even after rejecting his party invitations hundreds- no, thousands of times. During the 20th celebration of their escape, he plans to host the biggest party troll kind has ever seen despite Poppy's protests. Unfortunately, things go awry when the bergen chefs, Chad and Todd, take several of their friends back to bergen town in hopes of regaining their honor. Branch goes out to save Smidge, the veterinarian; Chenille and Satin, the twin DJs; Suki, the fashion designer; Creek, the lovable one; Guy Diamond, the businessman; Darnell, the cool one; and Biggie, the serene one. Although Poppy thinks he'll fail, she joins him anyway. On their mission, they help Gristle, the scullery maid (butler?), win over Queen Bridget of the bergens. In an unexpected twist, Biggie sells out Troll Village to Chad and Todd. Despite this, they are able to free all of Troll Village while becoming friends with the bergens. John Dory, feeling as though he was inadequate as a king, partly because he blamed himself for losing their parents 20 years ago, now crowns Branch as king now that he is old enough to rule.

Sometime later, the trolls get an invitation from the rock queen Val Thundershock who plans to take over the world. With the help of some friends, they are able to defeat Queen Val while becoming friends with her and opening up the way for the troll tribes to live in harmony once more.

A month later, a stranger interrupts Queen Bridget and Gristle's wedding. The stranger turns out to be Poppy's father who came to inform Poppy that her sister, who she thought to be dead, was actually alive but captured by the duo Veneer and Velvet. Poppy is not confident in her and her father's ability to perform a family harmony, so she asks Branch and JD if they can perform the harmony. John reveals that they're not the only family they have, and Branch finds out that he has 3 other brothers he didn't know about. They go on an adventure to find them. The first stop is Floyd who now lives among the rock trolls and is in a band with Barb (Who is Val in this au), and Riff (Who is kinda like Blaze? idk yet), with Sid Fret (who is Demo) as their manager. Next is Bruce who found love with a giant puppet lady named Brandy (his backstory stays the same cause I can't... think of anything else, but feel free to recommend ideas!). They find Clay in an old abandoned golf course as one of the co-leaders of the putt-putt trolls. He is hesitant to go and almost forces his brothers to stay, but they escape and continue on their search to find Viva, hoping that the four of them can pull it off. Unfortunately, Poppy and Peppy have a fight that leads Poppy to run off and Branch joins her. They eventually make it to Mount Rageous to find that the other brothers and Peppy were also taken hostage. They try to save them without singing but fail to. Clay eventually catches up and tries to help, but it's clear that there's only one thing that'll save their families. Branch urges Poppy to take the lead in the family harmony because he never knew his brothers, but she knew her sister. She takes the lead and they are able to escape while putting Veneer and Velvet behind bars.

Brains storm post - Poppy - Viva

More content will be posted in my #switcheroo au tag! :D Feel free to send any questions or recommendations into my ask box!

Outfit Closeups

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trash-magics-blog · 9 months

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"When you walked out that door, a piece of me died" F!Reader x Rodolfo Parra pt.1

Summary: You go on a trip during the summer and meet a handsome stranger but will he only be a summer fling or something more?

(This will be a longer fic so I'm gonna break it into parts, and it's gonna be filled with some angst and NSFW and fluff, a little variety this is also very like, not realistic but who cares, spice of life also, Im taking the fact that Rudy's actor Bayardo, rides motorcycles and giving that to rudy)

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Summer. The blazing sun, the cold drinks and the opportunities it offers is all so exciting, especially for someone who likes to travel like yourself. This summer you decided to go to a nice little town called Las Almas, where there's endless parties and new people to meet. You were staying at the El Domicilio, a fancy hotel with a nice bar attached to it that you were for sure gonna use to your advantage. You planned on just taking your summer vacation nice and easy letting things come and go... Until you met a handsome stranger by the name of Rodolfo Parra.

Not Surprisingly, you were at the bar people watching mostly and just enjoying a nice drink but someone caught your eye. A handsome man who was talking to the Bartender, they seemed to be friends, to you they were both extremely hot but there was just something about the one that seemed to pull you in. Before you knew it the bartender came over with another drink and gave you a smile, his name tag read "Alejandro". "Here you go mi señora, another drink from a certain someone you can't take your eyes off" Alejandro said, a joking tone to his voice, you got slightly embarrassed that he caught you staring but you appreciated the extra drink.

Right after Alejandro gave you your drink and walked away to help someone else you saw his hands on the bar next to you, the same stranger you were eyeing earlier causing you to smile and look away as you got sorta shy now, he had different plans though. "Oh don't be getting all shy on my now, quiero ver esa cara bonita tuya" he said smiling, his voice made your stomach tingle almost and you looked back at him, god was he a sight. From his rough looking hands to his muscles he was all around a very attractive man. "Thank you for the drink...?" You trailed off, waiting for him to say his name. "Rodolfo but you can call me Rudy and you are?"

"Y/n, it's very nice to meet you Rudy", You said playfully and held out your hand, his hands felt smooth and the cold steel of his rings made your skin tingle, you guys held eye contact for longer than expected but it felt good. Over the course of the night you and Rudy talked about anything, you two were constantly laughing and being a little loud but you were having fun, you liked Rudy, a lot. When it was time for you to head home Rudy couldn't pass the opportunity to escort you, "Here, I'll walk you to your room mi señora, which room?" He asked as he took your hand in his. "5th floor, room 505" you guys made your way to the elevator and mostly stood in silence, until Rudy spoke up, "Thank you for tonight by the way, its been a pleasure Y/n". You smiled and shuffled your feet a bit, his voice was soothing and he made you feel safe even though you just met about 3 hours ago, he just had that way about him, Rudy was a good guy.

When you both got to your room door you sighed and looked at Rudy, you didn't wanna see him go but there will always be tomorrow, you were gonna be in Las Almas for awhile anyway. "I guess this is goodbye?" When you said that Rudy just chuckled and stepped towards you, giving you a kiss on the cheek and a hug. "I can't let you go that fast, how about I come back tomorrow and show you around Las Almas?" You hugged him back and nodded, "sounds good, promise you'll be back?" You questioned, you have had some bad experiences with people never coming back and you just had to make sure Rudy would be back. "Of course". Rudy then left and you went to your room, you laid on the bed and thought for awhile not knowing exactly what to think of the situation but you were gonna welcome it with open arms. What was the worst that could happen anyway?

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This was just part one so hopefully I can get the other parts out soon, I hope you guys enjoy! And feel free to give some constructive criticism, I'm still new to this so tips are appreciated!

#cod mw2 #mw2 x reader #mw2 smut #cod fluff #rodolfo cod #rudy cod #rodolfo parra #rodolfo rudy parra x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #rudy parra #i love him #cod x reader #he is cute

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headfullofpresley · 1 year

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𝐉𝐨𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 | 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Warnings: joe being joe, some inaccurate plot/details of the movie, made some things up myself bc this movie is horrible lol, tiny mention of animal slaughtering, rodeo rider!elvis, lil bit of smut; public sex, mention of pregnancy. the ending is meh but had to end it bc i could go on about this man for hours. ☻

A/N: stay away joe is one of my least fave movies, but i have a weird relationship with it - hate it, but will never stop rewatching bc GOOD GOD, joe lightcloud is a stunner.

masterlist

You work as a bartender at the local bar that is owned by Glenda Callahan.

Because Mamie was obsessed with Joe, she sent the girl off to the big city to live with an aunt.

You and Glenda got along well, so when she offered you to move into her daughter's room, you accepted.

The job was dull, only serving coffee and breakfast to locals that were on their way to the city or dinner to strangers that were passing through.

Glenda wasn't surprised when Joe wandered in the bar and had his sights set on you like you were a juicy piece of meat sizzling on the BBQ.

You weren't her daughter, so she couldn't say anything, but she did warn you about the cowboy casanova.

“Don’t worry, Miss Glenda. He’s gonna have to work for it,”

You weren't as desperate as Mamie, but you could understand why the younger girl had been.

With his tanned skin and cowboy hat resting atop of his head, he was just breathtaking.

But you had heard the stories about Joe Lightcloud and even though you were already planning on having a piece of him, you weren't going to throw yourself at him like all the other girls did.

“Didn’t know they sold shorts as tiny as those,” he'd grin smugly, shamelessly leaning over the bar to take a peek at your exposed legs due to the denim shorts you were wearing.

Arizona was hot, nobody wore jeans unless they'd be breaking bones at the rodeo.

Acting like you weren't phased by his actions or his words, you put a drink in front of him and leaned your hands on the bar with a grin lingering on your face.

“They exiled me outta the city for ‘em,”

You weren't even from the city, but he didn't know that. He moved back onto his family's reservation recently and had never seen you around before despite you growing up in the area.

“Uptight, those city folk,” he’d tease back, that grin never faltering. “How ‘bout you, honey? Are you uptight?”

Giving him an innocent shrug and a little smile, you kept your lips sealed and continued cleaning the bar, letting him use the phone which was the reason why he came in here in the first place.

He could easily use the phone in other places, but he came to the bar pretty much every day after meeting you.

He'd tell you it was because the bar was closer than the stores in town and while you knew that was true, you also knew you were the reason for him coming to your work place.

You didn't mind at all. You were bored out of your mind half the day, so you started looking forward to seeing him and talking to him.

He'd try to win you over, pulling out his best pick up lines and putting on his best smiles.

They made your knees buckle behind the bar every time, but this was a man that had girls falling for him in the matter of seconds and you wanted to see if he was willing to put in an actual effort.

He never met anyone like you and even though he never had to work for a girl's attention, he was determined to win you over.

When his family was granted twenty heifers and a bull to prove that they could raise cattle, he invited you to the party he was throwing at the reservation.

Being the only employee at the bar, you didn't know if Glenda would allow you time off but she fell for your puppy eyes and sweet smile and gave you two days off.

You should've known this wouldn't be a normal party.

It lasted throughout the entire weekend, with people sleeping under the blazing sun during the day and drinking and dancing all night.

All Joe's friends and family demanded his attention but he always found his way back to you, providing you with drinks and introducing you to people.

He'd shamelessly introduce you as ‘his girl’ to everyone and they all believed it.

All your chances of becoming friends with the girls who were there flew right out of the window, because they'd give you dirty looks every time you'd smile at them.

“I ain’t your girl, Joe,” you'd remind him but all he did was laugh and wrap his arm around your waist, giving you that cocky grin.

