#[ but she has short hair; she's one of the very few across the board that has actually short hair. not tied back or cheating in any way. ] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

faeriekit · 1 month

Text

Health and Hybrids (XX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... A LOT of readers google what an "ostomy bag" is! Danny reestablishes his comfort with the Arabic numeral system!

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

The next time Diana comes to visit her charge, her gloves are blue. Her scrubs are a pale pink. She is given a new face mask, and a new hair net, and walks through the double doors without needing to be buzzed in.

Alright. Perhaps the boy is not genuinely “her charge”. Still, he is hers to protect and to keep; although her position is, officially, as security to the medical team working with their young patient, the medical team knows as well as she does that the boy does not genuinely intend harm.

Is he prone to outbursts? Perhaps, but very few of them are powered. It is entirely understandable too, according to the mental health professionals on board the Watchtower: trauma affects how well one comports oneself and how one interprets their environment. They may see things, hear things, or misunderstand things, and believe they are under threat. The circumstance makes for a great deal of residual fear and mistrust.

Diana was once raised amongst communities of women with few untouched by battle fatigue. She recognizes the signs of lost time and of reawoken fear. She understands what battle-weary warriors are truly fighting against.

A doctor and a nurse mumble a greeting as Diana passes by them. “Morning, Wonder Woman.”

“Good evening,” Diana returns, eyes crinkling. One nurse visibly glances out the window—and then smiles, sheepishly, having forgotten their location in space. Time zones on the Watchtower are often…flexible; Diana, however, has only just returned from her day job. “How is the patient?”

A doctor jerks their head towards the monitor. It is only ever left on if no one else is in the room; privacy is key to recovery. The active monitor means that the medical team has left him alone for now. “Take a look. You might have to go kid wrangling again, Ma’am.”

Alright. Diana obliges them.

On the monitor, in little stick-figure form, are three figures, all sitting or crowded around the room’s singular bed. Her patient sits in his little white gown, legs still as ever, as Impulse drapes himself across the bedspread, and Robin (ex-Robin? Third Robin? Doesn’t he have a new name now?) stands at the bedside.

The Speedster wiggles, mouthing out words she can’t hear without a microphone. Robin is focused on something in his hand—a tablet, perhaps? If Impulse is chattering into the air, then Robin is short on answers; her charge, in comparison, looks back and forth between them, likely unable to understand what the two are up to.

Diana’s mask catches her sigh. “Busy, are they?”

“Do you think you can hold the red one down long enough for a refresher on proper PPE usage?” the doctor begs. The question appears to be genuine. “They just zoomed in a little bit ago. We’ve been trying not to disturb them, but without masks and gloves…”

…Her charge was still at risk for possible contamination or infection, as they couldn’t get consistently accurate test results on his immune system. Diana hummed. She could see the problem.

“I shall. Buzz me in, if you will.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The door clicks open. Diana strides through, unafraid of teenagers or similar ilk, and content with her position as designated scolder.

And, to his credit, the Robin at her charge’s bedside recognizes Diana’s lack of enthusiasm with the situation, and winces with artful precision. Silly boy— as if Diana would believe that any Bat would be ashamed of breaking a rule if they had already chosen to break it. She cannot help but be fond of each Bird’s eccentricities in their own ways. Robin hides the contraband food in his hand behind his back.

Impulse, however, hardly notices her approach, draped over her charge’s casts as he is—a whiteboard in his hand, furiously scribbling away at whatever attempt at communication he has decided to test today. Having met several male teenagers in her recent years, there is a decent chance he has been drawing genitalia as well.

Diana politely coughs into her mask. The gesture is entirely performative. Robin responds by hiding a separate can of energy drink—opened—on the side table behind him, in the hopes of hiding it from view.

Impulse, who failed to notice her arrival, continues to scribble. Occasionally there will be a burst of superspeed, but it will be in contained little bursts. He likely either wants to preserve the marker, or he is taking more care with his attempted art than usual.

Her charge looks up.

His eyes are still a concern—glazed with a green film, they jitter back and forth ever so slightly when he tries to focus on any one object in particular. He hasn’t indicated any discomfort with his eyesight, however, so it hasn’t been addressed beyond documentation.

The crack in his face—from two inches above his white, nebulous hairline and trailing down to his chin—is visible evidence of an injury or gouge of some sort, with new pink skin all around the edges as the only visible sign of inhuman levels of healing. Diana has seen a number of scars, and a number of healed, gaping wounds, but it is occasionally unsettling to set eyes on her charge and see the still-healing brain matter, skull, and inner sinus cavity through a viscous, green, not-quite-organic wound filling material.

There seems to be a consistent rate of healing, though. Diana can only hope that recovery is possible.

“Good afternoon,” Diana greets softly. Her charge’s discolored fingers flex as his face turns to look at her. “Are you well?”

His green-tinged lips part and then come together again. He’s not not paying attention—he listens very well, and has begun to use certain words in English to compensate for his need for communication. That being said, Diana has little idea what he is and is not capable of understanding.

Impulse, however, finally recognizes the newest occupant in the room. “Wonder Woman! Uh—we totally had permission to be here this time! Promise!!” he offers, immediately switching from someone gleeful to see her from someone remembering their misdeeds.

Diana is very lucky that her mask covers her fond smile. If it is her job to be stern today, she ought to live up to the task. “Did you, now?”

Impulse beams sheepishly, and rolls off of the casts of a bemused half-alien boy. “Yes! Remember last time when the nurses all said I could ‘come whenever’ and ‘bring a friend’ and—“

“You were asked to buzz in ahead of time and put on your protective gear?” Diana finishes, wry. Before she is able to scruff him appropriately, however, the superpowered boy is already gone and back—now with an askew hairnet, an upside-down surgical mask, and gloves a size too large for his hands.

“So I did that!” Impulse protests, the mask moving unnaturally over his face. “Look! All dressed up!”

It is a well-intended last minute effort. Alas, it would all be for naught. Diana scoops up a squawking speedster by the nape, and a now-blinded-by-a-misplaced-surgical-mask Robin, and trots them both back to larger medical.

“One moment!” Diana tosses back to her charge, who is, understandably, concerned.

Still. It takes Wonder Woman, two nurses, and a paraprofessional to successfully sanitize and gear up an uncooperative speedster. Robin sulks through the entire process, but capitulates to it with more grace.

Her charge’s green eyes shine and his fingers curl around his few personal possessions as Diana returns to him his companions; she wishes, so dearly, that she could ruffle his pale hair. “All done!”

The teenaged heroes sprawl across his bed just as casually as they had before—if better prepared for their environment. Robin largely gives her charge his space, careful not to impede where he isn’t wanted, but Impulse freely shares affection that her charge, at least, does not visibly deny.

Diana has her own routine to complete. She heads for the intravenous injection bags, pulls out a fresh one, and cracks the seal. After that, it’s shaking to mix the concoction and a fresh replacement.

Impulse grabs one of the toys off of her charge’s side table and brings it into his lap. The board is tilted, and all the slotted-in pieces fall out. He spends some time sorting them by shape, and then by color, until her charge lifts trembling fingers to pick them up, very carefully, one by one.

She’s impressed. His pincer grasp recovery has not been consistently smooth sailing. “Excellent work,” she praises.

Robin looks up from his tablet. Impulse looks back at her and beams. Her charge gives her a brief look, observes that she doesn’t need anything from him at the moment, and gets back to sorting the little pieces back into their allotted slot.

Impulse rests his chin on the steel arm bar of her charge’s cot. The pose seems…uncomfortable. “Hey, Tim. He got them all right.”

Timothy Robin taps away at his tablet—no doubt taking down documentation of his own. Diana can’t help but feel affection; every Bat and every Bird is so nosy, but if she wants to actually see those notes on her charge, she will have to press Batman for them with a reasonably-sized threat.

“Really?” Robin asks, eyes on the screen. “Do you think the pieces were matched based on color, or actual understanding of the numerical system?”

Diana looks down, line in her hand as she reconnects the intravenous bag. The toy in her charge’s lap is a mock clock face. Each of the numbers is printed onto the removable piece, in different cut-out shapes, and painted different colors.

The atmosphere changes. The air itself tastes different—something like electricity sparks on her tongue. And then it’s gone.

“No, he’s looking to put the clock face back in order, specifically,” Impulse confirms. Ah. Speedforce. Diana should have been able to recognize the feeling by now. “He’s kind of annoyed, actually. It’s like a baby toy.”

“Well, it is a baby toy.” Robin taps away.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s annoying. He knows he should be able to do it.”

Impulse buzzes again, and her charge hums, stuffing his flat hand between the board and the sheet until he can tip it over without grabbing at it. He repeats the same process, the only difficulty stemming from his shaking grip and his shaking eyes.

The urge to pull him close and pet his hair is understandable, Diana reminds herself, but not conducive to his long-term comfort. She smiles at him, as best as she can behind a surgical mask, and discreetly checks his drainage bags to see if they need replacing while she’s already close.

“All’s well,” she declares at last, finished with anything that isn’t social. Thankfully, having two teenagers in the room takes care of her charge’s most frequent issue—boredom. She claps her hands together, and her charge looks up at her, eyes vibrating. “Do you require anything?”

Her charge looks at her. Her charge looks at his friend. “Ouatair?” he tries to enunciate, tongue thick against the green-filled split in his hard palate. “Pleese?”

“Ithinkhewantssomewater,” Impulse rushes to translate, but Diana already knows this request. The water provided is chilled in a refrigerator, and it takes no time for her to find sanitized cup and straw—steel, so as to be safe when dropped, and relatively uncrushable, with a handle for simple gripping.

She presents it to him grip-first. His expression is grateful, and frustrated. No warrior wishes to be in the position of needing constant. Diana can understand the wish to do things on his own.

“Soon,” Diana offers, voice a whisper. “You’re already better off than before.”

Her charge grumbles into his cup. His tongue, half-green, finds the straw for him; he chomps down on the straw, slurps as loudly as he can, and sulks.

Teenagers. Diana finds herself unable to understand how Bruce has so many of them, and understands perfectly well how easy it is to take on a child in need and make them your own.

The cup goes back onto the side-table, half-empty.

“Hey,” Robin starts again. He puts his tablet to the side. The white board is pulled out of Impulse's hands and goes onto her charge's lap, and with only a little whining. “How’s this?”

Her charge mumbles something neutral. His eyebrows scrunch together, but he takes the offered blue marker from Impulse and lets the boy uncap it for him.

“Yeah, it’s more adult or whatever,” Impulse encourages. Her charge sticks out a green-mottled tongue, but takes the marker to the white board and writes. Robin peers over his shoulder to watch. “It’s just the alphabet. A, B, C, D~!”

Her charge hums the tune back to him, continuing seamlessly where Impulse left off. The teen hero beams.

Diana stills.

“Yeah, you got it!” Impulse encourages, and peeks over the edge of the board to see her charge hard at work. His letters are wobbly, certainly, and there are some that he misses, but the alphabet song is a longstanding English-language tradition. He know it. He knows it by rote.

“You missed the ampersand,” Impulse points out. Her charge scowls through the fissure in his face.

…There is no reason for Diana to get excited. Yet. Robin-the-former is already jotting down his own notes, pleased with his observations. There are many reasons and many ways this teenager might have picked up the song. J’onn famously picked up on Earth’s radiowaves before being transported to Earth; this could be further evidence that her charge has some connection to Earth, or it could be a connection to something more bizarre and unusual.

There is no shortage of unusual events these days.

And, of course, Diana runs out of things to do. She smooths down her charge’s blanket, which he hardly notices in his frustration. She refills his water. She is tempted to go grab her copy of The Art of War from her bag in the other room, which she has read before, but which she is rereading at behest of Bruce’s newest initiative: Tactical Book Club. She is optimistic about the opportunities for further education this will provide her comrades-in-arms, if not underwhelmed by the reading material. As long as the teenage heroes are in the room, Diana is obligated to remain with them, in the event that the danger level might…fluctuate. A book would give at least the semblance of privacy to the three.

Her charge makes a noise. “Hay!”

Diana looks up. In shaky hands, resting on his lap, he holds up a largely complete alphabet. There are one or two shaky letters—thorn, which is fairly common, and eth, perhaps less so—but otherwise carefully drawn, very neatly done.

“Excellently done,” Diana praises. The alphabet is a triumph of the physical work it takes to heal.

Her charge beams through his craggy face, buzzing with delight.

"I dunno," Impulse teases, upside down on her charge's legs. "They're kinda wonky."

The boy's face scrunches, smears the color away with a swipe of his arm, and draws something else.

The board shakes with his exertion as he lifts it back into place on his lap, and Diana allows herself to sigh, audibly; sure enough, as she had expected, there is a misshapen, blue, cartoon representation of a penis.

Robin full-on cackles with surprise, but Impulse falls of the bed with laughter.

Unfortunately, it is now Diana's job to figure out how to scold a teenager, and one who speaks no known language besides. Based on the resulting expressions she earns, Diana is unsure if the scolding works, but. Well.

...She tried.

#teenage shenanigans triumph over adversity #even trauma. Even pain. Even horror.#ALSO we finally get an outside POV on his FACE #Danny's body is perhaps a little more fucked up than he knows #health and hybrids #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw gore #tw medical #tw body horror #dcu crossover

122 notes · View notes

sadhours · 7 months

Text

See You Again

billy hargrove x female reader

a/n: I exist guys. requests are open!

contents: 18+ minors dni, smut, oral (f and m receiving), reader thinks she might be a prostitute, p in v

summary: you’re a house keeper, and a hot professional surfer pays you to come clean his house

When you accepted the house keeping job, you hadn’t expected the guy to be sex on legs. But here you are, wearing leggings and a loose white t-shirt, buckets of cleaning supplies in each hand while you look up into the icy blue eyes of Mr. Hargrove. He’s in a sleeveless t-shirt, golden arms on display and board shorts, his hair is wavy and long. His house was huge, you knew he was a professional surfer from your quick phone calls but seeing his house, he must’ve been really good at it. Famous maybe. You didn’t know much about surf boarding, had no clue you could make this much money from it.

“Come in,” he says, opening the door wide, “Sorry. My plans got canceled but I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

“Oh, no,” you gush, looking around at the vast foyer as you walk in, this might have been a crew job. You curse yourself for not asking about the square footage of the place. “Don’t even worry about it.”

The house is already clean, so maybe you don’t need more people. It’ll take you a little longer than anticipated but the guys gorgeous so you don’t really mind.

“Here,” he motions towards the hall, “Let me give you a tour.”

The house was decorated pretty minimally. There’s prints of what you assume are him riding waves all over. Tall surfboards line the back wall of the living room. It’s pretty much spotless. A handful of dishes in the sink and a light film of dust on things, but it’s very tidy.

“Your house is beautiful,” you tell him, to which he waves his hand.

“Ah, thanks. It’s a blessing I get to do what I love to afford a place like this. Anyways, I’ll let you get started. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” you nod and set down your buckets.

Billy disappears and you get started with the kitchen, washing the few dishes in the sink and then tackle the stove, oven and fridge. The fridge is pretty empty, but it’s interesting to see what he’s got in it. A six pack of beer and a ton of fresh fruits and vegetables.

Eventually you make your way to the bathrooms, first the guest one which is very obviously unused and you can’t help but think that maybe he’s lonely in such a big house. You push the thoughts aside, you’re here for work. And he might be hot as all hell but you’re professional and besides, a guy that good looking has to have a girlfriend. You finish up the guest bathroom and the half bathroom before starting on the master one. It’s huge. A shower with two nozzles, two vanities, a rather large toilet room and huge bathtub with jets. You’re bent over the bath tub, scrubbing away at the dirt caked on the sides. It’s clear he uses the tub every day. He’s got candles all around it, along with a variety of epsom salts and soaps. As you bring the sponge along the dip of the tub, you feel two hands grabbing at your hips. You crane your head to see Billy standing behind you, biting his lip as he peers at your ass.

“Sorry,” he apologizes but doesn’t move his hands, your thighs start to warm. You’re absolutely frozen, speechless as he smoothes his hand over the curve of your ass and then squeezes. “Couldn’t help myself…” he muses, his breathing a bit labored.

You can tell him to get his hands off of you. Stand up, turn around, slap him across the face with your sudsy glove and storm out. But you can’t recall the last time a man’s been so forward with you and you liked the way his hands felt on you. And god, he’s so fucking gorgeous. He bends over, using the hand that’s not on your ass to move your hair back and whispers in your ear, “You have such a nice ass.”

A moan slips from your lips, causing Billy to squeeze your flesh again. His teeth catch your earlobe as he presses his strained erection against your ass.

“Is this okay?” he asks lowly, nuzzling his nose against the shell of your ear.

“Yes!” you squeak out, throat tight as you struggle to catch your breath.

Billy growls, maneuvering his hand underneath you to grope your tits as he kisses against your jaw. It’s happened so quick, you can’t believe it. Your body is aflame with arousal, your center soaking through your underwear and most likely, your leggings. His lips are soft yet firm, hungry as he litters kisses against your sensitive skin. His fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings, pulling them over your ass and taking your thong with them. He sits back on his heels, grabbing your ass with both hands and squeezing. He chuckles lowly, “You’re dripping.”

“Mhm,” you mumble out, dropping your head as he dips his head and licks up the slick coating your thighs. “Fuck,” you exhale, squeezing the sponge in your hand.

“Tastes so good,” he compliments and then circles his tongue around your eager hole. The action pulls a desperate whine from your chest. You feel trapped against the edge of the tub, his hands holding you in place as he spreads your cheeks and licks at your glistening folds. His tongue is strong, has all your nerves screaming out in ecstasy as he rolls it expertly up and down, finally prodding at your hole. Billy penetrates you as deep as he can with his tongue, his thumbs holding your lips open for more access. It’s excruciating. Not quite as deep as you need but incredibly pleasurable. He pulls back and then you feel his fingers pressing at your eager cunt. You can hear him spit and before you know it, he’s entering you with the digits. It pushes a moan from you, satisfied yet surprised. Billy pumps his fingers in and out, groaning as he watches.

“You’re gonna take my cock so well,” he forebodes, making your spine tingle in anticipation.

He angles his thick digits just right, hitting the pads of them against your spongy spot and you cry out, eyes crossing and doubling your vision. Suddenly, his thumb finds your clit and he’s rubbing it in tight, quick circles while he pushes repeatedly against that spot deep inside you.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp out, squeezing your eyes shut.

Billy works quick and relentless. The pressure at the pit of your stomach is building at an alarming rate. You can’t even make yourself cum this fast. The man knows what he’s doing. And it’s something you don’t know how to do. It hits you like a ton of bricks. A rush of pleasure tearing through you as you spasm against the tub, voice wrecked with how loud you moan out. Vision goes white, a ringing in your eyes as you ride the waves. You’re panting hard and his fingers are still shoved deep inside you when you come to. Then you feel his tongue, licking up the mess you’ve made and you whine out, squirming while the grip on your hip tightens.

“Billy,” you whimper out, “too much.”

He doesn’t let up, instead moves his mouth down and sucks at your clit. You yelp, your body moving upright. You pull your gloves off, turning your body and pushing him down onto the tile floor. There’s a cocky grin on his face, looking up at you as you grab the hem of your shirt and pull it off, tossing it aside and then unhook your bra. You shimmy out of your leggings next, kicking your shoes off and make quick work of peeling Billy’s clothes off his body. When you tug his briefs down, his stiff cock pops out. The tip leaking as it slaps up against his abs. His mouth falls open as you circle your fingers around the base, squeezing slightly. His cock is beautiful. The prettiest one you’ve ever seen. Thick shaft, pulsing vein up the side of it and a plump, shiny tip. Billy lets out this breathless laugh when you squeeze him again.

“Come on,” he drawls, “you can stop staring and get your mouth on it.”

You don’t have to be told twice, lowering yourself and wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, peering up at him. Billy exhales, hand knitting into your hair while he tells you, “Atta girl.”

You swallow around him, taking him a bit deeper in quick succession until he’s prodding at the back of your throat. Breathing through your nose, you hold still as you peer up at him. He’s propped up on his elbows so he can watch, eyebrows knit together while he chews on his lower lip. His blue eyes are dark with lust and they widen just slightly as you begin to bob up and down on his pulsing cock. It’s thick, makes your jaw ache but you’re determined to give him an orgasm he’ll remember. You pull off and give kitten licks to the tip, fingers stroking his with ease thanks to the drool coating his shaft. He moans out, lips parting slightly as he rolls his hips up at you. Next, you swirl your tongue around his tip before taking him back in your mouth, humming at the salty but wonderful taste of him and absolutely loving the weight of his cock on your tongue. You lower your hand down and cradle his sack, rolling his balls in your hand which produces a particularly delicious moan from him. The timbre of his voice is intoxicating, makes you work even harder to make him cum. He knits his fingers in your hair and holds you still, jerking his hips up and forcing you to take it. A man that takes what he wants. Something you’d been needing and you didn’t even know it.

Billy chokes out another moan, “I’m close, baby.”

You don’t stop and he whines, “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Gonna swallow every drop, huh?”

He releases, his hot spunk covering your tongue and it’s abnormal how good it tastes. You swallow it with ease and pull off, licking your lips as you peer up at him. He chuckles softly, raising his hands above his head as he catches his breath. The pair of you dress and you tuck your hair behind your ear, “I’ll uh, just finish up then.”

“Alright,” Billy smirks, a twinkle in his eyes. He leans down and kisses you softly on the lips, you try not to melt into it but ultimately fail. But he pulls away first, smacks your butt teasingly and saunters out of the bathroom.

All you have left is sweeping and mopping the expansive house. On shaky legs, you get it done before trailing to his home office. He’s at the computer, typing away when he notices you.

“All finished?” he asks as he stands, grabbing his wallet.

You nod, “Yep. It’s uh… all done.”

Billy smiles, places his hand on your waist as he guides you back to the front door. “We agreed on $250, right?”

“Uhm, yes.”

Billy opens his wallet, pulling out the bills and hands them to you, “Same time next week?”

“Absolutely,” you blush, pocketing the money. You carry your supplies out to the car and get in the front seat before you burst out in giggles, covering your face in utter disbelief that just happened.

***

Next week, you do something embarrassing. Well, you didn’t think it was embarrassing at first but when you actually show up to clean Billy’s house, you realize how foolish it was. You decided to wear an obscenely short skirt and a tank top to clean. But when you knock on the door, an angry looking redhead opens it.

“Uh, hi,” you flush, almost as red as her hair, “Is Mr. Hargrove here?”

“Mr— ew,” she cringes and then opens the door wider, “Billy! There’s a lady asking for you.”

You stand there, feeling ridiculous as you look at the girl. She’s pretty, looks a little too young for Billy but apparently that’s not any of your concern. He jogs up to the door, resting his forearm on the frame as he leans over the young girl and looks you up and down with a seductive smirk on his lips.

“This lady, is my house keeper. Come in,” he steps aside to let you in. “This is my kid sister, Maxine.”

“Max,” she corrects him with a roll of her eyes.

“Hi, Max,” you offer a polite smile. “I’ll just get to work, then.”

“We’ll be out of your hair,” he tells you, “I’m gonna go drop her off.”

You nod and walk further into the house, getting started on the kitchen. You’ve cleaned almost the entirety of the house by the time Billy returns. You’re dusting his bookshelf when you feel strong hands snake around your waist and lips on your ear.

“You usually clean houses dressed like this?” he purrs in your ear.

“No,” you admit, melting into his touch. “Didn’t know you’d have company.”

Billy snorts, “Either did I. Kid showed up on my doorstep. She does that a lot and then acts like she hates me.”

“You two seem close,” you turn to look at him.

“Getting there,” he shrugs, “Didn’t get along when I lived at home. It’s not important.” He smoothes his hand over the swell of your ass, kissing against your neck and then continues, “Wear this just for me?”

Your body ignites with desire but you don’t show it, not that easy. You continue dusting away, but you can’t help tilting your head just enough to give him more access to your skin. “Maybe,” you admit with a sigh.

Billy hums, grazing his fingertips along your bare thighs as he sloppily kisses at your neck. His touch almost has you melting, but you just keep on dusting the same row of books. He bites at your earlobe before he says, “Think you did. Want to drive me insane, don’t you?”

You whimper at the bite, eyes fluttering shut as you drop the feather duster. Billy presses his hips against your ass as he continues in your ear, “It’s working. Can’t wait to stuff you full of my cock.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, gripping onto the sides of the bookshelf as Billy grinds against you.

He mouths at your pulse point, moving his hands around to grope your chest. Your head falls back to rest on his broad shoulder, hand snaking up to lace through his sandy curls. His broad tongue licks up your neck, erection apparent through his shorts against your inappropriate skirt. Suddenly the thought hits you, this is prostitution, right? You’re going to let him fuck you against his bookshelf, mop his floors and take a handful of cash. Sounds a lot like prostitution.

“You can’t pay me,” you gasp out but make no moves to stop him from groping you.

“And why’s that?” he laughs, pinching your perked nipples through your thin top, “You’ve done such a good job. Place looks spotless.”

“Because I’m about to let you fuck me against your bookshelf,” you insist.

“If we move to the bed can I still pay you?” he teases and you whip around.

“I don’t want you to pay me for sex.”

Billy blinks at you, a curious notch in his brow as his lips twitch upwards, “I’m not paying you for that part.”

“But—“

“We agreed on two fifty for cleaning, yeah?”

You nod.

“And what did I give you?”

“Two fifty,” you reply.

His face looks pensive now, tilting his head, “Don’t ya think I would’ve gave you more if I was paying for the sex?”

You hadn’t really thought of it like that. That’s a good point, you figure. Because you really did clean and you would’ve charged the same price had you not sucked him off.

“Okay, fine,” you relent and turn back around, “you can still pay me.”

“Atta girl,” he praises as he spanks you playfully before pulling your skirt up over your ass and hooks his fingers in your panties. He peels them down and you kick them off your ankles. Then you feel the swollen head of his cock rubbing between your cheeks. You sigh out, holding onto the shelves as you spread your legs a little further. His lips are back on your neck as he swirls his tip around your eager hole. He groans, muffled against your skin while he slides the head in. It’s so lovely, stretches just right and he’s huffing the deeper he goes. His breath is hot on your face, fanning against your cheekbone and the slight minty scent raids your senses. You blink up at him, drunk on attraction. God, he’s so pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful, angelic. Golden curls against soft, clear skin and his lips are so pink. He thrusts his hips languidly but deep, holding onto your waist for leverage as he pants against your face.

“Billy,” you whine as he bottoms out, feeling wonderfully full. “Fu-uck…”

“Yeah? Feel good, kitten?” he asks, flicking his tongue against the corner of your mouth, “So perfect, taking me so well.”

“God,” you gush, rocking your ass back against his thick thighs. “So fucking good.”

“Pussy’s so tight,” he growls, low and guttural.

Billy snaps his hips harder, dragging you along his cock as he fills you so deep you feel it in your throat. It’s exhilarating. The fact that you know nothing about this man but there’s this intense, animistic connection between you. The pair of you just cannot control yourselves and that’s why you’re letting this absolutely beautiful stranger fuck you raw in the middle of your cleaning duties. It seems foolish; he’s willing to fuck you without a rubber, how many any women get the pleasure? Because it it’s a pleasure. The heat of his cock, the veins not being cushioned by thin rubber is amazing. And it feels incredibly intimate. Passionate— because it’s so rushed and desperate, that neither of you even thought about a condom.