“Give it time, honey. Give it time,”

You'd roll your eyes but on the inside, you were screaming like a little girl because you knew he was dead serious.

Disaster struck when Bronco, one of Joe's friends, accidentally slaughtered and barbecued the only bull in the herd instead of one of the heifers.

The bull that was supposed to help the Lightcloud's provide for themselves with the cattle they could sell.

Not long after the party, Glenda fired you because you start neglecting the bar to spend more time with Joe.

He borrowed a bull from a friend that's supposed to do the job, but the poor thing would sleep all day and not move a muscle.

Slowly but surely, you moved onto the reservation. His family liked you and at least now Joe didn't have to face the lazy bull on his own.

“C’mon, boy, get your fat ass up,”

He'd tug on the bull's head, trying to lift it from the ground and to get him to stand up or at least move, but nothing was working.

“Joe! Be nice to him, he has feelings, you know?” you'd yell at him as you sat on top of the fence, swinging your legs back and forth while watching him struggle.

“Yeah only not the right feelings,” though the words came out as a mumble, you still heard them and he'd send you a sneaky wink.

“Look here, Dominick! You little fucker,” walking over to one of the heifers, he lands a slap on the rear of it. “All these lovely ladies are willin’,”

Scrunching your nose, you shook your head. “You’re horrible at this,”

Standing up straight with an amused scoff, he'd nod his head and walk over to you.

“Alright, little miss boots. Let’s see you try then,” giving you a squeeze in the cowboy boots you were wearing, he'd grin teasingly at you and lean against the fence.

You jumped off the fence and stole his hat, putting it on top of your head as you told him to watch and learn, approaching the bull.

You weren't specialized in cows or whatsoever, but you grew up around horses. You were confident enough to make this work and you wanted to see Joe's face if you managed to succeed.

Dominick was lazier than you expected but you ignored Joe's laughs and mumbled ‘told you so’s’.

You weren't giving up though and after forty minutes, the bull finally decided to get up to his feet.

“Yes, Dominick, good boy! Come here, you sweet thing!” urging the bull excitedly and sweetly, you stepped closer to the heifers.

Joe couldn't believe his eyes as he watched the bull follow you and paying attention, finally doing what he was here for.

You supressed a small squeal, clearing your throat as you walked over to Joe. Giving him a small curtsy as you dipped his hat, you'd give him your biggest and most cocky smile.

“Voila!”

“I don’t speak Italian,”

“Oh, Joe,” laughing as you took a step closer to him, you'd swing your arms around his neck and kiss him.

He would not hesitate or whatsoever at all to kiss you back, lifting you up from the ground and placing you on the fence.

It wasn't until you'd pull back from the kiss that you saw Dominick succesfully doing his job and you and Joe cheered him on the entire time.

Even though Dominick did what he needed to do that one day, the bull went right back to snoring up a storm most of the time.

Joe found out from the friend he borrowed the bull from that it was actually a rodeo prizewinning bull, so to provide for the family, he started doing rodeo shows.

Okay, he smacked the information out of his friend, but you didn't need to know that. Apparently it was enough for the dude to let Joe keep the bull, so you weren't complaining.

Whenever you weren't watching him at the rodeo, you'd be on the reservation with his family.

Now, his family was crazy but you liked them.

Grandpa Lightcloud was a grumpy old man that you didn't understand half of the time, but he liked having you around because you helped around on the property and didn't try to keep Joe away from his family.

The man would teach you how to do a rain dance and you'd show it to Joe any chance you got, making him roll over in giggles because you'd mess up some of the moves.

Teaching you properly and doing it with you in the middle of the night. You forced him to do it with you every day because Sedona, Arizona desperately needed some rain.

And when the rain came, you'd dance around in it. Usually with very little clothing on, unless the rest of the family was there.

When you did accompany him to rodeo shows, everyone knew who you belonged to because you'd be shouting the loudest to cheer him on and cussing out whoever talked shit about your man.

Sedona was a small and boring town with very little to do. While you and Joe would have dinner at one of the few restaurants now and then, the both of you preferred to go on dates that would take place outside.

Horseback riding was one of the things you'd pretty much do every day.

You'd always accept whenever he challenged you to a race, even though you knew you were bound to lose.

Sometimes he'd rub the victory in your face and sometimes he'd let you win on purpose, because he liked seeing that smug grin on your face.

“Can’t win ‘em all, Joey baby. Better luck next time,”

He absolutely hated the pet name. Would give you a glare, but truth was.. he'd let you get away with any name you'd throw at his head.

“You’re the best, princess. Now come get your prize,”

Your prize was always a kiss. Lots of them.

Picnic dates. 🥺

Which would start off all innocent with you two chatting while eating and cuddling on the blanket while sunbathing, but always ended in you riding him.

His favorite was when you'd be moaning above him, wearing his cowboy hat, sun slowly disappearing behind the mountains.

Since the climate was so damn hot, you were always wearing tanktops and very rarely a bra which he took advantage of by nearly tearing the thin fabric to pieces because he liked seeing your breasts bounce to the rhythm of your thrusts.

Insisted you kept the boots on, because he thought it was one of the hottest things he had ever seen.

Every time the two of you were intimate, it was usually somewhere outside or in his car.

Your horses have seen some shit. Thank God they couldn't talk.

Joe never officially asked you to be his girlfriend, but after the first time you kissed, you gave yourself that title whether he liked it or not.

He liked it. He liked it a lot.

Meant he didn't need to prepare a whole ass awkward speech about wanting you as his girl.

You were both jealous and didn't like when the other would get a little too much attention.

He'd knock anyone out who would make you feel uncomfortable, touched you inappropiately or looked your way a little too long for his liking.

You weren't any better, having fought enough girls that tried to sneak their way into Joe's arms.

He usually didn't care about two-timing girls, but he actually loved you and he knew you'd tear his head off if he ever cheated.

“Now I don’t mind the attention, ladies, but I got a girl. She might be small, but she’s wilder than an angry bull, ya know?”

Even though he'd always break up the fights between you and other girls, peeling your (freakishly strong) hands out of their hair, he secretly liked seeing you so jealous.

You two didn't tell each other you loved each other a lot, but it were moments like these that he knew.

He'd take both his family and you by surprise when proposing to you after only four months of dating.

You didn't even hesitate to say yes.

You never cared much for weddings and marriage, but you knew that this was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

Plus, you loved how your name sounded with his last name.

Joe eventually made enough money to buy Glenda's bar, who took the money and got the hell outta dodge.

He gifted the bar to you as a wedding gift and the two of you moved in at the house that was adjoined to it.

Still, he made sure to provide for his family too and the both of you went over there as much as you could, helping them with the renovation of the house, etc.

Didn't take you long to fall pregnant, giving birth to a healthy son, who Joe was more than excited to have follow in his footsteps to become a succesful bull rider.

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zillanovikov · 1 year

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Strap up friends and strangers. It's time to make bad choices ... together

I wrote a novella called Query where I mash up publishing under late-stage capitalism with climate change activism and trauma-dumping on strangers. It's also a queer love story and it's been called "pants-wettingly funny." Rysz published the regular version with a SFW cover but he also sold a book box with a special edition cover which I literally have to censor to blaze this post, link here if you're not at work or you work in a very chill workplace.

We sold out of the first run of Query book boxes, which a) was fully incredible and b) what the heck guys, do you want to make a grown woman cry from happiness? Because I'll do it.

So Rysz and I bought another round of mostly different, equally deranged swag to put in print run two for another round of Query book boxes.

Rysz was like, "wow people like book boxes huh" so he's put on a sale so you can get any or all of the books from his press in the SAME BOX. I have read every book he's published and I love all of them, but hot DAMN Corrupted Vessels has a good cover so I plan on getting that one myself.

You also have the option of getting ALL THE BOOKS Rysz publishes AT THE SAME TIME. Open your heart and your bookshelves. Let something in. I can't promise this is a good choice, but it's a choice. Ask yourself, what could go wrong? Then do it anyway.

#queer books #queer fiction #books #reading #queer stories #body horror

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darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght · 1 month

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Pokémon Reborn Screenshot Let's Play: Chapter 17

Well…hello again, everyone. The end of college is slowly creeping towards my location, but Pokémon continues to be my rock in these trying times! Although, given the revelations of the last chapter, that may be turning into a double-edged sword with all these twists and betrayals…and we’re not even past the third Gym yet! I’m terrified for what’s coming next in this play session alone, to say nothing of the rest of the game!

There’s gonna be a lot to do in this part, no doubt- but first, we need to go over what happened in the previous chapter to lead us to where we are now.

Xera continues her expedition through Rhodochrine Jungle, finding the way to the PULSE blocked by yet more vines.

After clearing one half of the vines blocking the way forward, Xera overhears a conversation between several Team Meteor members: a Grunt, as well as two higher-ranking members, a Private currently dubbed Agent Grass and an admin currently called Commander Ponytail. Commander Ponytail discusses how a “demonstration” in North Obsidia Ward is just about ready, and he takes his leave- but not before planning to take Victoria with him.

While continuing to explore, Xera encounters and catches a Shiny Scatterbug, who she names Monarch.

Finding her way back to Beryl Ward and to Beryl Library, Xera encounters a stranger searching for books. The person politely greets her and asks if she’s heard of a phenomenon called “dreamsickness.” She has not, and the stranger takes their leave.

Xera briefly returns to the Reborn City Police Department, having found all four missing police officers as well as the Growlithe of the fifth, who was found deceased. As thanks for her help, the chief allows Xera to take the Growlithe with her; she accepts, gaining Blaze the Growlithe.

Back in Rhodochrine, Xera finds Amaria. She has followed Borealis’ trail to Rhodochrine, and has also been able to confirm several of Team Meteor’s leading officers are guarding the PULSE. It seems, due to losses of the PULSEs in Obsidia and Jasper Wards, Team Meteor is now on high-alert.

Xera finds another abandoned house, the man inside wanting to start growing food so he can continue to live in the jungle- and for that, he needs a Sunkern. Xera trades Summer the Sunkern to him in exchange for Deci the Carbink (and an Exp. Share).

With the path clear, Xera is able to approach the PULSE, which is guarded by Borealis, ZEL, Taka, and Ace (Agent Grass is there too, off to the side in her own world). The Meteor admins are quick to corner her as well as reveal Amaria’s hiding spot- but luckily, Fern, Cain, and Heather arrive to provide backup for the duo. As each Trainer engages a different Meteor officer, Xera is free to confront Ace.