Billy’s fingers dig into your hips while he pounds into you, panting against your face. He slides his hand down and starts working the pads of his fingers in circles against your clit. It’s over for you. If this doesn’t become a routine, you are absolutely doomed because there’s absolutely no way another man is ever going to fuck you like Billy is now. Books are tumbling down to your feet, his thrusts so powerful that your spine tingles.

“I’m coming,” you gasp, tossing your head back as your orgasm crashes through you.

“Good girl,” he purrs in your ear, “Cum all over my cock. Just like that.”

You whimper, riding out the waves that seem never ending because Billy doesn’t slow down or go easy. He grabs tighter on your hips, driving his cock in deep as he pants against your ear. Billy pulls out, painting your ass cheeks with his hot spunk. He groans as he does so, then spins you around and grabs your jaw, pulling you in for a deep kiss. You’re completely lightheaded from it and you almost collapse when he pats your thigh and asks, “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

#billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x female reader

354 notes · View notes

sleazysquid · 1 year

Text

Strangers On A Train (Dabi x Reader)

Anon Asks: If requests are still open, some filthy Dabi breeding kink plz 🥺💕💕 love your work !!!

Hi anon! Glad you’re here! Sorry this took a while!!! I hope you like what I’ve come up with <3 I feel like his breeding kink is mostly empty promises meant to keep you leashed to him. Someone he just plucked out of society wouldn’t know any better than to believe whatever he says. I felt like I needed the right inspiration to hit in order to write since this is just so delicious, and I think I found it in the form of an old adult film a friend told me about one time. I wish I knew the title of it, but without further ado, here’s a mean Dabi with a disgusting breeding kink ;)

Word Count: 1.1k

Tags/Warnings: (focuses on real themes, dark content), chikan, fem reader, noncon, sex with no prep, breeding kink, creampie, mentions of pregnancy, misogyny, very light yan themes if you squint

It starts off with a tired day. Whether you’re busy at work, hungover after a party or whatever. The long journey home has just started, and you thankfully found a seat after the first stop. Almost immediately after sitting, you’ve found yourself nodding off on the train. The quiet hums of the cart rustling you back and forth gently, it’s beckoning you, eye lids getting heavier and heavier, the announcer overhead growing more faint as your brain shuts down slowly. A sudden jolt of adrenaline kicks in as a hustle of people pack into your cart like sardines. A peculiar man boards, standing across from where you sit. He’s scarred from head to toe with raven black hair and roughed up clothing that’s been torn up in a few areas.

You two exchange short lived eye contact. A courteous smile is extended on your part as more humans pack into the train and obstruct your view of him. The doors close, the next stop is heard over the radio, the train sputters to a rolling start. You look up to haphazardly observe your surroundings, a pregnant woman is standing with her fingers gripped tightly around the handle vertical from you, the train jostling her around with ease.

“Ma’am,’ you whisper,

“You can take my seat if you’d like”

She smiles politely and whispers back “thank you” as you switch spots with her, passengers already taking it upon themselves to stare at the two of you. Despite whispering, you’re still technically being disruptive by social standards.

Heavy eyelids come back to pester you again, even when you’re standing with white knuckles around the strap. You’re not quite aware of your surroundings, your mind is just coasting through trying to get to the last stop as best as you can. The world around you focuses in and out as you drift through phases of consciousness. Such a sluggish feeling, so sluggish you don’t notice the scarred man you smiled at earlier has moved from where he initially stood on the train. Chest against your back, you can feel his soft rugged breathing as he leans closer into you, taking advantage of every bump the train tends to make.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the will to fight off the urge to sleep strengthens as you’re now hyper aware of your surroundings, and particularly, interpreting if this man has any ulterior motives. Your feelings are confirmed almost immediately as the man rests a hand on your hip, dry humping against your ass. The grinding motion of his clothed cock teasing you slowly, against your will, your heart flutters in conjunction with your body tremors with the hot stare, his cerulean eyes watching every bounce and jiggle of your body in such an observant and petulant manner. He leans into your figure further, nose brushing against your goosebump ridden neck, inhaling your scent.

“Are you aware of the declining birthrate that’s infecting our country as we speak?” His gruff voice whispers against your skin.

“Sir—“ you turn to look at the perpetrator, shocked at his disgusting comments.

“—Shhhhh!!” A patron hushes you. Suppose you already had your free pass to speak when you gave up your seat, any more noise and you’d rather not have the entire train agree to kick you off for making more of an issue. You’re baffled at the lack of empathy your fellow passengers have for you, much more quick to dismiss than to bring light a conflict.

The hand that once took purchase on your hips slowly creeps upward underneath your shirt, cupping the swell of your breast and squeezing down hard before pinching and rolling your nipple between his calloused dirty fingers.

“See that woman over there? That you so graciously offered your seat to? Why don’t you fulfill your duty and help the birth rate” he hisses delicately over the shell of your ear as his lips press against the soft flesh.

The others surrounding you notice your predicament, but choose to either avert their eyes or keep staring at the spectacle he’s causing.

“We’re getting off on the next stop. Say anything and you’ll be burnt to a crisp on the spot, understand?”

The low rumble of his voice causes a shiver down your spine as you nod nervously to his demands. As the announcement came to a head, he ushers you off the train, stapled hands keeping the firm grasp on your hips. He’s dangerously close behind you, guiding you down an unknown road that leads to a dark disheveled apartment. You’re greeted by beer cans and empty cartons of cigarettes scattered around a single stained twin sized mattress.

Each article of clothing is pawed off in a disordered manner, he can’t seem to keep his hands or his mouth off you. A shoe here, a shirt there, you’re stripped down to the bare nude hastily before being pushed onto the dirty mattress. The scarred man stays pretty much clothed, opting more for convenience on his part by pulling out his hardened cock. Cigarette butts cling to your back as you’re nearly crushed by his full weight, slotting himself between your legs and leaving no warning for bottoming out inside you completely.

Beer cans clink and roll off the bed with how hard he’s fucking you into the mattress. He doesn’t let up, keeping himself sheathed for as long as possible. Your eyes glaze over with tears rolling down the sides of your face, mind desperately trying to dissociate, but between the jolts of pain, pleasure begins to bloom ever so slightly, but nothing that comes to fruition. The villain’s moans get louder, more whiny, his movements are more erratic.

A hand moves up to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him, “Yeah you want me to get it all inside and keep you here tied down to me forever? That’s what you’re doing to me looking at me with those beautiful wet eyes. Your pussy’s too tight and too pretty to not fill up.” He sucks in air through his teeth.

Fear hits the pits of your stomach, “No, no… No please don’t”

He brandishes a smile, bright blue eyes staring deep into your squirming form. Not another word is exchanged from either of you, thrusts coming to a sloppy piston as this stranger fills your womb to the brim with potent seed. His mouth slightly ajar, crazed eyes now half-lidded with a his hand wrapped around your neck, heat radiating from the palm, a vague threat of burning you beyond recognition. This is your life now, no longer the strangely beautiful mundane work-home rut you once resented.

#tw.breeding kink #tw.chikan #tw.misogyny #tw.pregnancy #tw.noncon #dabi x reader #touya x reader

319 notes · View notes

weridpersonhelp · 1 year

Text

Red phone

Wally x reader

warning: slightly scary, first-time horror writter, stalking, confusion, gramma and spell mistakes, screaming, getting up a horrible hour of night, neurodivergent reader, slow burnish? more fanfic then x reader, children, puppets, curse langue, music, be ready for cringe!

“What in the world?” I rub my eyes trying the get rid of the sleep as I am woken up by a loud ringing noise coming from downstairs, I groan loudly as the ringing continues. I cover my ears with my pillow in an attempt to stop it or at least muffle the noise but no! it just would not stop, it felt like it was getting louder instead!

The noise of a creaking old phone was the worst sound I have ever heard, that is after the sound of nails against a black board. It felt with each ring my ears were getting closer and closer to the ear drum bursting! I Stormed down the stairs pulling up my silky shorts, so they don’t fall while walking down the stairs at night. Walking to the kitchen I pause at the sudden sense of danger; my gut was saying something. My body just froze in place, and the hairs on it stood tall. The red phone, it was the red phone that was ringing. I had never seen or heard it in my whole life, yet their it was ringing on the kitchen counter. It stood out compared to all my grandmother’s appliances. The kitchen was a light minty green with the wood being the green and marble tops, My Grandma originally wanted wooden tops but explained how marble was cheaper back then.

The phone was bright red, a red you don’t commonly see unless it’s on Tv or on a plastic toy. I stood they’re like an idiot or better yet a dear in head lights. Watching as it rung, and soon enough it stopped. The over whelming of fear, and danger disappearing in an instant. I stare at the phone, noticing how old it must have been. Probably made in the 1950’s? 1960’s? it didn’t matter anyway the ringing stopped and I could go back to bed, but now my brain was fuzzy and awake. I need something to help me sleep, I sigh and put the kettle on and make myself a coffee. Caffeine did the opposite to me, instead of waking me up it made me sleepy like my dad. And with one sip of that coffee, and a small waddle up the old stairs and into my room I went out quicker than a light bulb.

But sadly, I woke up not just a few hours later to the cries of my brother, I sigh once again turning over in my bed and hitting my pillow in anger. But I couldn’t be angry at Jim, this was the normal hour he gets up at. I’m surprised My mum hasn’t noticed yet, but I’m not Angry at them right now. Just at that dam red phone. Slowly getting up I get ready for the day, full of. Well, what ever my mother has planed for me to do.

I leave my new room, and walk down the hall to the stairs, only this time they creek. I physically cringe at the noise but try my best to get downstairs, Once I do and make my way to the kitchen I see everyone already up. Including grandma, I walk over giving her a peck on the cheek and she gives me a small smile and asks.

“Good morning my dear! How did you sleep?”

“not very well, I woke up to a phone ringing. And found it hard to go back to sleep.” I explain taking a seat next to her at the dinning table across from my brother who I waved hello too. The small toddler notices my presence and gives me a wave and a bunch of gibberish which I’ll take as a hello. Mum placed some scrambled egg’s and bacon in front of me before pushing my hair back and kissing my forehead gently and sitting down next to me.

“Good morning sleepy head, you slept in! normally your awake before now.” Mum wasn’t wrong, I would normally wake up and take care of Jim myself sometimes, or at least make him breakfast. BUT. Since this was a Family Holiday, I could relax.

“Yeah, you alright kiddo?” dad asks me as I grab the BBQ sauce and shrug.

“meh overall, probably just still adjusting from the car ride. Anything planned for today?” I ask my family stealing a piece of buttered toast from the centre of the table before my dad.

“no not really, so you can do what you like today. Just don’t spend too much time on that computer!” Mum explains, I nod along and constructed my toast carefully, finally taking a bite it was like heaven, the sweet bacon, the salty eggs., the soft butter and toast with the crunchy crust! And the small amount of sauce. Just perfection I gobble it down and quickly went back for seconds, I can see from the side of my eye my mum shaking her head and grandma giggling.

“Gosh you and your father are so alike!” Grandma gushes and pinches my cheek gently.

“I know all she need’s in to be taller, different hair colour and more into the outdoors and we would have a female clone!” mum saying cracking up my nana even more, she almost sounded like a parrot with how loud she was.

“Yes, she gets her creativity from my Harrison! And her artistic talents come from both sides, right? Your mother was a painter, right?” The two continue their conisations and I take my plate up to the sink, I catch a glimpse of the red phone. Again, my gut was trying to tell me something, but it felt different as if someone was watching me. I shook the feeling off and continued to the sink.

‘Am I going crazy?’ I ask myself in my head as I wash up some of the dishes, dad drops his off along with Jim’s. Jimmy sat on his hip holding on to the 6’4 man who towered over everyone in the house, his height is something I wish I inherited.

“, honey I’ll tell you. Later, just remind me later to do so is that okay?” I raise an eyebrow at my dad who just smiles down at me, the question was what my dad wanted to talk about later. I know I shouldn’t press though, or I may never find out, so I just nod my head continuing to clean. He turns away before snapping his fingers and spins back to face me.

“Oh! Me and your mum are leaving are going out so you will have to baby sit Jimmy with grandma for a couple of hours to night,” “yeah that’s fine dad.”

_____________________________

Wally hangs up the phone again sighing slightly, opening the morning paper. to read.

"When will that Old woman answer?"

#welcome home #wally darling #wally darling x reader #welcome home arg #welcome home puppet show #welcome home wally #welcome home wally darling #welcome home frank #frank welcome home #red phone

254 notes · View notes

yoongiseesawmp3 · 1 year

Text

get you (bonus) - cheol gets a dog?

summary: uhhhh i’m weak for cheol x kkuma content? and i feel like it’s a crime that y/n is the only pet parent in this fic. so enter everyone’s favorite fluffy girl. or the one where y/n finds a dog on cheol’s couch and is very confused.

word count: 1.1k

masterlist - you can find the main parts of get you here

it’s been another one of your busy weeks where your schedule just doesn’t seem to match up with cheol’s. he spent the night on monday, but aside from that you haven’t spent more than a few minutes with him since. it’s friday now, and you miss your boyfriend. you shoot him a text that you’re coming over whether he likes it or not, please unlock the door. he tells you he just got back from the gym so he’s taking a shower, but you’re welcome to come over whenever. you’re about to grab a jacket and head over, but then you think better of it. it’s been unseasonally cold lately, and you need the extra coverage since cheol keeps his apartment frozen like an icebox. you decide instead to just sneak one of his hoodies while you’re over there today.

you’re thinking about the last time you saw his blue hoodie when you finally walk over, wondering if you’ll have time to find it before he gets out of the shower. your thoughts are interrupted by a sound on the couch, and you jump slightly at the door before realizing it must just be cheol. you walk toward his living room, a term of endearment ready on your lips, but you stop cold when you see something fluffy and white moving around amongst the blankets. you’re afraid it might be a rat, or something else you don’t want to deal with, so you walk up slowly, hoping you don’t provoke it. as you’re trying ridiculously to walk across the room without making a sound, cheol clears his throat at the start of his hallway.

“whatcha doin baby?” he asks, gummy smile on display. “you’re being weird.”

“cheol,” you hiss, “there’s something on your couch!”

“yeah, that’s kkuma,” he says simply, toweling his hair as he walks into the room. “wanna meet her? she’s really sweet.”

“what?” you ask, confused. “what is she?”

“my dog,” he replies as he drops the towel on his coffee table.

“your dog? since when do you have a dog?”

“since i fell for this sweet little face,” he coos, scooping up the fluffball and presenting her to you. you are met with a sweet little face, complete with a hair clip (one of yours, somehow?) holding her bangs out of her eyes. “i mean come on.”

“when did you get her?” you whisper, afraid of spooking her as you take a step closer. you reach a hand out and she sniffs experimentally, but she decides you’re safe and starts licking your knuckles.

“i don’t think i told you that i was dogsitting for a friend this week,” cheol starts, beckoning for you to sit next to him on the couch. as he continues, he lets kkuma crawl into your lap and get comfortable. “she belongs to a family friend, but they’ve been having trouble taking care of her so i offered to watch her short term. i think i’m gonna ask if i can adopt her though. my friend is already on board, just need to check with his parents, but i think they’ll be happy to know she’s going to a loving home.”

“i can’t believe you got fred a little sister without me knowing,” you say suspiciously, laughing when kkuma hops up to lick your chin. “she’s precious though.”

“not as cute as you, but cute,” cheol replies, and you bump him with your shoulder.

“i like her hair clip,” you say, playing with the hair popping out. “looks familiar.”

“hey, that’s what you get for leaving shit at my house,” he laughs. “speaking of fred though, can we introduce them? you think he’ll be jealous?”

“please, he won’t know what to do around her,” you tell him. “i think he has puppy anxiety or something, he’s such a weirdo around other dogs.”

“i think your dog is just a weirdo, baby,” cheol teases.

“maybe,” you sigh, scooting kkuma back into cheol’s lap so you can stand. “you want me to get fred and we can take them on a walk? i feel like that’s an easy way for them to be around each other at first.”

“sounds good,” cheol nods. you start to walk away but he whines in protest, making you turn back. he makes a grabby hand for you and you give him yours in return, so he pulls you closer and swoops in to give you a kiss. then, against your lips, he says, “you forgot to do that when you came in.”

“well i was afraid there was an intruder on your couch,” you say before kissing him again. “so forgive me if i was distracted.”

“hm, one more and then you’re forgiven,” cheol smiles. you happily oblige, your cheeks still warming at the way his lips feel on yours.

“i’ll be right back,” you tell him, shuffling toward the door before you turn back around. “hey, where’s your blue hoodie?”

“um, in my room, why?”

“go get it, i need a jacket if we’re going on a walk.”

“you’re literally going back to your place, grab one there,” cheol starts, turning around to look at you, but your serious expression shuts him up. “fine. go get the boy and i’ll get the hoodie.”

“thank you my love!”

happily warm in cheol’s hoodie (he sprayed his cologne on this before he gave it to you, you just know it) you start on your regular walk with fred. he did well meeting kkuma, just some curious sniffs and one or two awkward barks to get to know her. now they’re happily wandering the sidewalk together as you and cheol walk hand in hand.

you start to notice a new feeling in your chest the longer you walk, and it reminds you of the way you felt when you first fell in love with cheol. it’s a feeling not quite in your chest, but like your heart is rising to your throat and trying to come out and speak for itself. it’s trying to say that you’re happier in this moment than you think you’ve ever been, but you don’t know how to say that to cheol. you don’t know how to put into words the love you feel for him and your furry friends, but he reads your mind and tries for you.

“this is nice,” he says, squeezing your hand. “it’s like we’re a little family.”

“hm,” you hum. “i guess it is. we’re really living out that young adult trope, we’ve got dogs instead of kids but we’re calling ourselves a family.”

“because we are,” cheol whines. “kkuma is my daughter, fred is your son, i’m the dad, you’re the milf-”

“cheol-”

“hm?” he asks, a cheeky smile on his face. you just shake your head and laugh at him, squeezing his hand harder in yours.

“i love you a lot, i hope you know that.”

“i do baby,” he replies, kissing the top of your head.

229 notes · View notes

swampgh0stt · 6 months

Text

here's the tag for my AU (x) art by @stardustrobin

Harry & Peter are married! Childhood friends that (much to Norman's excitement) got married young. They have a son together (Normie)

Harry is trans (FtM) & started transitioning after he had Normie. However, he socially transitioned when he was younger.

Together, they run the Emily-May foundation. Peter still manages to do Spider-Man work on the side, as Harry is well aware of his husbands "other job." This sometimes causes issues between them when Peter gets a little too involved in Spider-Man duties.

But that's okay, bc these two have a Third in their relationship: a now mostly reformed Quentin Beck. Harry likes to bring him into the "Spider-Man" arguments to help get Peter's shit together

Info dump below the cut for our AU

Harry Osborn:

standing at 5'10, black hair & lilac eyes (Norman also has lilac eyes. might be something to do with their illness? hmm... )

He has a pet wolf named Lyra, who he & Quentin stole from a local dog-fighting ring that Mysterio interrupted (thanks to Harry's begging). Harry is rarely ever seen without her

Harry & Norman both have a genetic, terminal illness they hide from the public.

Harry is biracial-- his mother originally from a Reservation in Montana. She is Lakota. However, she is no longer with Norman & no one knows why she left

Harry speaks Lakota fluently. He often talks shit with Quentin

Harry is the secret donor behind Quentin's Mysteriums that have been popping up around the city. He, Quentin, & Peter all frequent the locations for dates, which lead to these Mysteriums being a huge success

active on social media, with successful insta & tiktok pages. He also shares a Youtube page with Quetin, but Quentin usually runs it & comes up with projects for the page

Harry is an abuse survivor, but only Quentin & Peter are privy to the extent of what he's endured from Norman through his life. He has a strained relationship with Norman, but can't completely separate himself

Harry used to have a relationship with MJ, but it was short-lived. They're still very close. Normie loves his Auntie MJ too

despite Harry & Norman's condition -- Normie didn't seem to get the same illness. odd...

Harry has some goblin tech he worked on for himself. he calls his persona the Hobgoblin & will sometimes join Peter on patrols, but not often. This persona has also been seen with Mysterio, but never for any villainous activities

Peter Parker:

tall and lanky with some decent lean muscle; boy is topped off at around 6’3”

fluffy chocolate brown hair

dark hazel eyes; lots of nice deep greens mixed with some browns and ambers

freckles only on his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose; also has a few on his shoulders

aside from web-slinging his main modes of transportation are a skateboard, a bike, a scooter, and getting rides from Harry

his board, bike, and scooter are all second hand, he got the board from the pawnshop and the bike and the scooter from alleyway dumpsters

he’s fixed up the bike and scooter himself, the board was already in pretty good condition

Uncle Ben did teach him how to drive, but it's just easier and quicker for him to board where he needs to be

he and Aunt May did keep Ben’s old truck in case they need it to drive around town

100% Jewish

like in your face about it, he and Aunt May celebrate every holiday

used to go Synagogue all the time with Uncle Ben and Aunt May; now it more or less every so often when he has or can make the free time-- Aunt May goes to Synagogue often and catches Peter up on what he misses

he knows how to speak and write Hebrew; Uncle Ben was his primary teacher and then Aunt May helped out

doesn’t always stick 100% to Kosher-- oops don’t tell Aunt May

will absolutely throw in Yiddish into his speech-- Aunt May is 100% to blame

has only ever dated Harry Osborn and Gwen Stacy-- doesn’t date MJ in my books

however he does get a bit of a crush but quickly loses interest but they become really close friends

doesn’t like taking handouts, prefers to work and earn his own money/things

does get visibly uncomfortable when people offer/give him money and/or handouts

Harry Osborn was his first crush and first love

Gwen is also his first girlfriend

Peter is bi

he really loves taking pictures and he’s good at it, once he started working for the Daily Bugle he started to get more serious in his photography

pretty much all his photography gear is second hand, he does have a few new things that he’s saved up for and bought for himself

doesn’t leave his Aunt May, he makes sure to stay with her so he can help her out with what she needs

doesn’t really buy a lotta new stuff for himself, most of his things do come second hand

his gadgets are mainly made from scraps and spare parts he finds, but he does buy what he needs

after the spider bite he doesn’t really need to wear his glasses anymore, but he does wear them/keep them on her person out of habit-- he’s changed the prescription glass to just regular plastics

May let Peter keep Ben’s wedding band, he keeps it on his Star of David necklace that he keeps tucked in his shirt for luck and inspiration

Aunt May totally knows that he’s Spider-Man, he just doesn’t know she knows

after becoming Spider-Man he started to teach himself how to fight better, some of his moves in the beginning of hero came from his spidey sense, instinct, and reflex-- he chose to hone those skills to become better and not get himself or others hurt

has a pet opossum named Gizmo that he rescued from a dumpster and he thought she was a cat

Lyra & Gizmo are very close, surprisingly. You can often find Gizmo hanging on to Lyra, traveling & sharing food together.

when Spider-Man & Hobgoblin go out, they call themselves the "Spider-Pals," which started as a joke but stuck

#harry osborn #peter parker #parksborn #marvel #spiderman comics #spiderman never alone #hobgoblin

28 notes · View notes

ineffableigh · 7 months

Text

Timeline of Suspicious Events Brain Dump - PART 2

Ran out of characters. See previous post here! [linky]

We resume during Muriel's initial visit to the bookstore. They're having a nice look at a cupperty.

Crowley arrives in a bluster with all his plants - we've only seen him angrily say No about the Bentley and yet he seems to be going along with it anyway. He asks the important question: why not take the train? Why go by car? It's an eight hour drive each way! Train or even plane is WAY FASTER!

Crowley's the one that does the 'humans are weird/a few days' line for some bloody reason. Crowley what are you doin' man lol pick a better lie!

It feels Important that we see so many one on one moments with Nina, but not Maggie. Like we're building Nina as a character, but not really Maggie, y'know?

The show also really wants us to see how uncomfortable Nina is with discussing her love life at all, but everyone in the story just kind of blows past it.

"Dance Macabre" in the Bentley eh? A tone poem about Death calling the dead from their graves to dance for him? Like, I dunno, Gabriel says later in his Tempest line? A piece that quotes Dies Irae?

I love the musical conflict going on in the background once Crowley takes control of the Bentley's Vibes back lol.

Interesting that we have an entire moment to see that Beez is unhappy with the status quo in Hell, and the lack of recognition for all the work they seem to constantly have to do down there. Especially since we hear later they're very 'short staffed'.

Crowley moving seemingly random books from upstairs to downstairs, cosplaying a bookseller (ostensibly). Seems very chill about chatting gravity with Jimbriel, and we get our first Direct Fly Callout. Might be the second, not sure re: 'flyswats' when the archangels visited.

Pub imagery: Jesus raising Lazarus on one side, and the 'butcher' Dalrymple on the other side. Hmmm two sides of Heaven anyone?

It has to involve Aziraphale somehow because the Production Designer had that painting of Jesus done with the tomb opening being exactly like the 'eastern gate' of Eden in s01. Seems like a big effort to go to if not to draw parallels!

I find it interesting that Aziraphale a) seems super excited to hear about the 'Masons' b) there's a lodge next door to the pub, but c) we don't investigate that OR the person Gabriel was with. Y'know, the little shaggy haired demon with a bowler hat covered in flies? Normally would be quite conspicuous, yes? We know that Azi knows what Beez looks like from the end of S01.

Post-minisode we cut DIRECTLY to Aziraphale at the graveyard. What did he do between the pub and then? Did he walk there, drive there? Another huge gap to account for that's just swept under the rug.

Convenient that No Regerts and Friend are there, both being comically intense tough guys openly talking about Grindr lol. Just hanging out in the fog with no phone minutes left like ya do. Very convenient they were there, though I'm not sure what the advantage of that phone call even was. It's so strange a scene across the board that it feels like something is missing.

Back in town, Maggie is chasing Nina to talk about getting stuck in the cafe. I don't know what it is about their talks but to me they feel strange, or at least Maggie's side does. Might just be a by-product of us not seeing Nina 'acting like it's Maggie's fault' but it all feels very out of the blue, y'know? Always when Nina's busy working and can't really escape.

"I'm not your type." "You have no idea." Maggie SHE HAS A PARTNER AND SHE JUST SAID THE PARTNER SUSPECTS CHEATING, NOW IS NOT THE TIME LOL. See what I mean about Weird Vibes though?

Sudden Tempest Prediction from Gabriel. Very weird that he has these moments, either by forcing himself or these triggers. Do you have to be Empty to channel God?

Multitude of Shax Visions - this sequence seems odd to me. We've seen Shax impersonate a human once, yes, but this back to back thing seems unusually competent for her. I do wonder if we're getting a Crowley's Very Stressed Perspective thing going on here. Poor lad sure is stressed.

I was wondering how Shax figured out where Aziraphale was, but I bet she probably just tried to teleport to the Bentley like most demons seem to when Crowley was in it, but probably got punted outside by the Invitation Only magic. Or something.

The interaction with Shax here is really weird, though. It seems purely designed to freak Aziraphale out rather than actually get information. She says now she knows Gabriel is in the bookshop, but nothing about the discussion actually pointed to it any more than she would have known beforehand.

Shax then goes on to tell Beez that Gabriel is in the bookshop. Why she's so confident, I still don't really know, like I said above. All she knows is both the Husbands are being obfuscating dorks, but maybe that's enough.

Also like, Beez, you maybe should have just. Gone to the bookshop? Instead of attacking it? When you know Hell is short staffed? This is a Weird Plot Point too, if Beez just wants Gabriel. Why go straight to war?