Xera is successfully able to defeat Ace and shut down the third Tangrowth PULSE- but just as she claims victory, Heather is suddenly thrown back and knocked unconscious, having been beaten by Agent Grass. Borealis reacts in horror to this, ordering his Crobat to fly Heather someplace safe.

Agent Grass and Ace confront Borealis about his decision to let Heather- an enemy- escape, with Agent Grass in particular deeming Borealis a traitor. Before she can take further action, however, Amaria rushes in to hold her back, buying time for both Borealis and Xera to escape back to Beryl Ward.

Running down the only street into Beryl Ward, Borealis is ambushed by the RCPD- thanks to Xera finding the officers, they were able to put together a sting operation and trap for Borealis at Amaria’s behest.

The police chief unmasks Borealis, revealing his true identity: Corey Molinar, former Gym Leader, and Heather’s father. Corey derides the chief for trusting him solely because he was once a Leader, then manages to escape in a cloud of mist. The chief orders the officers to search for Corey at his residence.

So yeah- Corey was one of the villains all along! I may have guessed it ages ago, but I’m still sad about being right! So very sad! And now we have to confront the consequences of our actions and Borealis/Corey’s- mostly the latter’s, though- and…I guess meet up with the officers at wherever Corey’s house is? Oh boy, this chapter is going to wreck me, I’m getting bad vibes from all of this-

*CW: suicide and depictions/discussions of such

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18*

Part 19*

#pokemon reborn #pokemon reborn spoilers #pokemon fan game #pokemon reborn screenshot let's play

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mysterycharacterbracket · 8 months

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Round W2, Poll #23

Remember, this is the winners bracket. The winner will move on to round 3 of the winners bracket, while the loser will drop to round 5 of the losers bracket.

Character 163: this woman has so many problems. she’s obsessed with law and order but then has to reconcile that with discovering the illegal circumstances of her own birth. she kills a guy. she gets hypnotized by some wandering stranger. she suicide baits her own mother. she falls in love with at LEAST one dead person. she has everything

Character 87: Exiled from her village after being falsely accused of murdering the head of her village, she found her way to the main setting of the story and joined a dance troupe. She attracted the attention of a pair of red-haired twins who loved her and was set for a good life until she was kidnapped and forced to have the main antagonist child, after which she was thrown away into an asylum. She escaped from there with the twins, and began a life long quest to protect her daughter, knowing that her father wanted to use her to establish an iron grip over his country. She and her daughter are virtually identical, both being very petite with long blonde hair. She later uses this to her advantage to take her daughter's place so she can escape her father's grasp once and for all. She causes a riot and goes out in a blaze of glory, not only thwarting all of the antagonist's plans, but also taking his life. She can dual-wield knives and is incredibly smart. Also since the setting of the story is during World War Two, and the main antagonist allies himself with the Nazis, she does in fact, kill a Nazi. Good for her!

#mystery character bracket #polls #round w2 #batch w2.3

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wonda-fhr · 11 months

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🍂 for luke, 🌻 for lia + 🌺 for david?

The more I thought about the prompt questions, the less I wanted to answer them myself. So I looked for ways to let others tell it. And I like writing dialog.🙂

Thanks for your Soft OC ask 🌹 ------

🍂Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others? - For Luke

Sorry, I listed Luke without being more specific. Luke is not a sidestep, but a human in Lia's AU. The death of his twin brother has put him on the same path of revenge as her. So Lia has found a friend and accomplice. But thanks to him, she has learned that affection is not a weakness.

Luke had two drinks ready and was settling in on the couch for a cozy evening when Lia interrupted his plans. "Oh, come on. You don't have to be shy with me, you're allowed to get hugged. In fact, you'll have to, because I like to cuddle, especially my dearest friends."

"I'm already used to your hugs. But this is the coach, and me in your arm isn't necessarily that common, is it?"

"Come here, into my arm, and we can talk some more." Luke opens his arms invitingly in Lia's direction, who is still standing a little distant from the couch, watching him with a curious smile.

"You remind me of Ortega right now. You don't give up, do you?" In response, she receives a stubborn shake of the head, and lets herself fall onto the couch next to her friend, laughing defeatedly. Luke gently pulls her into his arms until her head rests on his shoulder and he can wrap his arms around her.

"No, I never give up. Besides, I know you a little bit better than Ortega does, and I don't want to seduce you. Not necessarily. I don't think I have any closer friends than you right now. So what's wrong with a little physical contact or a kiss to show some friendly affection? Not everyone who wants to touch you wants to harm you, love. For my part, I need a lot of closeness with those who are important to me."

"You hugged some people at the exhibition. Is that also affection?"

"In a way, yes. A simple hug can be very superficial, but it is still more heartfelt than a handshake. I knew all the people there for a long time. Distant friends and good acquaintances, the second and third line of friendship. But don't worry, I don't ambush everyone, strangers have to be satisfied with a handshake.

"It's nice to be in the first row. But now I'm a little curious where Blaze finds his place in these rows. Was that hug still superficial?" Eyes flashing with curiosity, she looks expectantly at Luke.

"We'll have to find out." A wink and a kiss on the forehead start the time for a drink, a movie and some loving company.

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🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them? - for Lia

The silence out here permeates you until you can hear the slightest sound of the wind in the dry grass. The last smell of your motorcycle's exhaust is still in the air, mixing with the dust whose smallest particles have not yet found their way to the ground. A cricket jumps from the grass onto the flat rocks, each landing like the rhythm of a drum.

Here you don't have to observe anyone, you don't have to pay attention to what insignificant gestures betray the intentions of your counterpart. No twitching of an eyebrow, no nervous rubbing of fingers, no unrhythmic breathing has to interest you here. There is no threat. Not even the flush in Danny's cheeks when you hold his gaze too long, or his silky hair sliding through your fingers.

You can focus on the more important things. The sun and the wind on your skin, the colors, the sounds, the smells. Everything that can reveal so much is never aimed at you out here. It is your proof that this world still turns. That it goes on, no matter how much people despise you and each other. Here is your little piece of peace and it will always be here. No matter what happens to you.

You can't stay here yet, but you can claim another piece of freedom before you reach the city. Through the narrow roads in the mountains, a little too fast, too reckless, with the wind in your hair and the heavy machine in your control.

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🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone? - for David

"David, it's okay, it was just a dream. Everything is fine."

He pulls you close, firm, confident, but so tender. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and your trembling fingers claw into the hair on his chest. "It's never good," you murmur, not lifting your head or relaxing a single muscle.

"I could sing you something to calm you down." He didn't phrase it as a question, and already Spanish nursery rhymes are reaching your ears. A bit tuneless and with lyrics that were never meant to be logical, you are robbed of any chance to keep a straight face. Your tense lips smile over clenched teeth, it's so silly, so simple and impossible that it will work. Still, you can't help but grin until your cramped hands begin to relax.

Secure between the two strong arms, you are soon completely relaxed and Ric is running his fingers thoughtfully through your curls. "How did you deal with the nightmares when you were alone?"

"When it wasn't so bad, I buried myself in some work. Just kept myself busy until I was exhausted."

"And when it was bad, how did you manage to calm down?"

"I didn't. When it was really bad, I couldn't calm down. But it's a time game, and time always wins over panic. A body can't hold the panic tension forever. Eventually it catches up with you and you fall into the most dismal sleep possible. Then you wake up numb, emotionless, like a puppet, and start to function. Stop grinning like that! Yes, you are good for me. I guess I can't deny it anymore."

"But I love to hear it."

#thanks for the ask!#luke reglan #lia kingsley #david kingsley

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aarghhaaaarrrghhh · 3 months

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Wings (Крылья, 1906) by Mikhail Kuzmin - Part One

It was becoming brighter and brighter inside the somewhat empty train carriage with the morning; through the fogged-up window, the green of the grass, almost venomously vivid despite it being the end of August, the waterlogged roads, the milkmaids’ little carts in front of the lowered barrier, the guard huts, the women at their dachas wandering under colourful umbrellas could all be seen. At the frequent, identical stations, the carriage took on new local passengers with briefcases and it was obvious that the carriage, the railway – for them, these were neither an era, nor even an episode in their lives, but a normal part of daily routine, and the bench upon which Nikolai Ivanovich Smurov was sitting with Vanya seemed like the most solid and significant in the whole carriage. The tightly-fastened suitcases, the cushioned straps, the old gentleman sitting opposite with long hair and an out-of-fashion bag strung over his shoulder – all this spoke to a prolonged journey, less familiar and more era-defining.

Looking now at the reddish sunbeam that blazed intermittently through the clouds of locomotive steam, then at Nikolai Ivanovich’s face, which had taken on a stupid look as he slept, Vanya recalled the rasping voice of this brother of his when, in the hall back there, far away, ‘at home’, he had said to him, “There’s nothing left out of that money of yours from mama; you know, we’re not rich ourselves, but, as a brother, I’m prepared to help you out; you’ve still got a lot of school ahead of you and I can’t take you in, but I’ll settle you in round Aleksei Vasilyevich’s and come and see you; it’s happy there, you can meet a lot of proper people. You keep on trying; Natasha and I would be happy to take you, but it’s decidedly impossible; indeed, you’d be happy at the Kazansky’s: there’s always young people there. I’ll pay for you; when we split up – I’ll take it away.” Vanya had listened, sitting at the window in the hall and watching how the sun lit up the corner of his trunk, Nikolai Ivanovich’s grey and lilac-striped trousers, and the painted floor. He did not attempt to pick up on the meaning of the words, lost in thought about how mama had died, how the house had suddenly filled up with old women, once strangers and now unusually close; he remembered the hassle, the funeral service, the burial, and the abrupt emptiness and solitude after all of this , and, without looking at Nikolai Ivanovich, he simply said mechanically, “Yes, uncle Kolya,” even though Nikolai Ivanovich was not his uncle, only his cousin.

It seemed strange to him now to journey as a pair together with this person who was nevertheless altogether alien to him, to be so close to him for so long, to talk about business and make plans with him. He was also somewhat disappointed, even though he had known this in advance, that they would not arrive immediately in the centre of Saint Petersburg, with its palaces and large buildings filled with sun, people and martial music, coming in through a big archway, and instead, vegetable gardens visible through grey fences, along with graveyards that seemed from afar like romantic groves, and chill, damp multi-storey workers’ tenements set amongst tumbledown shacks all stretched long and far through the smoke and soot. So, this is it – Petersburg! thought Vanya with disappointment and curiosity as he looked at the unwelcoming faces of the porters.