As they're bringing Crowley's plants back to the car I hear glass shattering??? What's up with that??

Azi you dingle why are you hiding the Shax visit from Crowley. They really DON'T talk and for no good reason.

Next Instalment: [Linky]

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #good omens meta

36 notes · View notes

esperosisdoeswriting · 4 months

Text

Accursed, Chapter 1

Accursed lives rent free in my brain and has ever since I wrote it, I like to go back to it every once in a while and, when I did recently, I thought I myself “Yes Chapter 1 is good, but I’ve improved a ton since then (literally wrote an entire book lol) so I can do so much better now” as such I decided to rewrite the entire first Part/Chapter and I’m so much more happy with it now. Deffo gives the vibe I’m going for as-well as better incorporates a few plot elements and showcases personalities of our two main characters better. Overall, I like it quite a lot!

BE WARNED, Accursed deals with some very heavy topics and themes, please read the content warnings and be advised! This is a Supernatural/Psychological Horror with a child protagonist, so… yeah that should tell you a bit. BUT also keep in mind the main theme of Accursed is hope and overcoming adversity, so while there is darkness, there is no despair (if that makes sense)

Enjoy 2.5k words that turned into 7.2k words!

CW: Child Abuse (Minor), Threats of Violence against children, Referenced past violence against a child (There is no explicit violence against a child in this chapter), Religion (used somewhat as a coping mechanism), discussion of Suicide (and its relationship with Religion)

Tags: @sunflower-searching-light

The glass was shattered. Mom had broken it a while ago, delicate things never really lasted very long near her, or him, or anywhere. Lucas never really understood the

purpose in making things that broke so easily. If they could break they would, and then they were useless.

It didn’t really make sense to Lucas, but not a lot of things did.

Lucas stared more at the glass than his reflection in it as he sat on the bathroom counter. The soap was almost gone, he’d climbed on the counter to see if the cabinet with the mirror had any more in it, the cabinets below didn’t.

Lucas wasn’t quite sure how to open the mirrored cabinet, it didn’t have a handle like normal ones did. He didn’t ask mom, she was very tired lately and he didn’t want to upset her from having to see his face.

He looked at his reflection and wondered what it was about his face that caused so much pain and hardship. Mom hated seeing it, and anytime one of things that weren’t supposed to exist saw it they swarmed in and stuck to him like glue or a leech.

His face looked normal to him at least.

Two eyes, though he couldn’t see the right one since pieces of glass had fallen revealing the dark board underneath. He didn’t need to see it though, he knew it was the same light green as his left.

Dark cracks spiderwebbed across his pale skin, but when he touched his face he found it smooth and whole. His hair was short light brown, even though his mom’s was blonde. Maybe that was it, he had dad’s hair color and that’s why mom hated him and the things cursed him and tormented them both.

He always hated Dad, it made sense Mom would hate him for being related to the man.

Something moved in the darkness of the bathroom behind him and Lucas couldn’t be bothered to scream or cry or run away. It was tiring being scared all the time, so he just climbed down from the sink as the slinking creature followed him into his bedroom.

---------------------------

“Everything's going to be better now, you hear?” Mom told him as they drove too fast down the dark country road. “It was the city,” she hissed, “It was a- a- a cesspool of those monsters, those things. They grew and- and spawned in every darkened corner and dumpster filled with garbage. But not here baby! Not here! They can’t follow us out into good ol’ nature.”

Mom laughed as she petted Lucas’ hair, refusing to look at her as Lucas blankly stared out the window.

It wasn’t going to be any better. Lucas knew that the moment he saw the glowing yellow eyes staring at them from just beyond the tree line. He knew that the moment he heard the odd bump coming from the trunk of the van where something had crawled in. He knew it in the way Mom cried as she tried to reassure both of them.

He didn’t tell her it wasn’t going to get any better. But something told him that she knew it anyway as they finally arrived at the old cabin in the woods, far away from anyone that could hurt them.

Far away from anyone they could call to for help.

-----------------------

Mom was screaming down stairs again and hitting things, probably fighting the winged thing with mouths for eyes Lucas noticed nesting on top of the refrigerator earlier. He didn’t bother going down to help her. She could manage fine on her own and she was more likely to just start hitting him with the broom and screaming than she was to thank him.

Not like he could do much anyway.

Maybe, when he was older, he would be able to help Mom, when he was ten, or twelve, or sixteen. He could sit mom down, tell her it was all going to be okay while he took up the broom and caved the god-forsaken thing’s skull in. But he was eight, and his hands were small and the broom was too heavy.

He was useless really. Mom was right to hate him, it was his fault she was suffering like this.

Mom kept screaming as more bangs rang throughout the cabin.

Lucas felt the bed dip near him. He didn’t bother looking up.

“Lucas” the thing that had climbed in his window cooed to him. Lucas was fairly sure he’d closed it earlier, something must have opened it. Maybe he could get some kind of lock?

“Lucas,” the creature continued to hum as it slithered closer to him, finally coming to rest in the small space between Lucas’ back and the bedroom wall.

“What?” Lucas asked as he continued to read.

“Aren’t you tired Lucas?” the creature asked.

Lucas frowned at that as he finally looked up and over his shoulder at the creature, they didn’t usually talk this much. Just cooed and hummed and screamed his name while they tried to drag him away or tear him to pieces.

The thing was pale, its skin was white and sort of translucent, Lucas was fairly sure he could see whatever counted as muscles the thing had. It sort of reminded Lucas of a squid or that weird blobfish thing he’d seen on TV one time. It looked soft and sort of slimy, its seven eyes were beady and as pitch black as its side-ways mouth with rows of sharp, needle-like teeth.

Lucas’ frown deepened, not the weirdest or scariest looking monster he’d seen, but he really didn’t like how close it was. He didn’t want it getting slime all over him. “What do you mean? It’s the middle of the day.”

“No Lucas,” the creature whispered. “You don’t run anymore, you don’t scream or call out to your mother or even cry when you see us. You’re tired.”

Lucas turned back around to look at the book in his lap, “It’s exhausting. Not like it does anything anyway.”

“Yes Lucas,” the thing hummed in delight. “Don’t you want it to stop?”

“Obviously,” Lucas turned the page carefully, it was so thin the light from the window shown through it and the book itself was old. Lucas didn’t want to rip it.

“We can make it stop, you can make it stop. Don’t you want your mother to not have to suffer anymore?” the creature cooed into Lucas’ ear.

Lucas sat still, frozen for a moment, his hand still turning the page as silence fell between the both of them. His mom kept screaming downstairs.

“How?” Lucas asked as he finally resumed his movement and finished turning the page.

“Come with me Lucas, there's a place I can take you, and it’ll all be over.”

“Why do I have to go anywhere?” Lucas glanced back at the thing, “I just want you and your friends to stop coming here.”

“Because Lucas, you have to die,” the creature told him and Lucas tensed.

“Why?” Lucas scowled, “I thought you said you were going to stop and now you’re saying you’re going to kill me?”

“I’m sorry Lucas, but there is no way out of this where you live,” the creature spoke, its voice a mockery of sympathy. “You must die, but your mother will live. Your mother will be free and happy, don’t you want that Lucas? Neither of you will suffer anymore.”

Lucas brought his thumb up to his mouth and slotted his fingernail between his teeth, “ ‘Wherefore let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well doing, as unto a faithful Creator’, “ Lucas mumbled, “Peter 4:19.”

“What?’ the creature asked.

“S’the bible,” Lucas took his thumb from his mouth as he blankly stared at the floor ahead of him. He closed the book and lifted it to show the creature his worn copy of the Bible. He’d read it more times then he could count, it was one of the only things he had.

“...Right,” the creature nodded, “Do you believe in heaven?”

“I don’t know,” Lucas admitted, “It’s nice to think about. That after this I’ll get to go to heaven with Mom, and everything will be okay.”

“Then why don’t we take you there a bit sooner,” the creature hummed. “Why wait and suffer as you do? When you can go to that wonderful place now and wait for your mother to join you?”

“I don’t want to go to Hell,” Lucas admitted as he held his Bible.

“Why would you go to Hell?” the monster asked, “You are blameless and without sin in this situation. Besides, I doubt children go to hell.”

Lucas shook his head, “Babies go to hell all the time, that's what the Bible said. If i kill myself I’ll go to hell, besides I’m not even baptised.”

The creature seemed to flounder at that, “We… We can baptize you on the way?”

“But it won’t matter if I kill myself,” Lucas bit his finger nail again, “ ‘And call upon me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and though shalt glorify me.’ Psalm 50:15.”

“We’ll kill you Lucas,” the creature assured him, “that isn’t suicide.”

“Yes it is,” Lucas hunched in on himself, “Because I’ll be going with you willingly! If I go with you I’m willing! And if I’m willing it’s suicide and I’ll go to Hell!” Lucas gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to go to Hell. He really, really didn’t want to go to Hell. That was his worst nightmare. He wasn’t even sure if he believed Hell existed honestly, but even just the concept of it scared him so deeply he didn’t want to risk it, not even for a moment.

Because if this was what life was like, what was hell going to be like?

The creature fell silent at that and the sound of his mother’s struggles with the monster down stairs finally ended.

“We’ll give you some time to think about it Lucas, the offer is still on the table, if it ever becomes too much. We’ll make sure you are baptized on the way to your final resting place,” the creature finally replied.

Lucas didn’t look as it slithered out the window.

-----------------------

Mom was sick, she could barely get off the couch most days and Lucas was fairly sure she’d stopped trying. Lucas made his way over to her with the scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice he’d put together. He was good at using the stove and hardly ever burned himself.

Mom glared at him as he handed her the tray, her gaze was distant and full of hate and disgust. Lucas tilted his head down, hoping maybe if she didn’t have to see his face as clearly she wouldn’t be as upset about it.

“You’re a curse Lucas,” she hissed as she stabbed the eggs too hard. “This is all your fault. None of this shit happened untill you were born.”

“I’m sorry mom,” Lucas told her as he worried the hem of his shirt.

That only seemed to make Mom more upset, “You’re sorry? You’re sorry?! What the hell does sorry do for me, huh? Will you being sorry make the monsters leave me alone?!”

“No,” Lucas wilted further.

“Then what use are you? Huh! Tell me what use you are!” Mom raged at him.

“I’m not,” Lucas stared at the ground, “I-”

“Get out of my face you god damn brat,” she hissed at him as she turned her attention back to her food.

Lucas quickly padded away from his mom and up the staircase, muttering to himself over and over “ ‘This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles.’ Psalm 34:6.”

God did not hear him. God did not save him from his troubles.

Maybe God wasn’t real, or maybe Mom was right, and God had damned him after all.

-----------------

When Lucas walked down the stairs, ready to make Mom her breakfast, only to find her dead on the couch, he couldn’t even manage to find it in himself to be surprised. He didn’t know how she died, probably the illness, but at least her face looked peaceful.

She likely didn’t feel any pain, and that was something Lucas could feel grateful for.

“She’s in heaven now,” the same creature from before spoke from where it sat in the sliding glass doorway next to the couch with Mom’s body on it.

“If it exists,” Lucas agreed.

“Don’t you want to join her?” the creature asked.

“Yes.”

“Then come with me,” the creature extended one of its tentacles with its deformed and boneless hands at the end. “We can reunite you with your mother Lucas.”

Lucas looked at his mother’s peaceful face and shook his head, “If I go with you, I’ll never see her again.”

The creature sighed, “Then we’ll give you more time then. But don’t wait too long Lucas, starvation is an awful way to go.”

Lucas kept his eyes on his mother as the creature once more slithered out of his home. She was gone. Mom was dead and gone and maybe in heaven with God, if they existed. It was a nice thought, that there was a Heaven and a God that would make sure to deliver him from his troubles, that would ensure everything would be okay at the end. But Lucas wasn’t sure of anything, how could he be? He didn’t understand anything, not really.

There was only thing he was sure of, and that's that he couldn’t just leave Mom here, she deserved better than rotting on the couch.

It took the better part of an hour to find and drag the shovel from the rickety shed in the backyard and then use it to start digging the hole. Lucas was pretty sure he heard that graves needed to be six feet deep, but he wasn’t exactly sure how deep it was. He didn’t have a ruler, and he wasn’t sure where to find one, so he decided to just dig the hole a little deeper than he was tall.

It took hours as the sun crept along the sky and soon to be grave dirt coated his clothes and skin. The monsters didn’t help or hinder, just silently watched him from behind the trees and even one was perched on the roof, staring down at him. He ignored them, the shovel was too heavy to use as a weapon and there were a lot of them.

Lucas huffed and gasped and grunted and recited bible verses under his breath as he dug. It was exhausting, and by the end he was about ready to collapse from exertion as he sat at the edge of the shoddy grave, his feet dangling into the hole.

He liad back for a moment, catching his breath and staring absently into the bright blue sky, watching as puffy white clouds drifted by aimlessly. It felt weird. His mom was dead, and yet it was nice outside. Nice puffy clouds and bright blue sky, he’d seen the same clouds in those paintings with happy people at the beach or on a picnic or kissing in big dresses.

Today wasn’t a happy day, didn’t the world know his mom was dead?

Lucas didn’t understand anything, he knew it was probably because he was a very very stupid boy, but it didn’t change anything.

His legs were dangling in his mom’s grave and the world was happily chirping along. Maybe if he had gone with the monsters mom would be alive right now. But she isn’t. She’s dead, and there's no bringing her back.

Lucas wouldn’t want to even if he could.

He sat back up, there was nothing to do but sit back up really, and he carefully made his way back inside. He hesitated at the doorway, he was a mess, covered in dirt and roots and sweat. Mom would be upset if he made the house all messy.

Right. Mom’s dead.

He took his shoes off anyway.

As carefully as he could he pulled his mom off the couch and gasped as she tumbled to the floor in a heap. He winced as his hand fluttered about and a low whine escaped his throat.

“Ah, s-sorry mom, I just need to get you to your grave,” he fretted as he grabbed her arm and started to pull.

He was weak, but mom had wasted away long before she’d died. It took a long, long time of heaving and pulling and moving only tiny little bits, but he finally managed to pull her out of the house and to her final resting place.

He wished he was big and strong, he wished he could lower her into her grave properly, but all he could really manage was bracing his legs against the ground and pushing her with all his might until she rolled into the dirt hole he’d dug for her.

It was clumsy and far less than she deserved and Lucas knew he was a bad son for doing it and so many more things, but it was all he could offer her now.

Lucas stood on shaking legs at his mother’s corpse laid in the dirt. Lucas sucked in a breath and tried to stay strong, tried to be strong, tried to me anything beside the weak, useless thing he was. But as tears began to roll down his cheeks, too many and too large for him to wipe away he couldn’t help but cry out for his mother.

“Mom, I’m s-sorry,” Lucas wept, “I’m sorry I was bad, that I couldn’t be better. I tried, I really did! I know it’s not… I know it doesn't matter because it didn’t work, because I was still bad, but I love you. I love you so much and I hope you’re happy in heaven.”

Lucas ran inside and knew he was failing his mom once more by failing to properly put her to rest.

-------------------

The pale squid monster was right, starvation was really awful.

It had been around a month now since mom had died, her body laid properly to rest with a shabby bundle of tied sticks marking her grave. It was less than she deserved but Lucas didn’t know how to make a proper grave stone and he was too tired and weak to grab a big rock.

Everything hurt.

It hurt when he moved, it still hurt when he lied down and kept still. He’s been trying to ration his food out, that's what the people on TV did when they went camping. This was kinda like camping, right? Just instead of a tent he had the cabin and instead of a few days it was a few weeks.

It would be okay. He’d figure something out.

Anything less was suicide.

He knew the way back to town. Well, sort of. He knew the road that led away from the cabin would eventually lead him back to town since it was just the one road and there weren’t any splits or anything like that. So if he followed the road he’d get back to town.

That was something he figured out almost immediately, what he was stuck on was how he was going to actually get there.

He couldn’t drive and he couldn’t call anyone to come get him, mom had broken the spinny phone throwing it at a monster and the plastic had broken apart. That left walking which… Lucas really didn’t want to do.

The monsters had been surprisingly idle for the past month. Squid came by every day to ask if Lucas was ready to come with it yet, and everyday Lucas refused. Lucas didn’t really understand much but, if he was smarter, he might have said the thing was starting to look nervous, or at least an imitation of it.

Lucas could only guess that meant he was going to starve to death soon, but Lucas wasn’t sure why that made the squid nervous since it wanted him dead anyway, so what does the method or place matter?

Then again, Lucas didn’t really understand much of anything, so he was probably wrong.

But regardless, the monsters hadn’t really bothered him, just leaving him alone to slowly starve to death in peace, or what Lucas could count as peace.

Lucas got the distinct impression that leaving the house and starting along the road would very quickly end that peace however. The monsters’ soulless eyes stared at him from the treeline and Lucas knew that if he came close, they’d snatch him up and take him by force wherever Squid wanted him to go.

But he couldn’t do that, because if he willingly went over to them knowing they’d snatch him up, then it’d be just as bad as if he decided to go with Squid.

He just had… He just had to figure out how to get to town safely. Soon, preferably.

He was… He was really hungry.

----

Lucas watched as the sun finally set over the tops of the trees, the long shadows finally bridging the long gap of the backyard and reaching the back of the cabin. Lucas was nearly out of food, only a sparse few bags of chips and frozen bags of vegetables left, but that wasn’t what Lucas was worried about at the moment.

Squid had looked pleased this morning, smug even, if Lucas was interpreting it’s expressions right. He probably wasn’t, he wasn’t very smart and he didn’t really understand much. Lucas didn’t really understand why it was so pleased.

But then he saw it, and he understood.

What lurked beyond the trees, staring at the house since the late afternoon was by far the largest monster he’d ever seen. It was larger than mom’s van with pure white fur and red eyes that seemed to stare directly into Lucas’ soul even from the distance between them.

Lucas swallowed hard and hid the first time he saw it, making sure he wasn’t in sight of any of the windows as he trembled in terror.

Something about that thing was different to the rest, and that difference sparked the terror Lucas was so sure had long died back into an inferno. This thing wasn’t normal, not even by monster standards, that much was obvious just by looking at it. The way it moved, the way it stared, the way Lucas got the distinct feeling it was waiting patiently for… something.

That thing was smart.

Squid was able to fake being smart pretty well since it could talk, but it wasn’t really, Lucas got the feeling it was just being told what to say by something else. Then again, Lucas didn’t understand much, so he was probably wrong.

But the large White creature, with its wolf-like face and large clawed front arms, that thing Lucas knew deep down in his soul was actually smart, much smarter than he was.

It was going to take him away, and with its size Lucas would be powerless to stop it.

But he had to try, anything less would be suicide.

So as the shadows finally touched the house he retrieved his final defense from the kitchen cabinet.

Mom, when she was still mom, always wanted him not to play with fire. Fire was dangerous and could burn you badly, even kill you. Lucas had always kept her words in mind, he always kept everything his real mom told him in mind, and had been very careful with fire and the stove. He wanted to be a good son.

Now, he was going to be a very bad son.

He reached into the cabinet and pulled out the gasoline canister and match book he’d left in there when he’d found it two weeks ago. He wasn’t sure how well fire would do against that thing, but it was covered in fur, so Lucas figured it would at least slow the creature down, hopefully long enough for Lucas to escape.

If not, then, at least he tried.

Lucas peaked out the sliding glass door, making sure to hold the canister and matches out of sight of the glass.

The thing was walking across the backyard.

Lucas felt his heart pound in his chest as he practically jumped out of view. It was show time it seemed. Lucas backed away from the door, his eyes locked on the glass as he fumbled with the canister lid. He’d pour the gasoline on the carpet between them, then set it on fire, then he’d use the fire as a distraction and he’d climb out the kitchen window behind him.

He could- He could do this.

Lucas tensed as a large shadow loomed from behind the glassdoor and Lucas prepared himself for the glass to shatter. He’d need to be quick, the thing probably wasn’t very fast, but neither was Lucas.

But then, to Lucas' shock and mild horror, the glass door began to smoothly slide open as the creature used one massive claw to open the door. Lucas froze in shock as the large clawed hand, covered in white fur with four fingers and a thumb gingerly pressed down into the carpet before it, the creature's head following quickly after.

Surprise and confusion locked Lucas’ body in place as the figure’s form seemed to almost bend and contort in a way that looked almost natural as it shrunk in order to fit through the door, comfortably fitting in Lucas’ living room even as it towered over him. But what most confused Lucas and stopped him from acting was the expression on the things’ face.

Lucas imagined that the thing would be snarling and growling at him, or maybe smiling and cackling as it tormented Lucas and prevented his escape. But no, the thing’s face seemed completely calm, even neutral as its bright crimson eyes stared at Lucas, cold and calculating.

Lucas gripped his canister tighter as he shakily lifted it up in front of him, “D-Don’t move.”

The creature stopped moving, silently staring down at him, frozen in place as it sat in front of him.

Lucas trembled, “I… I’m going to, ah, I’m going to leave now. Don’t… Don’t follow me, or, or I’ll set you on fire!”

“That’s a good idea,” the creature hummed and Lucas felt his mind catch alight. The creature’s mouth didn’t move as it spoke, and yet he could hear the thing’s unnaturally deep voice echoing off the walls of his mind. Lucas felt his breath catch in his throat at the sound.

“The fire, that is,” it continued, “Fire is usually a safe bet for trying to kill something you don’t understand, it certainly helped out all the humans the first time.”

“The… first time?” Lucas asked.

The monster lifted its massive hand and waved it dismissively, “Don’t worry about it kid.”

“I- I said don’t move!” Lucas thrust the canister in front of him. The creature looked down at him, its eyebrows lifting in surprise for a second, before a smile tugged at its jaw, its massive hand hanging limply, frozen, in the air.

“You did, didn’t you, sorry about that,” the creature hummed, though Lucas felt like it didn’t sound very sorry.

“I’ll do it!” Lucas told him.

“Can you?” the creature tilted its head.

“Yes!”

The creature leaned for just a little, “Are you extremely sure you can manage it at this point?”

“I-” Lucas opened his mouth to insist that, yes, he could! And he would! But he was immediately cut off by a burst of movement to his right.

Faster than Lucas could even blink, the creature raised its left hand and brought it down on the couch next to Lucas, smashing it to pieces in an instant. Lucas gasped and cowered as wood and fabric and stuffing erupted from right next to him. His breath caught in his throat as he lifted his arms on instinct to try and protect his face and neck, gasoline splashing on the carpet, himself and a bit on the match box he held in his other hand.

He tensed, waiting for the pain of the impact, but it never came. He cracked open his eyes and looked to the couch, only to see a wall of pure white. His eyes looked back up to the creature and he saw that, while the creature had smashed the couch with his left hand, he’d put his left between Lucas and the destruction to shield him.

Lucas stared at the thing and its smiling face, his heart jack-rabbiting in his chest.

“You see,” the creature sighed as he gingerly brought his hands back down in front of him, resting all four limbs where before he’d been standing on his hind legs, its paws balancing it. “The smart part of your plan was the fire,” it continued.

“Fire actually would give me some trouble, not enough to really harm me in any meaningful way, but it would buy you a few seconds. Buuuut, you should have poured the gas while I was walking across the lawn, that way all you needed to do was light it when I got there. Pouring the gas takes way too long to do it when I’m this close. Tough luck kiddo.”

“A- Ah,” Lucas wilted.

“Now, gimmie the matches kid, you’ve got gas all over them, if you light them now you’ll just set yourself on fire. Which I assume isn’t something you want to do,” the creature hummed as it gingerly lifted its massive hand and reached for the match book.

“No!” Lucas shouted.

The creature stopped, then tilted its head and raised an eyebrow, “No?”

“I’m not-!” Lucas stared up at the thing, “I won’t just let you kill me, or take me, or whatever!”

He dropped the canister and took one of the matches from the book. The creature tensed as gasoline spilled across the floor around them, the liquid rapidly draining from the canister.

“So I’ll get a bit burnt!” Lucas gritted his teeth, “That’s okay, I doubt I’d ever manage to get away from you unscathed anyway. But you’ll get burnt too! I’ll run away and put the fire out, then I’ll keep running until it’s all over. I won’t go willingly!”

The creature stared down at him, tense and wide-eyed. Then a low grumble began to emanate from its chest. Lucas tensed, anticipating the rumble to grow into a growl, ready to light and drop the match and run as the creature finally lost its patience and snapped him up in its jaws.

But, much to Lucas’ surprise the creature burst out in loud, explosive laughter. The creature lifted its hand to its face as tears leaked down its face and its laughter echoed off the walls inside Lucas’ mind and the very real walls of the cabin.

“I’m really starting to like you kid,” the monster laughed, “that bull-headed desire to live you have is actually quite endearing, it’s also gonna be very very helpful in what’s to come.”

“W-What’s to come?” Lucas deflated slightly as confusion once more took over.

“This is just the beginning kiddo, now, stay put for a second, I’ve got something I need to do,” the creature grinned down at Lucas, its eyes twinkling.

“Does…” Lucas swallowed hard, “Are you not going to kill me?”

The creature chuckled, “No Lucas, I’m not going to kill you, or take you away. Well, actually I am going to do that, but not to where the others want you to go.”

“Then where-”

“Shhh,” the creature hushed him as it brought a massive claw to Lucas’ lips, its talon the length of his face pressing gently against him. “Just hang tight for a minute for me.”

Lucas blinked in confusion and surprise at the creature then plucked the matchbook from his limp fingers and turned to the door, “I’ll just be a moment.”

Then, it barrelled outside, the force of its movement pushing Lucas the wet carpet, more gasoline soaking into his pants and covering his hands. Lucas wrinkled his nose as the fumes intensified and his eyes watered at the horrible smell.

He stood on wobbly legs, gas fumes, confusion, hunger, and retreating adrenaline causing his mind to grow fuzzy and disconnected. He carefully made his way to the stairs and gripped the handrail tightly as he stumbled his way up the stairs.

The monster told him to stay put, but Lucas assumed that meant to stay inside the cabin and opposed to standing right where he was before. Then again, he could be wrong and the creature would change its mind and gut him when it came back.

Lucas looked back down the stairs. Well, too late now.

He continued into his room and quickly changed his shirt and pants, throwing the gasoline soaked clothes into the tub and he then started scrubbing his hands in the sink until the awful smell went away.

As he left the bathroom, feeling a little better, he spotted the chocolate bar he’d left on his bedside table for a special occasion. Well, he figured this was as special an occasion as any. He crawled up onto his bed and crossed his legs as he unwrapped the chocolate bar and took a bite.

It was good, really really good, much better than anything he’d had in a long long time, and Lucas wasn’t sure if that taste was due to just the chocolate itself, or the fact that he’d just survived something that should have been impossible. Still, just the taste of it made Lucas feel so much better as he slumped against the wall.

“Oh, you’ve got some candy,” the creature’s voice erupted in his mind, causing Lucas’s eyes to shoot to the door, only to find it empty. Then he heard the window begin to slide open. He turned to stare at the window and found the massive creature carefully sliding it open, then once more shrinking to get inside.

Lucas was hypnotized, watching the creature shrink down to just larger than his mom had been, then grow to a hulking size that left its head resting against the ceiling. The transformations took a few seconds from one size to the next, but just the fact it was able to do it at all mesmerized Lucas.

That and the fact that its fur had turned from a pure white to a deep crimson red, stained in blood.

Lucas gulped.