“Have you finished reading them, Kostya? May I?” said Anna Nikolaevna as she stood up from the table and took a bundle of Russian newspapers off Konstantin Vasilyevich with her long fingers, decorated with cheap rings despite the early hour.

“Yes; there’s nothing interesting.”

“What could be interesting in our newspapers? I understand it overseas. You can write anything over there, answering for it in court, if necessary. We’ve got something awful – you don’t know what to believe in. The reports and dispatches from the government are untrue or meaningless, there’s no kind of inner life besides wasting money – just special correspondents’ rumours.”

“But even abroad, there’s only sensationalised rumours and they’re not held accountable before the law for telling half-truths.”

Koka and Boba idly chatted with spoons in their glasses and ate bread with bad butter.

“Whereabouts are you going to be today, Nata? Do you have much to do?” asked Anna Nikolaevna with a slightly affected tone.

Nata – all freckly, with a vulgar, pouting mouth and auburn hair – said something in response through the roll of bread stuffed in her cheek. Uncle Kostya, formerly a cashier at some shady club before being caught with his hand in the till, had been living at his brother’s without a place or business of his own after getting out of prison and was indignant at his trial for embezzlement.

“Now that everything is waking up, new forces are emerging, everything is awakening,” Aleksei Vasilyevich contested hotly.

“I’m not for any awakenings at all; for example, I prefer Sonya’s aunt asleep.”

Students and simply young people of some sort or another were coming and going in their jackets, sharing amongst themselves their impressions, taken from the newspapers, of the horse races that had just been; uncle Kostya called for vodka; Anna Nikolaevna, already in her hat and pulling on gloves, spoke about an exhibition while looking askance at uncle Kostya, who was pouring shots with slightly shaking hands. He cast his kindly, red-tinged eyes about the room and said, “A strike, my friends, this, you know, this, you know…”

“Larion Dmitriyevich!” announced the maid as she quickly went through to the kitchen, picking up a tray with glasses and a dirty, crumpled tablecloth on the way.

Vanya turned away from the window where he was standing and saw coming in through the door the long, well-familiar and baggy-clothed figure of Larion Dmitriyevich Stroop.

Vanya started to comb his hair and spent considerable time occupying himself with his toilette. Examining his reflection in a little mirror on the wall, he looked on with detachment at the somewhat indifferent, round face there, with its flushed colour, big, grey eyes, handsome, but still childishly puckered mouth, and light hair, which, not having been cut short, curled slightly. He neither liked nor disliked this tall, thin boy with thin eyebrows, wearing a loose black shirt. Out the window was the courtyard with its paving slabs slick with water, along with the windows of the opposite wing and peddlers with matches. It was a holiday, and everyone was still asleep. Having risen early out of habit, Vanya sat by the window to await some tea, listening to the sounds of the nearby church and the murmurings of the servants as they put the neighbouring room in order. He remembered holiday mornings there, ‘at home’, in an old quarter of the village, their tidy little rooms with muslin curtains and icon lamps, liturgies, pirogi for lunch – everything all nice and simple, bright and sweet, and he began to grow tired of the rainy weather, of the street organs in the yards, of newspapers over morning tea, of this hazy and uncomfortable life, of warm bedrooms.

Konstantin Vasilyevich, who sometimes dropped by to see Vanya, stuck his head in the door.

“Are you alone, Vanya?”

“Yes, uncle Kostya. Hello! What is it?”

“Nothing. Are you waiting for some tea?”

“Yes. Has auntie not gotten up yet?”

“She’s up, but she hasn’t left, though. She’s in a foul mood, which I suppose means there’s no money. The first sign is how she’s been sitting in the bedroom for two hours – this means that there’s no money. And for what? She’ll have to come out anyway.”

“Does uncle Aleksei Vasilyevich earn a lot? Don’t you know?”

“As much as I need to. And what do you mean, “a lot”? Nobody ever has ‘a lot’ of money.”

Konstantin Vasilyevich sighed and fell silent; Vanya was silent too as looked out of the window.

“What I wanted to ask you, my dear Ivan,” Konstantin Vasilyevich began again, “was whether you had money to spare ‘til the middle of the week; I’ll return it on Wednesday, straight away.”

“Where on earth would I get money from? No, of course not.”

“What does it matter where it comes from? Maybe you know someone who…”

“Really, uncle! Who, exactly, would give me money?”

“So, you don’t have any, then, I take it?”

“No.”

“What a poor state of affairs!”

“And how much were you looking for?”

“Five roubles, not a lot, not a lot at all,” Konstantin Vasilyevich lit back up again. “Maybe it will turn up, eh? Just until Wednesday, how’s about it?!”

“I don’t have five roubles.”

Konstantin Vasilyevich looked on at Vanya with disappointment and conniving and fell silent. Vanya fell deeper into ennui.

“Well, what’s to be done, huh? There’s already a touch of rain… Tell you what, my dearest Ivan, ask Larion Dmitriyevich for money for me.”

“Stroop?”

“Yes, ask him, my dear lad!”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“He won’t give it to me.”

“Why would he give me some, if he won’t give you any?”

“He will give it to you, believe me; please, my lad, just don’t mention that it’s for me; ask as though you needed the 20 roubles for yourself.”

“I thought it was only 5?!”

“Does it make a difference, how much you ask for? Please, Vanya!”

“Okay, fine. But what if he asks me why?”

“He won’t ask, he’s a clever one.”

“Just be sure to return it, you see.”

“I won’t let you down, I won’t.”

“And why do you think, uncle, that Stroop will give me money?”

“Because I think so!” Konstantin Vasilyevich, smiling, tiptoed out of the room, abashed, yet satisfied. Vanya stood a long time by the window, neither turning around nor looking at the rainy yard, and when he was called to tea, before going into the dining room, he once again took a look in the mirror at his blushing face with its grey eyes and thin eyebrows.

In Greek, Nikolaev and Spielevsky kept Vanya entertained the whole time, turning around and snickering at the desk in front. Before the holidays, lessons would go along on any old lines, and the little aging teacher, sitting on his leg, talked about Greek life without setting any tasks; the windows were open and the tops of the trees, coming into their foliage, and the red façade of some building were visible. Vanya’s urge to get out of Petersburg and into the open air, somewhere far away, grew stronger and stronger. The copper door handles and window latches, the spittoons, all polished to brightness, the cards on the walls, the chalkboard, the yellow paper drawer, the backs of his comrades’ heads, some short-cropped, some curly – all this seemed unbearable to him.

“Sycophantic informers, spies – literally, bearers of figs; when it was still forbidden on pain of a fine to export these products from Attica, these people, blackmailers, as we would have it, showed from under their cloaks a fig to the suspect, as a threat, in case he didn’t pay a bribe…” And Daniil Ivanovich, without moving from his chair, demonstrated by gestures and mimicry the informers and the defamed and the cloak and the fig; then, leaping from his seat, he walked about the classroom anxiously repeating the same thing, something along the lines of, “Sycophants … yes, sycophants … yes, gentlemen, sycophants!”, applying a different, yet entirely unexpected, inflection on each word.

I’ll try and ask Stroop for that money today, thought Vanya, looking out the window.

Spielevsky, finally reddened, arose from the desk:

“Why’s Nikolaev molesting me?!”

“Nikolaev, why are you molesting Spielevsky?”

“I’m not molesting him.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m tickling him.”

“Sit down. And you, Master Spielevsky, I advise you to be more precise in your verbiage. Taking into consideration that you are not a woman, Master Nikolaev cannot molest you, being a young man, already of age and of rather limited notions.

“I put the question like this: if you want to work, work; if not, then don’t!” said Anna Nikolaevna with such airs as if the interest of the entire world were fixed upon how she put the question. In the parlour, decorated length and breadth with period furniture in the image of seated bathtubs, Bath chairs and drawers for papers, it was loud with four female voices: those of Anna Nikolaevna, Nata and the Speier sisters – artists.

“I really love this cupboard, but the bench doesn’t do anything for me. I would always prefer a wardrobe.”

“Even if you needed furniture for sitting on?”

“They rail against how the maid is overworked: she goes for a walk more than we do! Sometimes I go days without leaving the house, while our dear Anna, how many times does she manage to go out to the store? Never mind whether it’s for bread or boots. And besides, interacting with people is too big a task. I find all these commiserators’ complaints exaggerated.”

“Imagine, he postures about in such a mood that the girl students are afraid to sit near him. And he’s a most interesting personality, besides: a Russian gypsy from Munich; he’s been to the Gymnasium, the ballet, he’s done modelling; he has some very amusing details about Stuck.”

“It would be too bright in pink foulard. I’d prefer a pale yellow.”

“We should ask Stroop about this.”

“But he left yesterday, did Stroop, you poor things!” cried the elder Speier.

“What, Stroop left? Where to? What for?”

“Well, that I can’t really tell you: as usual, it’s a secret.”

“Who did you hear this from?”

“I heard it from he himself; he said three weeks.”

“Well, that’s not too frightful.”

“Today, Vanya Smurov was also asking when Stroop would be here with us.”

“But what does he have to do with it?”

“I don’t know, business of some kind.”

“Vanya has business with Stroop? How original!”

“Well, Nata, it’s time for us to go,” Anna Nikolaevna tried to chirp up, and both ladies, with skirts rustling, withdrew, convinced that they very much resembled the high-society ladies of the novels by Prévost and Ohnet which they read in translation.

In April, the question of the dacha was raised. Aleksei Vasilyevich needed to be in city frequently, almost daily; Koka and Boba as well, and Anna Nikolaevna and Nata’s plans with regards to the Volga hung in the air. They were vacillating between Terijoki and Sestroretsk, but, regardless of the location of the dacha, they were all concerned about their summer dresses. Dust floated in the open window and the hum of traffic and the sounds of horse-drawn trams could be heard.

Vanya sometimes left for the Summer Garden to do his preparatory reading for his classes. Sitting on the outermost path to the Field of Mars with his little yellow-pink volume of Teubner’s publications laying open, cover side up and already grown slightly and pale from his spring tan, he watched the passers-by in the garden and on the other side of the Lebyazhoi ditch. The laughter of the children in the Krylovskaya playground reached him from the other end of the garden and he didn’t hear the sound of Stroop’s footsteps in the sand as he approached.

“Studying?” said the latter as he lowered himself onto the bench next to Vanya, who thought to limit himself to a bow.