“Alright, now that all the idiots are dead, we can discuss a bit more what’s going to happen now,” the creature announced.

“The… idiots?” Lucas asked.

The monster once more waved its massive hand dismissively, “all those other monsters hanging out by the treeline, waiting for me to get down with the dirty work they were unable to complete. Though at this point that’s more on you then on them really…”

“I’m sorry?” Lucas asked, unsure if he should apologize or not.

The creature chuckled and shook its head, “Don’t apologize for not wanting to die, kid. You see, their job was to convince you to let them kill you, it’s a whole thing. Anyway, they failed miserably at that because you’re a little fighter, ain’t ya?” the creature grinned as it brought down the heel of its massive hand and rubbed the top of Lucas’ head, messing up his hair and staining it with blood.

“I guess?” Lucas frowned, looking up at the monster.

“That's a good thing, by the way. A very very good thing, because now, our mission is to keep you alive, and your obstinate refusal to die is going to be a major asset to this cause since they can’t kill you unless you want to die.”

“O-obstinate?” Lucas asked, dozens of questions rolling around in his head.

”It means you’re very stubborn,” the monster clarified.

Lucas nodded slowly, “I… I’m not very smart-”

“Yes you are,” the creature cut him off. “You’re ignorant, sure, but that’s not the same as unintelligent. Ignorance you can fix, stupidity you can’t.”

“I…” Lucas wasn’t sure he quite believed that. Mom and the monsters had always told him he was stupid, and they couldn’t all be wrong. “Still, I don’t understand… anything.”

“That’s alright,” the creature reassured him, “there will be more time to talk about this later, for now all you need to know is that you don’t want to die, and I don’t want you to die either, so I’m going to help you. Now, don’t be mistaken, I do find you quite endearing, but I’m doing this for purely selfish reasons, understand?”

“I think so?” Lucas nodded, “We both want me to live because its good for us if I’m alive?”

“Exactly,” the creature messed up his hair some more despite Lucas trying to dodge out of the way, “I told you you were smart. Now, I’m going to hop inside your mind now.”

“W-What?!” Lucas exclaimed as his back hit the wall, instinctively trying to get away from the monster.

“Yes,” the thing nodded, “You see, despite my hulking appearance, I’m actually quite sly. The main thing I can actually do, aside from kick ass and adjust my appearance to an extent, is that I’m able to possess people. That’s actually the reason they asked me to come talk to you in the first place. I’m very good at possessing people and then psychologically, emotionally, and physically torturing them. They figured if I worked my magic on you, you’d crack like an egg.”

“I don’t understand,” Lucas leaned a bit further away, “What’s torture? And I don’t know what psyc- physco-” Lucas scowled as he tried to pronounce the word.

“Psychological,” the creature supplied, “it refers to a person's state of mind. Kinda like how emotional relates to someone's emotions and physical is someone’s body. As for torture, it means making someone feel pain.”

“So you were sent here to hurt me,” Lucas nodded to himself.

The creature smiled, “But you already knew that. See? Smart. You didn’t know the specifics, but you understood the general situation and came up with a plan to try and get out of it. What a cute, smart little boy you are,” the monster cooed as it continued to mess up his hair.

“But you’re not going to, right?” Lucas asked.

“Nope.”

Lucas then scowled, “But you said you were going to possess me, that’s torturing me.”

The creature blinked at him as Lucas’ words processed in his mind, then he grinned and began to laugh once more, “Ah! I see where the- No no, possessing you won’t hurt you kid. I can hurt you once I’m inside your head, but I don’t, like, have to.”

“Oh…”

The creature nodded, “Once I’m inside your head, I can help you get away from the monsters, okay?”

Lucas looked at it warily, “...and you promise not to hurt me?”

“Cross my heart,” the creature made an X-motion over his chest.

Lucas swallowed hard as he looked down at the chocolate bar in his hand. This could be a really really bad idea. He could let this creature in and it could do all number of terrible things to him, it could rip him to pieces from the inside out and Lucas would be helpless to stop it. Yet, it could also be his one chance at escape, his one hope of salvation in this god-forsaken place.

Maybe, just maybe, he could live.

Lucas looked back up at the creature’s shining white and red fur and muttered under his breath, “‘And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not,’ John 1:5.”

“What was that?” the creature asked.

“The Bible,” Lucas replied. “And, okay. Do it.”

The creature tilted his head, regarding him for a moment before it smiled. “Lay back for me, would you, and close your eyes.”

Lucas tentatively laid back and after a moment of staring at the pale wolf covered in blood looming over him, he closed his eyes.

This wasn’t suicide, he decided. It was hope.

---------------------

When Lucas woke up, he wasn’t in bed. Instead he woke up in a dark gray void, seemingly devoid of all life. He looked around and found nothing, just the dark gray dusted ground and the slightly lighter gray featureless sky.

“Ah,” Lucas deflated, “I’m in hell.”

“Not quite kiddo,” a familiar voice announced from behind him.

Lucas spun around to face the creature, only to find its voice wasn’t the only thing about that that had changed. Now, instead of its voice echoing around in his mind with an inhuman rumbling depth to it, it sounded much more like a regular human man’s voice.

It also looked human to.

The monster stared down at where he sat, looking almost indistinguishable from a regular human. It stood above him with the pale, almost pure white skin and white hair so light it seemed to glow hanging messily just over his shoulders. His eyes were the same glowing crimson and his teeth were sharp when he smiled. He didn’t look like anyone Lucas had ever seen before, though he’d not really met many people, but Lucas was fairly sure he’d seen people that looked like the creature on TV, smiling and laughing with other beautiful people.

“Though,” he continued, “I will grant you the comparison, I mean, wow kid, this is hands down the most depressing mind I’ve ever been in. Can’t you, like, imagine some flowers or something?”

Their surroundings remained stagnant.

The monster sighed, “Ah well, not quite sure what I expected really.”

“So,” Lucas looked around, “We’re inside my head?”

“I mean, technically you’ve always been in here kiddo, I’m just hitching a ride” the monster crouched down and ruffled his hair again, now with his new human hand. Lucas scowled as he swatted it away, nearly cutting himself on the monster’s long and very sharp nails.

“Ooooooh, testy testy,” the creature laughed as it continued to try and pet Lucas’ hair.

“Why do you look like a person?” Lucas asked as he continued to battle the monster’s hands for rights over his head.

“Figured it would make you more comfortable, which it has so I was right,” the creature finally relented, rolling back and sitting cross-legged in front of him.

Lucas scowled, but couldn’t argue. It was easier talking to the thing when it looked like a person as opposed to the giant hulking creature. He was still intimidating looking with his red eyes, muscular body and sharp white nails, but less so.

“So, I’m asleep?” Lucas asked.

“Bingo again,” the monster grinned, “Your body is very weak, but we can fix that.”

“And we’re going to be… together for a while?” Lucas asked.

“At least two years,” the monster hummed, “We’ll see what happens after that.”

“Okay,” Lucas nodded, not sure why he specified two years, “So, um, what should I call you then?”

The monster gave him a huge grin, his eyes twinkling mischievously, “You could try my name.”

“You have a name?”

“Wow!” The creature put a hand to his chest, “That’s very rude! Yes I have a name you twerp.”

“Twerp?”

“It means you’re a little brat,” the monster laughed. “But for your information, my name is Æthane.”

“Æthane?” Lucas asked.

“Sure is, but I suppose as I’ll be looking after you from now on you can just call me your new daddy,” Æthane smirked.

Lucas wasn’t sure what face he made but it must have been amusing because Æthane almost immediately tilted his head back in howling laughter.

“You’re too much kiddo I swear,” he grinned, “Something tells me we’re gonna get along just fine for the duration of our time together.”

Lucas really hoped so.

Not like he had a choice.

9 notes · View notes

marleysfinest · 2 months

Text

In a little, beat-up diner tucked off the main thoroughfare in Kansas City, two exhausted bandmates nursed their meals in silence. Reiner had to hold back from inhaling his fried ravioli, keen not to look like an animal, and Marley did the same with her sweet pancakes. They’d been tipped off about this little 24-hour diner by Marley’s assistant, Molly, who assured them that they’d be able to sit in peace if they so wished rather than be mobbed by fans after the show, and so far, she’d been right. It’d been a good show and as usual, they were tired, but while they’d usually have hung around backstage for some food, Reiner and Marley had decided to bite the bullet and sneak away for a quick bite to eat before returning to their buses ready to head off on the road again in the morning. They were both acutely aware that the US leg of the tour was coming to an end and, although neither had been brave enough to voice what they were feeling, they knew that they wanted to make the most of this time left together before the break in the tour, post-Chicago.

Once Reiner finished his meal, he sat back, feeling more human with every passing minute. He mopped around his mouth with his napkin, before discarding it on his empty plate.

“You made short work of that,” Marley commented, stabbing the raspberries on her plate with her fork. Reiner felt himself blush.

“I was hungry…”

Marley huffed a laugh as she used a slice of pancake to mop up her remaining maple syrup.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious,” she said, “you just didn’t say anything for like, ten whole minutes. I’m impressed.”

Reiner folded his arms across his chest as he relaxed against the cool leather of the booth, watching Marley keenly as she finished her meal.

“Impressive?” he asked, “why?”

Marley shrugged. “I dunno, you just… like to talk, I guess.”

It wasn’t something Reiner had ever heard about himself before, indeed it was very much the opposite. He didn’t go fishing for compliments or comments, but when he’d been offered them they were almost always about how reserved he was despite his on-stage persona. He didn’t think he talked all that much.

“I mean, I can tone it down…”

“No!” interrupted Marley, breaking into a giggle, “no! Ignore me, forget I said anything.”

“No, no, your feedback has been taken on board. You’ve got the floor. Pick a topic.”

Marley ran her fingers through her hair and let out a laugh, regretting having said anything to begin with.

“I’m serious!” Reiner pushed, “c’mon, let’s do this. What do you wanna talk about?”

Marley rested her elbows on the table and covered her face, feeling embarrassed that she’d inadvertently turned the spotlight onto herself. Reiner watched gleefully as her cheeks blushed pink, waiting for the ground to swallow her whole. After gathering herself a few seconds later, she sat back in her seat, mirroring him.

“OK… What’s your favourite colour?”

Reiner had barely registered the question as he burst into fits of laughter, caught off guard by the arguably childish question. Why had it made him laugh so much? Marley couldn’t help but join in, and before long both of them were almost doubled over with tears welling in their eyes, doing their utmost best not to bring up every scrap of food they’d just consumed.

“What’s my favourite colour?” Reiner asked eventually, once he’d composed himself enough to speak. “How old are you?”

He could barely finish the question without laughing again. Marley had descended into subsonic laughter, the fact she was laughing at all only evident by her jolting shoulders and occasional, sharp intakes of air. It wasn’t uncommon for the pair, these sudden bouts of uncontrollable laughter that, to an innocent onlooker, might appear unhinged, but they’d simply found a sort of comfort in one another that meant they were both primed to be undone at a moment’s notice. Usually, it came in the form of giggling like schoolchildren.

Reiner had a past, of course, with socialite Historia Reiss, whom he’d loved without question, but theirs was a different kind of love. He doted on her and cared for her, found her breathtakingly pretty and was deeply attracted to her kindness, but something was missing, something unknown but something crucial. When they’d amicably ended their relationship it was as if a weight lifted from his shoulders, which riddled him with grief for a short while - he was deeply conflicted and confused as to why he felt glad to be apart from someone who’d been so good to him. But there was no denying it - he’d been looking for freedom for a while, he just hadn’t realised it. Being on the road with MMB, with Marley, had opened Reiner’s eyes as to just what that crucial thing had been. His eyes had been opened, but it didn’t necessarily mean he’d seen it.

Marley’s romantic history was perhaps more fleeting than Reiner’s. She’d had a handful of romantic partners but none that had stuck. Following MMB’s rise to fame, she’d retreated behind the safe barriers of her bandmates, becoming overly cautious over the intentions of others following an encounter with a seemingly well-intentioned man who’d ended up rifling through her underwear drawer in the small hours. She liked to don a stony exterior and act as her bandmates’ protector, but beneath her solid stature she craved companionship. Romance. Love. By looking out for her sisters she’d inadvertently put her search on hold, until a certain drummer caught her eye.

Marley wiped the tears from her eyes as her laughter eased, looking up to see Reiner do the same.

“You asked me to pick a topic!” she argued.

“And your go-to was to ask me my favourite colour?”

“I wanna know!”

“What if I don’t stop talking ever again and you never get a chance to ask another question? You’re gonna be happy that you wasted this one opportunity asking me what my favourite colour is?”

Marley took a deep breath to make sure she didn’t burst out laughing again, knowing that she was moments away from throwing up her pancakes. She didn’t even know why she’d asked the question.

She already knew that his favourite colour was red.

divider @/saradika

#they’re so DUMB help #reimar #reimar chronicles

7 notes · View notes

overlyimmersed · 11 months

Text

Ok! I've found a little down time! Let's talk about Elaine!

oof how do I do these again? It's been a little bit since the last one :p

Other wing analyses Dahlia Helbram Gloxinia Harlequin

So, a few days ago I made a post talking about the general structure and material of Fairy wings. In that post I went into how the vein structures of different Fairy's wings effect how the wings move. I was mostly focusing on Helbram, Harlequin and Gerheade in that post, mentioning Gloxinia and Elaine only passingly. That resulted in a strange error.

I assumed Elaine's wings were comparable to Harlequin and Gloxinia because I knew that had a butterfly-like appearance, and they do, but there's a glaring difference I overlooked.

Elaine's wings don't appear to have any veins at all.

Here are images from various media. The manga, the anime, art design for a grand cross outfit and two images from grand cross that I took myself. Is the second one I previewed a cosmetic I don't have to give her shorter hair so we can see her wings better.