“Yes, I’m studying. You know how boring this is, it’s simply a nightmare!”

“What is it, Homer?”

“It’s Homer. This Greek especially.”

“You don’t enjoy Greek?”

“Who does enjoy it?” smiled Vanya.

“That’s a terrible shame!”

“What is?”

“That you don’t enjoy languages.”

“Living ones I enjoy, you can read something, but who’s going to read them in Greek, this antediluvian stuff?”

“What a child you are, Vanya. The whole world, worlds are closed off to you; besides, to not only know, but love the world of beauty – that is the foundation of any education.”

“But it takes so much time to learn grammar, when you could just read the translations!”

Stroop regarded Vanya with an infinite regret.

“Instead of a person made of flesh and blood, smiling or frowning, who you could love, kiss, hate, in whose veins you could see the blood flowing and the natural grace of the nude body, to have a soulless doll, usually made by a craftsman’s hands – that’s what translations are. And it really doesn’t take much time to learn the preparatory grammar. You just need to read, read, read. Read while looking up each word in the dictionary, picking your way through like a thicket of trees and you will find a pleasure you have never experienced. And it seems to me that you have in yourself the potential to remake yourself into a real, new person, Vanya.”

Vanya remained silent in discontent.

“You are poorly surrounded, but this could be for the best, depriving you of the prejudices of any normal life, and you could make yourself a completely modern person, if you wanted,” added Stroop, who had been silent a moment.

“I don’t know, I’d like to get somewhere away from all of this: away from the Gymnasium, and Homer, and Anna Nikolaevna – that’s all.”

“Into the bosom of nature?”

“Exactly.”

“But, sweet friend of mine, if you living in the bosom of nature means eating more, drinking milk, bathing and not getting up to much, then of course that’s very simple; but to take pleasure in nature may as well be harder than Greek grammar, and, like all pleasures, wears out. And I will not believe a person, who, looking in the city upon the best parts of nature – the sky and the water – with indifference goes to look for nature on Mont Blanc; I will not believe that he loves nature.

Uncle Kostya offered Vanya a ride in the cab.

The proximity of summer could already be felt in the heat of the morning and the streets were half-obstructed with obstacles. Uncle Kostya, taking up three quarters of the cab, sat down assertively, with his legs apart.

“Uncle Kostya, wait a little bit and I’ll just found whether the priest has come, and if he hasn’t, I’ll go with you as far as it suits you and then I’ll go the rest of the way on foot, rather than sit in the Gymnasium. Is that alright?”

“But why shouldn’t your priest have come?”

“He’s been ill for a week.”

“Ah, well alright, go ask.”

Within a minute, Vanya had left and having gone around the cab, sat on the other side, next to Konstantin Vasilyevich:

“It’s as if Larion Dmitriyevich had a feeling, brother, about the kinds of plans we were drawing for him – he left and he never came back, either.”

“He might have come back.”

“Then he would come to Anna Nikolaevna.”

“Who is he exactly, Uncle Kostya?”

“Who’s who, exactly?”

“Larion Dmitriyevich.”

“Stroop – and nothing more. Half-English, a rich man, he doesn’t serve anywhere, he lives well, excellently even, both educated and well-read to the highest degree, so I don’t understand at all why he’s at the Kazanskys’.”

“He’s not married, right, Uncle?”

“It’s the complete opposite, in fact, and if Nata thinks that he’d be tempted by her, she’s sorely mistaken; and anyway, I absolutely do not understand what he has to do round the Kazanskys’? Yesterday was a great laugh: Anna Nikolaevna went to battle with Aleksei!”

They crossed the bridge over the Fontanka. Muzhiki were hoisting fish out of hatches in the fishponds, the steamboats smoked, and the crowd stood idly by around the stone rampart. An ice cream seller was grunting as he pushed his blue container.

“So, did you perhaps hear from somebody that Stroop returned, or did you see him yourself?” said Uncle Kostya at the moment of their farewell.

“No, where could I even have got that from, since you said he hasn’t arrived” said Vanya, blushing.

“And here you said it wasn’t hot and you’re so red yourself,” and Konstantin Vasilyevich’s corpulent body hid itself within the entryway.

Why did I hide my meeting with Stroop from him? thought Vanya, glad that he was keeping some kind of secret.

The staffroom was hazy with cigarette smoke and the cups of weak tea were becoming slightly scummy in the dim ground-floor room. To a person coming in, it appeared as though the figures were moving about as in an aquarium. The torrential rain pouring outside the opaque windows strengthened this impression. The sound of voices, the chink of little teaspoons mingled with the muffled din of the breaktime that reached the room from the hall and, with time, from even closer – the corridor.

“Orlov is being given a hard time by sixth class again; he really doesn’t know how to apply himself.”

“Well, ok, let’s suppose you give him a bad grade, he stays around – do you think that that will fix him?”

“I’m not at all looking to set corrective targets, I’m trying to give a proper judgement of their knowledge.”

“Our students would be terrified if they saw the programmes for French colleges, let alone the seminars.”

“I doubt Ivan Petrovich would be satisfied with that.”

“Incomparable, I tell you, incomparable; yesterday his speech was outstanding.”

“You’re good as well, going for the small in clubs while you have a king, jack and two small ones.”

“Spielevsky is a little reprobate, and I don’t understand why you stand up for him like this.”

All voices were silenced by the sharp tenor of the inspector, a Czech man with pince-nez and a grey, pointed beard.

“Then I will remind you, gentlemen, to pay attention to the ventilation window; never above fourteen degrees, draught and ventilation.”

They gradually went their different ways and only the quiet bass of the Russian teacher chatting with the Greek resounded through the emptying staffroom.

“You come across some interesting types here. In summer, before enrolment, they had some reading to do, a fair amount, and, for example, The Demon[1] – here’s how they render it ex abrupto: ‘The Devil was flying over the earth and saw a girl’ – What was the girl called? – ‘Liza’ – Let’s say Tamara. – ‘Fine, Tamara.’ – Well, what then? – ‘He wanted to marry her, but her husband intervened, then the husband was killed by Tatars.’ – So did the Demon go on to marry Tamara? – ‘There was no way, an angel got in the way, crossing the road, so the Devil remained single and hated everything.’”

“Magnificent, in my opinion…”

“Or this review of Rudin:[2] ‘There was this rubbish guy, who said a lot and didn’t do anything, then he got mixed up with some shallow people who killed him.’ – So why, I ask, do you think the workers, and in general all the members of the people’s movement in which Rudin died, are shallow people? – ‘That’s right,’ he answers, ‘he suffered for the truth.’”

“You’re trying in vain to get a personal opinion out of this young person about what he’s read. Military service, like a monastery, like almost any preconfigured doctrine, has a huge appeal in the availability of ready-made and fixed attitudes to any kind of phenomena or concepts. For weak people, this is a big support, and life becomes unusually easy, lacking in ethical creativity.”

In the corridor, Vanya was laying in wait for Daniil Ivanovich.

“What can I do for you, Smurov?”

“I’d like to speak with you, Daniil Ivanovich, in private.”

“What about?”

“About Greek.”

“Aren’t you doing well?”

“No, I have a 3+.”

“So what do you want?”

“No, I’d rather like to speak with you about Greek, and please, Daniil Ivanovich, let me come to your apartment.”

“Yes, of course, of course. You know my address. Although, this is more than noteworthy: someone who’s got it all going well and wants to speak in private about Greek. I live alone, please, I’m at your service from seven till eleven.”

Daniil Ivanovich started to climb the stairs, but stopped and shouted after Vanya, “Hey, Smurov, just to say: I’m still at home after eleven but I’ll have gone to bed and am only capable of the most private explanations which I’m sure you don’t need.”

Vanya met with Stroop in the Summer Garden more than once and, without realising himself, came to lay in wait for him, always sitting by the same path and leaving when he could not abide the wait with an easy, albeit deliberately slow, gait, carefully scrutinising the male figures which resembled Stroop. One time, however, after not meeting Stroop, he went for a walk around part of the garden where he had never been before and met Koka, who was going for a walk in an unbuttoned coat over a mess jacket.

“There you are, Ivan! What are you doing, going for a walk?”

“Yes, I’m here fairly often. What of it?”

“Why do I never see you then? Do you sit somewhere on the other side, is that it?”

“Wherever possible.”

“Whenever I bump into Stroop, it’s over there and I wonder – is it not for the same thing that we come here?”

“Stroop’s arrived?”

“A little while ago. Nata and all the rest know, and however a fool Nata may be, it’s still swinish of him to not have come to visit us, as though we were some kind of trash.”

“What does Nata have to do with it?”

“She’s trying to reel him in, but she’s barking up completely the wrong tree: he’s not one to get married, not to Nata, anyway; I think with one Ida Golberg he has purely aesthetic discussions and that I’m worrying for nothing.”

“You’re worried?”

“Since I’m in love!” Forgetting that he was talking with Vanya, who did not know his affairs, Koka burst into life, “A strange girl, educated, a musician, a beauty, and how rich! It’s just that she’s lame. And so, I come here every day to see her; she walks here from three to four and I worry whether Stroop’s not here for the same reason.”

“You think Stroop could also be in love with her?”

“Stroop? Well, you can stop right there, he wouldn’t know his head from a hole in the ground! All he does is talk, while she practically worships him. Being in love for Stroop is an utterly, completely different realm.”

“You’re just angry, Koka!”

“Stupid!”

They had just turned by the bed of red germaniums when Koka pronounced, “There they are!” Vanya saw a tall girl, with a pale, round face, lustrous hair, an Aphrodisiacal cut of grey eyes, now blue with excitement, a mouth from a Botticelli painting, in a dark dress; she walked, limping and holding onto an old lady’s arm, while from the other side Stroop was saying, “and the people saw that any beauty, any love from the gods and they became free and courageous and grew wings.”

In the end, Koka and Boba procured a box for Samson and Delilah, but the first showing was replaced by Carmen, and Nata, on whose insistence this activity had been decided upon in the hopes of meeting Stroop on neutral ground, tossed and turned in the knowledge that he would not come to such a well-known opera as this without a good reason. She let Vanya have her place in the box, such that if she arrived at the theatre in the middle of the performance, he would go home. Anna Nikolaevna together with the Speier sisters and Aleksei Vasilyevich set off in cabs while the young people went forth on foot.

Carmen and her friends were already folk dancing with Lillas Pastia when Nata, finding out as though by divine inspiration that Stroop was in the theatre, appeared all in blue, powdered and agitated.

“You’re dismissed then, Vanya.”

“I’ll stay until the end of the act.”

“Is Stroop here?” asked Nata in a whisper, sitting next to Anna Nikolaevna. The latter silently shifted her gaze to the box where Ida Golberg was sitting with an old lady, an officer rather on the young side, and Stroop.

“It’s just a premonition, a premonition!” said Nata, opening and closing her fan.

“You poor creature!” sighed Anna Nikolaevna.

During the entr’acte, Vanya was getting ready to go when Nata stopped him and called him into the foyer.

“Nata, Nata!” Anna Nikolaevna’s voice rang out from the depths of the box, “Would that be proper?”

Nata rushed tempestuously down below, carrying Vanya away with her. Before going into the foyer, she stopped by a mirror to fix her hair and then went into the hall, which was not yet fully populated by audience members. They met Stroop: he entered into discussion with the same young officer who had been in the box, not noticing Smurov or Nata, and even exited straight after for a neighbouring passageway, where a frizzy-haired saleswoman was bored behind a desk with photographs.

“Let’s get out of here, it’s frightfully stuffy!” said Nata, dragging Vanya after Stroop.

“We’re closer to the spot from that exit.”

“I don’t care!” the girl raised her voice as she quickened her pace and almost pushed the audience members aside.

Stroop saw them and stooped over the photographs. Drawing even with him, Vanya loudly hailed, “Larion Dmitriyevich!”

“Ah, Vanya!” The latter man turned around, “Natalya Alekseevna, forgive me, I did not notice you at first.”

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” began Nata.

“Why not? I dearly love Carmen, and it never bores me: there is a deep and true pulse of life in it, all filled with sunlight; I understand that Nietzsche might have been interested in this music.”

Nata listened silently, regarding the speaker with spiteful, red eyes, and pronounced:

“I’m not surprised by meeting you at Carmen, but by the fact that I saw you in Petersburg and not round ours.”

“Yes, I arrived two weeks ago.”

“That’s very nice.”

They began to walk along the empty corridor past drowsing footmen, and Vanya, stood by the staircase, watched with interest Nata’s face, the way it became increasingly covered in the red blemishes, and the gruff physiognomy of her cavalier. The entr’acte ended and Vanya quietly began to climb the staircase to the balcony in order to dress and go home when suddenly he was overtaken by Nata, almost running, with her handkerchief to her mouth.

“It’s disgraceful, you hear, Ivan, disgraceful the way that person spoke to me,” she whispered to Vanya and ran upstairs. Vanya wanted to say goodbye to Stroop and after having stood around on the staircase for some time, he descended to the lower corridor; there, by the door to the box, stood Stroop with the officer.

“Excuse me, Larion Dmitriyevich,” said Vanya, making as though he were going upstairs to his room.

“You can’t be leaving?”

“Well, it wasn’t my own seat, you see; Nata arrived, I was the excess.”

“What’s with this silliness, come to us in our box, we have a free spot. The next act is one of the best.”

“Is it not a problem if I go to the box? I’m a stranger.”

“Of course, it’s nothing: Golberg is a simple person and you are still a boy, Vanya.”

As they entered the box, Stroop bent down to Vanya, who listened to him without turning his head:

“And then, Vanya, I may not be around the Kazanskys’; so, if you don’t mind, I would always be very happy to see you round mine. You could say that you’re studying your English with me; nobody will ask where and why you’re going. Please, Vanya, come.”

“Very well. Did you really break things off with Nata? You’re not going to marry her?” asked Vanya without turning his head.

“No,” said Stroop seriously.

“That’s very good, you know, that you’re not marrying her, because she’s terribly repulsive, a complete frog!” Vanya suddenly burst into laughter, turned to face Stroop fully and for some reason unknown to him, took his hand.

“It’s interesting, how much we see what we want to see and understand what it is we look for. As with the Greek tragedians, the Romans and the Romance peoples of the 17th century saw only three unities, the 18th century – stentorian tirades and ideas of liberation, the Romantics – deeds of the highest heroism and our century – a sharp tinge of primitiveness and Klinger’s illumination of the distances…”

Vanya listened while looking around the room still flooded with evening sunlight. On the walls were shelves upon shelves of unbound books, books on the tables and the chairs, a cage with a thrush, a paralysed kitten on the leather sofa and in the corner, a small bust of Antinoös standing alone, like a household deity of this abode. Daniil Ivanovich, in low felt shoes, fussed over the tea and took cheese and butter in little papers out of the iron stove, and the kitten, without moving its head, followed the movements of its owner with green eyes. And where did we get the idea that he’s old, when he’s really quite young, thought Vanya, examining the bald head of the young Greek with wonder.

“In the 15th century, an enduring view of Achilles’ friendship with Patroclus, and Orestes’ with Pylades as sodomitic love had already been established, whereas there is no direct reference to this in Homer.”

“What, so the Italians thought this up themselves?”

“No, they were right, but the point is that it’s only a cynical attitude towards love of any kind which turns it into debauchery. Am I acting morally or immorally when I sneeze, wipe away dust or stroke a kitten? However, these actions could be criminal, if, say, I warn a murderer by a sneeze of a suitable time for the murder and so on. Committing the murder in cold blood, without malice, deprives the act of any ethical nuance, save the mystical communion between murder and victim, lovers, mother and child.”

It was getting altogether dark and out the window, the rooves of the houses and the faraway Isaac cathedral could hardly be seen in the dingy pink sky, obscured by smoke.

Vanya began to get ready to go home; the kitten began to hobble about on its crippled front paws, disturbed by Vanya’s cap, upon which it had been sleeping.

“You must be a kind man, Daniil Ivanovich: you take care of different cripples.”

“He likes me, and I enjoy having him. If doing what brings me satisfaction means I’m kind, then so I am.”

“Tell me, please, Smurov,” said Daniil Ivanovich, shaking Vanya’s hand farewell, “did you come up with idea to come to me for Greek discussions all by yourself?”

“Yes, that is, the thought perhaps came to me from another person.”

“Who was it, if it’s not a secret?”

“No, why would it be? It’s just that you don’t know him.”

“And what if I did?”

“A certain Mr Stroop.”

“Larion Dmitriyevich?”

“You really know him?”

“Very well, even,” answered the Greek, lighting the way Vanya’s way to the staircase with a lamp.

Nobody was in the locked cabin on the Finnish steamboat, but Nata, worried about a draught, led the whole company there anyway.

“Absolutely, absolutely no dachas!” said Anna Nikolaevna, exhausted. “There’s such foulness everywhere: holes in the walls, the wind blowing!”

“The wind always blows at dachas – what did you expect? You weren’t born yesterday!”

“Do you want one?” Koka offered Boba his open cigar case, open, with a nude woman on it.

“It’s not the dacha itself being foul that makes it foul there, it’s because you feel like you’re on bivouac, temporarily surviving without an established life, while in the city you always know what needs doing and when.”

“And what if you were to live at the dacha all the time, summer and winter?”

“Then it would not be disgusting; I’d establish a routine.”

“True,” Anna Nikolaevna picked up the thread, “I wouldn’t want to get settled down for a while. For example, the summer before last we put new wallpaper up – so that it was all pristine when it came to give it back to the landlord; not to tear it all down!”

“Do you wish, then, that you hadn’t smeared it?”

Nata looked out of the window with a grimace at the palaces and golden-pink, wide and smoothly spreading waves, all burning in the sunset.

“And then there’s a mass of people, everyone knows about each other, what they cook, how much they pay the servants.”

“How abominable!”

“What are you going for?”

“What do you mean, what for? Where else should I disappear off to? Should I stay in the city, or what?”

“And what of it? At least, when it’s sunny, you can walk on the shaded side.”

“Uncle Kostya’s always making things up.”

“Mama,” Nata suddenly turned around, “my dear, let’s go to the Volga; there’s little towns there, Plyos, Vasilsursk, where you can set yourself up for not a lot of money. Varvara Nikolaevna Speier was saying… They lived in Plyos with a whole entourage, you know, Levitan also lived there; they in Ugilch as well.”

“Well, as it seems, they were thrown out of Ugilch,” responded Koka.

“Well then, they were thrown out, what of it? They won’t throw us out! Of course, the landlords said to them: ‘you have a whole entourage, young ladies, suitors, ours is a quiet town, nobody goes travelling around, we’re afraid: if you’ll forgive us, but clear out the apartment.’”

They were approaching the Aleksandrovsky Garden. In the lower windows of the wharf, a brightly lit kitchen was visible, a sculleryman, all in white, past the cleaning sailor, a blazing stove in the depths.

“Auntie, I’ll be going from here to Larion Dmitriyevich,” said Vanya.

“Go on, then; you’ve found a comrade here as well!” grumbled Anna Nikolaevna.

“So he’s a bad person?”

“I didn’t say that he’s a bad person, just that he’s not a comrade.”

“I’m practising English with him.”

“It’s all rubbish, you’d do better to prepare for your lessons…”

“No, I’m still going, you know, Auntie.”

“Well go, who’s keeping you?”

“Make sure to give your Stroop a kiss,” added Nata.

“Maybe I will, no-one’s bothered about it.”

“Perhaps we should,” started Boba, but Vanya interrupted him, flying at Nata:

“I bet you’d love to kiss him, while he doesn’t want you because you’re a ginger little frog, you’re an imbecile! Yeah!”

“Ivan, pack it in!” Aleksei Vasilyevich’s voice rang out.

“Why do they have it in for me? Why don’t they let me go? Because I’m small? I will write to uncle Kolya tomorrow!”

“Ivan, stop it,” exclaimed Aleksei Vasilyevich with a higher tone.

“Such a little boy, you pig, daring to behave like that!” Anna Nikolaevna was alarmed.

“And Stroop will never, ever, ever marry you!” blurted Vanya, besides himself.

Nata immediately abated and, almost calmly, said quietly:

“Will he marry Ida Golberg then?”

“I don’t know,” simply answered Vanya, also quietly. “It’s not likely, I don’t think,” he added, almost tenderly.

“Here’s another argument kicking off!” cried Anna Nikolaevna.

“What, do you mean you believe that boy?”

“Perhaps I do believe him,” grumbled Nata, turning to the window.

“Hey, you, Ivan, you mustn’t think they’re such little idiots as they want to appear,” Boba urged Vanya. “They’re overjoyed that through you they get to have dealings with Stroop and updates on Golberg; only, if you really are attached to Larion Dmitriyevich, be careful not to betray yourself.”

“In what way would I betray myself?” Vanya was surprised.

“My advice has been taken on board so quickly?!” Boba began to laugh and stepped onto the wharf.

When Vanya entered Stroop’s apartment, he could hear singing and piano. He quietly went to the study on the left of the hallway, without going into the parlour, and began to listen. A male voice, unknown to him, sang:

The piano shrouded the agonising phrases of the voice with low chords, like a thick fog. An intermittent discussion between masculine voices broke out, and Vanya went out into the hall. How he loved this spacious, green room, resounding with the sounds of Rameau and Debussy, and these friends of Stroop’s, so unlike the people he met at the Kazanskys’; the debates; the late dinners with men with wine and light discussion; the study with books up to the ceiling where they read Marlow and Swinburne, the bedroom with the washbasin, where dark red fauns danced around with a garland on the bright green background; the dining room, all in red copper; the tales about Italy, Egypt, India; the rapturous delights borne from the poignant beauty of all countries and all times; the walks around the island; the confusing but enticing reasonings; this smile on this unattractive face; the smell of peau d’Espagne, wafting putrefaction; these thin, strong fingers in signet rings, boots on an unusually wide sole – how he loved all of this, engrossed vaguely without understanding.

The evening gloom over a hot sea,

The fires of lighthouses in the darkening sky,

The scent of vervain at the end of the banquet,

A fresh morning after long vigils,

A walk along the paths of a springtime park,

The cries and laughter of bathing women,

Sacred peacocks at the temple of Juno,

Merchants of violets, pomegranates and lemons,

The doves coo, the sun shines,

When I see you, my native town!

“We are Hellenes: the intolerable monotheism of the Judaeans is alien to us, as is their turning their backs on the visual arts, together with their attachment to the flesh, to offspring, to family. In the whole Bible, there is no indication of a doctrine of bliss in the afterlife, and the only reward mentioned in the commandments (and specifically in honour of those who have given life) is to live long years upon the earth. A childless marriage is a stain, a curse, depriving one of the right to participation in public worship, as though forgetting that in Jewish legend, the childbed and labour are punishments for sin, not the point of life. And the further people are from sin, the further they will be from childbirth and physical labour. This is vaguely understood by Christians, when a woman cleanses herself with prayer after birth, but not after marriage, and a man is not subject to anything similar. Love has no purpose besides itself; nature is also free from any shadows of an idea of finality. The laws of nature are an entirely separate category than the so-called divine laws and the human ones. The law of nature is not that a given tree must bear fruit, but that under certain conditions, it will bear fruit and under others, it will not and will even perish as justly and simply as it would have borne fruit. Upon the entry of a knife, the heart stops beating: there is no finality here, nor good, nor evil. And the laws of nature can only be broken by he who can kiss his own eyes without tearing them from their sockets, and can see the nape of his neck without a mirror. And when they say ‘unnatural’ to you, you just look at the blind person speaking and pass on by, without becoming one of those sparrows that flies from the scarecrow in the vegetable patch. People go about like blind beggars, like corpses, when they could be creating the most ardently bright lives, where all pleasures would be so intense that it would be as though you had just been born and now, you’re dying. Everything must be perceived with this kind of greed. Miracles are around us at every step: there are muscles, ligaments in the human body, that it’s impossible to look upon without awe! And connecting the notion of beauty to the beauty of a woman to a man is nothing but vulgar lust, and far, far away indeed from a true idea of beauty. We are Hellenes, lovers of the beautiful, bacchantes of the coming life. Like Tannhauser’s visions in Venus’ grotto, like the premonitions of Klinger and Thomas, there is a primeval homeland, flooded with sun and free, with beautiful and courageous people, and there, beyond the sea, through shadow and fog, we go, Argonauts! And in this unheard-of novelty itself, we shall discover the most ancient roots, and in the unseen radiances themselves we shall feel our homeland!”

“Vanya, could you take a look in the living room and see what the time is, please?” said Ida Golberg, laying some kind of colourful needlework down on her knee.

The big room in the new house resembled a brightly lit cabin on the deck of a ship and was scantly furnished with simple furniture: a yellow curtain that covered the whole wall was drawn across three windows at once, and on the leather trunk; suitcases yet to be packed, lined with little brass nails; a chest with late hyacinths fell an unsettling yellow light. Vanya put down the Dante that he had been reading aloud and went into the neighbouring room.

“Half past five,” he said, returning. “Larion Dmitriyevich has been gone a long time,” he declared, as though responding to the girl’s thoughts. “Are we going to stop studying?”

“It’s not worth starting a new canto, Vanya. And so:

And he saw how with smiles they listened to the final conclusion, then turned towards the beautiful lady.

E vidi con riso

Udito havevan l’ultimo construtto;

Poi a la bella donna tornai il viso’’[3]

“Is a beautiful lady the contemplation of an active life?”

“Vanya, you must never fully believe the commentary, besides the historical information; understand simply and beautifully – that’s all; otherwise, to tell the truth, some kind of mathematics emerges instead of Dante.”

She finally put away her work and sat as though waiting for something, tapping a split knife on the handle of the table.

“Larion Dmitriyevich will arrive soon, most likely,” declared Vanya almost patronisingly, again catching the girl’s thoughts.

“You saw him yesterday?”

“No, I didn’t see him yesterday, nor three days ago. Yesterday, he went to Tsarskoe in the day, and in the evening, he was at the club, while three days ago he went somewhere on Vyborgskaya, I don’t know where," revealed Vanya respectfully and proudly.

“To see whom?”

“I don’t know, business of some kind.”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“Listen, Vanya,” the girl started, looking at the little knife, “I’m asking you – not for me alone, for you, for Larion Dmitriyevich, for us all – find out what that address is? It’s very important, very important for all three of us,” and she passed Vanya a scrap of paper where, in Stroop’s sprawling, sharp handwriting, it was written: “Vyborgskaya, Simbirskaya St. No. 36, Apt. 103, Fyodor Vasilyevich Solovyov.”

No-one was particularly surprised that, besides his other interests, Stroop also took up the study of Russian antiquity; that he began to be visited by either loquacious men in German dress, or by old “by God!”-types in full-length half-kaftans, but all the same, crafty merchants with manuscripts, icons, antique fabrics, a counterfeit mould; that he began to take an interest in ancient singing, to read Smolensky, Razumovsky and Metallov, to sometimes go listen to Nikolaevskaya’s singing and, finally, under the direction of some pockmarked chorister, learned his hooks.[4]

“I’ve been completely unaware of this little backstreet of the world’s soul,” repeated Stroop, trying to infect Vanya as well with this hobby, who, to his surprise, was susceptible to this particular direction.

Once, Stroop announced over tea:

“Well, Vanya, you must see this without delay: an authentic Raskolnik[5] from the Volga, of an old breed, imagine: 18 years old, and he goes about in a long coat, cinched at the wait, he doesn’t drink tea; his sisters live in a monastery hermitage; a house on the Volga with a tall fence and chained-up dogs, where they go to sleep at 9 P.M. – something in the Vein of Pechersky, only less saccharine. You must see this, without delay. Let us go to Zasadin tomorrow, he has an interesting “Apotheosis”; our man will arrive there, and I’ll introduce you. Oh, by the way, write down the address just in case; maybe I’ll go straight there from the exhibition and it’ll pass to you to find him yourself.” And Stroop, without looking in his notebook, as it was already well-known to him, dictated, “Simbirskaya, No. 36, Apt. 103, the furnished rooms – ask there.”

The muffled sound of two voices speaking was audible from behind the door; a clock with weights quietly ticked; dark icons and leatherbound books were piled on the tables, the chairs and the windowsills; it was musty and dusty, and from the corridor, through the ventilation window above the door came the putrid odour of sour shchi.[6] Zasadin, standing in front of Vanya and putting on a kaftan, said:

“Larion Dmitriyevich won’t be here for at least forty minutes, perhaps even an hour; I need to go and get an icon, but, well, I don’t know how it will turn out? Will you wait here, or are going to go somewhere?”

“I’ll wait here.”

“Well, well, I’ll be back right away. Here are some books to interest yourself with until then,” and Zasadin, after giving Vanya a dusty Leimonarion, hurriedly secreted himself through the door, whence came the strong stench of sour shchi. Vanya, stood by the window, opened on a tale, recounting how a certain old man, after a chance meeting with a woman who lived alone in the same desert, kept returning to lascivious thoughts about that same woman, and, not being able to endure it, took up a staff in the scorching heat and set out, stumbling like a blind man out of lust, to the place where he thought to find this woman; and, as in a delirium, he saw the earth open up and there, within it, were three decomposing bodies: a woman, a man, and a child; and there was a voice, “Here is a woman, here a man, here a child – who now can distinguish them? Go and enjoy your lust.”[7] Everyone, everyone is equal before death, love and beauty, all bodies are wonderfully identical and only lust drives a man to chase after women, and a woman to wait for a man.

On the other side of the wall, a young, quite hoarse voice continued:

“Well, I’ll leave, uncle Yermolai, why do you keep calling me names?”

“How could I not, you slacker! Taking it into your head to fool around!”

“Uh-huh, Vaska might have told you a load of lies; what have you heard about him?”

“Why would Vaska lie? Well, tell me yourself, deny it yourself: you don’t really fool around?”

“And what of it? Yeah, I fool around! But Vaska doesn’t? Near enough everyone fools around round ours, except Dmitri Pavlovich,” and it was audible how the one speaking started to laugh. Having quietened down, he began again with a more intimate tone, sotto voce, “It was Vaska himself who taught me; a young master arrived once and he says to Dmitri Pavlovich: ‘I wish to be washed by the one who let me in,’ and it was me who let him in; but as Dmitri Pavlovich knew that this master was one who liked to play around and it was always Vasily who took care of him before, he says, ‘I’m afraid that it won’t be possible, your grace, to go with him alone: he’s not a regular and does not understand any of this.’ – Well, to Hell with you, make a pair with Vasily! – that’s how Vaska came in and he says, ‘How much are you proposing us?’ – Besides the beer, ten roubles. – We have a rule: whoever draws the curtain across the doorway will be fooling around, and the monitor is not allowed to take out less than five roubles; Vasily said, ‘No, your excellency, we can’t shake hands on that.’ – He offered another tenner. Vasya went to go and get the water ready, and I started to get undressed, while the master said, ‘Hey, what’s that you have there on your cheek, Fyodor? A birthmark, or some dirt?’ – He laughs and reaches his hand out. And I just stand there? Like an idiot, I don’t know myself whether or not I’ve got a birthmark on my cheek. However, here’s Vasily, so angry, he comes and says to the master, ‘Please, sir.’ And we all went.”

“Does Matvei live with you?”

“No, he’s got into a place.”

“With whom, though? The colonel?”

“With him, he offered 30 roubles, all expenses paid.”

“He didn’t get married, did Matvei?”

“He’s married, the same man gave him the money for the wedding, had a coat made for 80 roubles, but what about the wife? She lives in the countryside – is it allowed to live with a woman in a place like that? I’ve also thought about getting a place,” declared the speaker, having fallen quiet.

“How is Matvei, anyway?”

“A good gentleman, single, 30 roubles also, that’s how Matvei is.”

“You’ll be done for, Fyodor, just you see!”

“But maybe not.”

“And who is this gentleman, an acquaintance or what?”

“That one lives on Furstadtskaya, where Dmitri still serves in the junior ranks, on the first floor. He’s sometimes here as well, at Stepan Stepanovich’s.”

“An Old Believer, huh?”

“No way! He’s not even Russian, it seems. An Englishman, or something.”

“Is he well-regarded?”

“Yes, they say he’s a good, kind gentleman.”

“Well then, good day to you!”

“Farewell, uncle Yermolai, thank you for the food.”

“Drop by when you need to, Fedya.”

“I’ll come round,” and with a light step, clacking his heels, Fyodor went into the corridor, slamming the door. Vanya quickly went out and, without fully understanding why he did it, cried after the lad passing by in a jacket above a Russian shirt, out from under which hung the tassels of a thin corded belt, low patent leather boots and a peaked cap, cocked to one side, “Listen, you don’t happen to know how long Stepan Stepanovich Zasadin will be, do you?”

The latter man turned around and in the light penetrating from the numbered door, Vanya saw quick, thievish-looking grey eyes on a face, pale like those of people who live locked up or in a perpetual vapour, dark hair in a clip and a wonderfully defined mouth. Despite the somewhat coarse lines, there was some kind of spoiled nature in the face, and although Vanya looked on these thievish, tender eyes and shamelessly smirking mouth with prejudice, there was something in the face and the whole tall figure, the slimness of which struck the eye even while hidden beneath the jacket, that captivated him and led to a sense of confusion.

“And you would like to wait him?”

“Yes, it’s almost seven o’clock.”

“Half past six,” corrected Fyodor, taking out a pocket watch. “And here we thought that there was nobody in our room… He’ll probably be here soon,” he added, so as to say something.

“Yes. Thank you. Forgive me for bothering you,” said Vanya, not moving from his spot.

“Pardon me, sir,” responded the latter with a grimace.

A loud ring resounded and Stroop, Zasadin and a young, tall person in a long coat entered. Stroop took a quick look at Fyodor and Vanya, standing facing off against each other.

“I apologise for making you wait,” spoke he to Vanya at the same time that Fyodor threw himself to take off his coat.

Vanya saw all of this as though in a dream, feeling that he was falling into some abyss, and everything was clouding over with fog.

When Vanya entered the parlour, Anna Nikolaevna was finishing saying, “And it’s a shame, you know, that such a man is compromising himself like that.” Konstantin Vasilyevich silently shifted his eyes to Vanya, who was taking a book and sitting by the window, and said:

“They say ‘sophisticated, unnatural, excessive’, but if you restrict yourself to the uses of our bodies deemed natural, then all that’s left is to tear things apart with your hands and stuff raw meat into your mouth and fight with enemies; using your legs for chasing hares or running away from wolves and so on. It reminds me of a tale from The 1001 Nights, where a girl, tortured by the idea of finality, asks everyone what this or that was made for. And when she asks about a particular part of the body, her mother whips her, damning her: ‘Now you see what that was made for.’ Of course, this mum proved clearly the righteousness of her explanation, but that was hardly the limit of the capacity of the given place. All moral explanations of the naturalness of actions come back to the fact that the nose was made to be tinted with green dye. A person of full capabilities of body and soul must develop to the best of their abilities and search for the application of their abilities, if they don’t want to remain a Caliban.”

“Well now the students will get that into their heads…”

“’Well, this is in any case a positive and maybe it can be very pleasant,’ Larion Dmitriyevich would say,” and uncle Kostya, challenging Vanya, who did not stop reading.

“What does Larion Dmitriyevich have to do with it?” remarked even Anna Nikolaevna.

“Don’t you think it was his own view that I was putting forth?”

“I’ll go to Nata,” announced Anna Nikolaevna, rising.

“Ah, so she’s well? I haven’t seen her at all,” Vanya recalled for some reason.

“I’ll say, you’ve been disappearing for entire days.”

“Where have I been disappearing?”

“That’s for you to answer,” said the auntie, leaving the room.

Uncle Kostya drank down the remaining coffee and the room strongly smelt of mothballs.

“Were you talking about Stroop when I came in, uncle?” Vanya decided to ask.

“About Stroop? Truth be told, I don’t remember, it’s something Aneta was telling me.”

“I thought it was about him.”

“No, what would I have about him to talk about with her?”

“And you really suppose that Stroop is of such persuasions as you expressed?”

“That’s how he talks; I don’t know how he acts, and the persuasions of a different person are a dark and subtle thing.”

“So do you think his actions differ from his words?”

“I don’t know; I don’t know his affairs, and then it’s not always possible to act in accordance with your desires. For example, we were going to be at the dacha for a long time, and in the meantime…”

“You know, uncle, that Old Believer, Sorokin, invited me to his on the Volga: ‘Come,’ he said, ‘daddy won’t scold you; come see how we live, if that interests you.’ He proposed it to me so suddenly, I don’t know why.”

“Well, what of it, go set off.”

“Auntie won’t give me money, and it’s not worth it anyway.”

“Why isn’t it worth it?”

“It’s all so disgusting, so disgusting!”

“Hey, why has it all suddenly become disgusting?”

“I don’t really know,” said Vanya and he covered his face with his hands.

Konstantin Vasilyevich looked at Vanya’s bowed head and softly left the room.

There was no doorman, the doors to the staircase were open and a furious voice reached the hallway from a closed office, interspersed with silence, when some kind of quiet, seemingly female voice could vaguely be heard. Vanya stopped in the hallway without taking off his overcoat or cap. The handle of the door to the cabinet turned and someone’s hand, visible up to the shoulder dressed in a red Russian-style shirt, appeared, clutching the handle. Stroop’s words came through clearly:

“I will not allow someone to mention that, let alone a woman! I forbid you, you hear, forbid you to speak of this!”

The door closed again and the voices were dulled once again; Vanya took a wistful look around the hallway, so familiar: the electric light in from of the mirror and over the table, the clothing on the pegs; damask gloves were strewn over the table, but hats and upper-body clothing were nowhere to be seen. The door once again flew open with a crash and without noticing Vanya, Stroop went out into the corridor with a face white with fury; after a second, Fyodor followed after him almost running, in a red silk shirt, no belt and with a decanter in hand.

“How may I help you?” he turned to Vanya, evidently not recognising him. Fyodor’s face was feverishly red, like a drunkard’s, or as though rouged, his shirt was without belt, his hair was thoroughly combed and perhaps slightly crimped, and he smelt strongly of Stroop’s perfumes.

“How may I help you?” he repeated as Vanya stared him in the eye.

“Larion Dmitriyevich?”

“He’s not here, sir.”

“Then how did I see him just now?”

“Forgive me, he is very busy at the moment, sir, and there’s no way he can host you.”

“You will announce me, go.”

“No, really, it would be better to come back some other time: there’s no way it’s possible for him to host you at the moment. He’s not alone,” Fyodor lowered his voice.

“Fyodor!” called Stroop from the depths of the corridor, and Fyodor broke off to run down the corridor with a noiseless gait.

After standing around for a few minutes, Vanya went out onto the staircase, pulling closed the door behind which once again rang out the dulled, but still loud and furious voices. In the doorman’s room, her face in the mirror, stood a short woman in a grey-green dress and black knitted cardigan, correcting her veil. Approaching her from behind, Vanya saw clearly with a glance in the mirror that it was Nata. Having sorted her veil out, she unhurriedly went up the staircase and called to Stroop’s apartment, while in the meantime, the doorman had arrived just in time to let Vanya out onto the street.

“What’s this?” paused Aleksei Vasilyevich as he read the morning newspaper: “Mysterious suicide. Yesterday, the 21st of May, a young woman, full of hope and strength, Ida Golberg ended her own life in the apartment of an English subject, L.D. Stroop, on Furstadtskaya Street, building number —. The youthful self-murderer requested in her suicide note to not blame anyone for this death, but the conditions in which this grievous event took place push one to suppose a Romanesque undercurrent. According to the landlord of the apartment, in the midst of a heated discussion, the deceased wrote something on a scrap of paper, then quickly took Stroop’s revolver, which had been prepared for travel, and, before those present were able to intercede, emptied a round into her right temple. The solution to this mystery is complicated by the fact that Mr Stroop’s servant, Fyodor Vasilyevich Solovyov, of Orlovskaya Province, disappeared without a trace the same day, and that the identity of a lady who arrived at Stroop’s apartment half an hour before the fatal event remains unclear, as does the degree of her involvement in the tragic outcome. An investigation is in progress.”

Everyone around the tea table was silent, and all that could be heard in the room , awash with the odour of naphthalene, was the ticking of the clock.

“What on earth was that? Nata? Nata? Did you know about this?” said Vanya at last, with some voice not his own, but Nata continued tracing her fork around her empty plate, with not a single word in response.

[1] A poem by Lermontov

[2] A novel by Turgenev

[3] “…And saw that with a smile/They had been listening to these closing words/Then to the beautiful lady turned mine eyes” Dante, Purgatorio Canto XXVIII, tr. Longfellow (1867)

[4] A form of music notation without staves or notes used in the Russian Orthodox Church.

[5] Religious dissenter; look up Old Believers

[6] A type of Russian cabbage soup

[7] Quoting John Wortley’s 1992 translation, ““Look carefully, this is the fate of man, woman, and child. Enjoy your lust but remember: Your sin will deprive you of your place in the Kingdom of Heaven. How pathetic are the lives of humans! And you would forfeit the reward of all your struggles for just one hour of pleasure!”

#my translations

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