The design is consistent across the board. Her wings don't have veins at all. I suppose it could be argues that the yellow part is the structure, so she'd have particularly thick veins essentially. Except that's not consistent with any other Fairy's design and, as you can see from the following image -which is part of grand cross' current title screen- the yellow part is just as transparent as the white parts.

It's a little tough to see but you can see her hair, butt and ankle through that closest wing.

Another oddity is that she only have the one set. Unlike an actual butterfly, or butterfly-winged Fairies like Gloxinia, who have an upper and lower set. That's consistent across all the images as well, the wings don't divide into upper and lower sets, each of the two wings is a single piece.

Her wings also clearly glow. We don't see this with any of the other named Fairies and I can't think of any background Fairies off the top of my head that have this effect either. There are instances in the anime where the entire Fairy is glowing, but never just the wings.

So in short, Elaine's wings are very weird, and basically break all the rules so I...am not super happy ):

It seems like Elaine's wings might just be 100% magic, rather then having any physical component at all. Which raises a lot of questions I don't know how to address. Maybe? Because she seems to be totally unique in this. I don't think any other Fairy we see in the whole series has wings anything like this. I don't know what that means either.

#seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #7ds #sds #nnt #7ds elaine #nnt elaine #7ds analysis #nnt analysis #7ds fairy #nnt fairy #so yeah don't know what to make of this #nice that I've started using visual aids though huh? :D #rather then just ranting in a wall of text #now there's pictures!#but this was all a pretty big claim so I wanted to make sure I could prove what I'm saying

22 notes · View notes

allycat319 · 6 months

Text

Unlikely Affection Chapter 14: Summer Beginnings

Authors Note: Hey everyone! I have the next chapter written out and I am really thinking about just posting it tomorrow because I think it is my favorite chapter of the story so far and I am incredibly impatient. What do we think? Post tomorrow or wait until next Monday?

The air at Hogwarts was heavy as the new day dawned. The realization that Cedric Diggory was dead and the Dark Lord was alive hit most of us like a train, there were still a fair few who refused to believe Harry, calling him all sorts of names and saying that he could have been the one to kill Cedric because “nobody was there but him.”

I passed him on the way out of the common room while I was heading to see Severus, he gave me a weak smile which I returned and placed my hand on his shoulder. We said nothing, but I think he understood that I believed him and supported him.

It was relatively early when I knocked on Severus’s office door. When he opened it, he looked as though he hadn't slept at all. His eyes were sunken and dark and his voice was tired and dull as we spoke about last night's events.

He was now leaning back in his chair, eyes closed while I rambled on about how people think Harry is a murderer and how horrifying Amos Diggory’s cries of agony were.

“Does Dumbledore have a plan?” That was definitely the wrong thing to ask because Severus’s eyes snapped open and he shot up from the chair and over to me, towering over my short frame.

“Do not even think, for one second that you will be a part of any of this.” He seethed through clenched teeth, I felt myself shrink as he glared down at me.

I held up my hands in defeat “I was just asking, I wasn’t signing up for anything Severus.”

He sighed and pulled me towards him, holding me tightly to his chest. “Please stay safe this summer, Little Star, and write often.” He whispered into my hair placing a soft kiss on the top of my head.

The next day it was time to say goodbye to Hogwarts and Severus for the summer. I stayed wrapped in his arms happily smothered in his kisses until it was time to walk down to the platform and board the train.

My Grandfather was waiting for me when we arrived at King’s Cross, I gave him a hug and he told me how excited Millie was for me to be coming home. We apparated to the front door where Millie was waiting on us with a large smile on her face, holding a large tray that held a cake with the words ‘Welcome Home’ scribbled across it in blue frosting.

She was a free elf, so to show that she was free she always wore dresses, usually over formal for whatever occasion she was dealing with at the moment but in our eyes, she served us long enough and deserved to feel beautiful. At the present moment, she was wearing a knee-length pink dress that had a large white bow tied in the back, it was one of her favorites.

She levitated the cake out of her hands when I knelt down to her level and hugged her tightly. “Millie! I missed you!” I said when I released her. She patted my cheek “It is very good to have Miss Aurora home safe.” I stood up and followed her inside and to the dining room where she placed the cake on the table.

“Thank you for the cake, I love it!” I smiled

“Vanilla and raspberry, Miss Aurora’s favorite.” She said proudly slicing into the cake and handing me a slice.

While I was greeting Millie, my grandfather had walked past us and directly to his study, closing the door behind him. Millie began to tell me how stressed he had been these last few weeks with the Murder of Barty Crouch which, I found out from Harry before I left Hogwarts that it was his son disguised as Professor Moody the entire time.

Millie and I talked for a while before I decided I wanted to go up to my room and unpack. Mainly that meant writing a letter to Severus telling him that I had arrived home safely;

Dearest Sir,

I wanted to write and let you know that I arrived home safely. My grandfather has returned to his studies to pour over everything that happened this year and try to come up with some kind of plan of action for the future.

I also wanted to tell you that I already miss you and I hope you have arrived home safely and are beginning to enjoy your summer away from children.

Your Little Star

I marked the envelope with a kiss and sent my great horned owl Noctus, flying to Severus.

After unpacking, I set off down the stairs to my grandfather's study. I knocked lightly and the door swung open. He was standing by the large hearth, staring into the fire with a glass of wine in his hand. My grandfather usually waited until I had been home for a day or two before resuming his habit of locking himself in his study for hours and hours, so I decided to make sure he was alright.

“Grandad, are you alright? You seem a bit… off.” I asked as I peeked in and even in the dimly lit room, you could make out the rows of bookshelves that lined the back wall of the room and his large ornate desk and plush wingbacked chair.

He gave me a forced smile, “Everything is fine, my dear. Not to worry.” He tried to seem cheerful but failed horribly. I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me, “Is he back?” I asked after a second, trying not to sound as frightened as I actually was. He sighed and placed his wine glass on the mantle over the hearth, walking over to me “It seems that is the case. The minister refuses to believe Mr. Potter, but I do.”

“Why would Minister Fudge not believe Harry?”

He shook his head, “Fear, Aurora…He is terrified and due to arrogance, he refuses to show it. This means he will be employing the Daily Prophet to write pieces of slander about Mr. Potter in order to make people question the legitimacy of his story.” He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed reassuringly, “I will be attending meetings every so often. I stood by Albus through the first war and I intend to do it again. However, You must not tell a soul any of this, do you understand?”

I nodded “Of course, Grandad.”

“That's enough of all this talk of war and fear. I’m sure there is a meal prepared for you in the dining hall. Go and eat.” He smiled and gestured towards the opened door, I agreed and walked to the dining room.

The next morning I awoke to a light tapping on my window, my owl had returned with a piece of parchment wrapped in his talons. I smiled and jumped out of bed, running to the window and grabbing rolled-up parchment, making sure to give Noctus a treat for his hard work.

My heart thudded in my chest as I flopped down on the bed and opened the letter;

My Sweet Little Star,

I am happy that you have made it home safely. My summer will consist of brewing in order to have enough supply for the school year, reading, and of course, missing you.

Please continue to stay safe and avoid danger at all costs. Iferous, I'm sure will think of something to keep you protected while you are with him.

Remember to enjoy the time with your grandfather.

Sir

It had only been a day since I saw him and I miss him terribly, our conversations, snuggles by the fire, and of course the sex. I have to get through a few months at Rosbell Manor with our annual summer gala thrown in the mix somewhere and then I will be able to return to Hogwarts and be with Severus again.

So for the next few weeks, I made the most of my time with Millie, Grandad, and Edwin when he decided to drop in and insist we go shopping in London dress robes and a new dress for the summer gala. Millie and I baked cakes and wandered the manor grounds talking about school and life. My Grandad spent most of his time in his study and at the meetings he attended every other week, but every evening he would have dinner with Millie and me.

I wrote to Severus often, we talked about his summer, the books we were reading, and how excited I was to get back to school…mainly to see him and of course the summer gala that I was dreading. Most of the ministry officials were going to attend, as well as some of my teachers and the Aurors. Severus of course said that I should be used to these types of events because I have been in attendance most of my life, which of course is true but I still dread every second of it.

Halfway through the summer, we began planning for the gala. Grandad and I would sit in his office and write out a list of people who would receive invitations and of course the menu. I usually handled the menu and the decorations because my he was hopeless at anything that required a creative eye.

On one of our planning days, I was sitting in my spot in his office, a comfy chair in the corner near the fireplace deciding where to put the dessert table when my grandfather's voice broke me out of my trance.

“Do you think I should invite Professor Snape? I invite him every year and every year he declines, maybe I should spare him the parchment and just not send one.” He shrugged his shoulders.

My heart skipped a beat at the mention of Severus being invited and I of course wanted to make sure he received an invitation.

“I think you should send one, maybe he will accept this year?” I tried to sound as uncaring as possible and he agreed that maybe this was the year.

#alan rickman #original character #severus snape #severus snape x oc #severus snape x reader #allycat writes #allycat319 #professor snape #fanfic

12 notes · View notes

unohanabbygirl · 7 months

Text

Thread on the hairstyles of everyone in FMN because why not?

Starting off strong (get it?) we have Jace who’ve I’ve granted grace and given a nice standard haircut. Anything too short is a no for him and mullets give the guy war flashbacks so this is his comfort look.

Out of all the Stark men his hair is the least curly, more wavy than anything but if he grew it out there would be a lot more bounce to it. Thankfully he’s kept up with the family tradition and decided to retain some nice length. Whenever Baela’s board she cornrows it just to see how red his scalp will turn from irritation.

One time she posted her work to twitter but made sure to let everyone know he’s legally biracial so it’s fine.

Next in we have baby Joffrey who’s hair is the curliest out of both his brothers plus Harwin. Its got some natural highlights and is very bouncy. The kid loves his hair even though he likes to act as if it’s whatever and hides the dozens of haircare products beneath the bathroom sink. He’s a shea-moister and curling cream junkie but don’t let him hear you say it because he’ll deny, deny, deny and insist his hair just looks like that fresh out of bed. Not his fault he’s gods favorite.

One time he posted a thirst trap to his story while his hair was wet as he was straight out of the shower because he finally added a girl he’d been crushing on to his close friends. Sadly, he forgot his sister’s were in his close friends as well which led to him getting screen shotted and made fun of 😔

Mama Rhaenyra! Ugh, her hair is everything, very reminiscent of the stereotypical 90’s bombshell. Think Anna Nicole Smith but Pamala Anderson whenever she goes for an updo.

Nyra keeps her hair around shoulder length but will grow it out a few inches in the winter/fall before going back to the salon to get some length cut off because she misses the bob. Loves hairspray like its her best friend and thinks dry shampoo is the holy grail of all hair products. The love this woman has for her hair was passed on through Joffrey and everyone knows it.

She’ll cry and be down in the dumps for the rest of the day if her salon trip leaves her with harsher layers than she wanted (me too babes, me too)

Rhaena said she was serving cunt once after getting some minor highlights + a blowout and hasn’t stopped smiling since.

Laena! What can I say? She’s a simple woman.

Her hair is always giving effortless but takes a bunch of time and heavy maintenance. Its the perfect combo between that messy running across the beach look while still very glamorous. She isn’t big on big brands or factory made products like some people… so her main hair care items are water based, all natural things like olive oil and rice water, and only applies heat every once in a blue moon. The last time an actual hair dryer ever touched her hair was when the twins were still in middle school.

Very simple woman when it comes to styles, likes a pretty low bun with a few strands pulled in front of her face and if she’s feeling adventurous will clip on a faux bang that she styled to match her hair since she’s too afraid to commit to cutting real ones. (Again, me too.)

Baela is my favorite because I’m a sucker for women with short hair. No woman has ever looked ugly with short hair and thats that.

Baela has never cared for long hair mainly because she’s a sports girl so its very hot. Plus she can’t keep a hair tie for shit, you could buy her a pack of 100 elastic hair ties and they’d all go missing in a month tops. Another reason she rather keep it shaved down is because its not as much hassle, however she’ll have her moments where she chooses to grow it out because she loves the 90’s Halle Berry and Nia Long vibe that comes with short hair on the longer side when its all styled up.

Currently her hair looks closer to the style on the left but will prob go back to something similar to the cut on the right soon.

Gonna make a part two and three because I can’t add more pictures 😭

16 notes · View notes

hislittleraincloud · 30 days

Text

(Mature, NC-17, Cairo Sweet/Jonathan Miller, Jairo, student-teacher, age gap, angst, language, sex/smut (Chapter 2 & 3 are the explicit ones), etc. This fic begins at the very end, where the film left off.)

Note: I'm publishing [this first chapter only] here in advance of its publication on AO3. I'm growing tired of the blackouts. I don't publish there often enough to not be affected. Just please, if you liked it, go to AO3 once it's published there for the blah blah. I'll let you know when it is. // I'm still working on Chapter 3, it's 90%. Homestretch. And yet I want more Jairo....

Summary: Judgement day in front of the school board has come, but Jonathan Miller had something more than a fancy lawyer to get him out of trouble. Can he and Cairo escape a dangerous situation and work out their differences? Maybe after some fancy bourbon and a cigarette. Or two.

Tags from AO3: Teacher-Student Relationship, age gap, Age Difference, Seduction, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Loss of Virginity, Mild Cock Worship, Mesophilia, Somnophilia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Fellatio, Cunnilingus, detailed sex, Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Literary References & Allusions, Literary Fucking, Consenting Adults, Erotica, Drama, Dramedy, Erotic Thriller, Fluff, Fluffy, Dialogue-Driven, narration, Southern Gothic, Canon Compliant, Miller's Girl, Definite Amber Heard references, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking

Chapter 1: If You Asked Me To

Opal County Board of Education

“I came.”

“That you did.”

Jon shook his head at her smirking satisfaction. “This…this is your last chance, Cairo. Last chance to come clean.”

“Have you come clean, Jonathan?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. I have come quite clean about your d —” he stopped himself with a frustrated sigh. It was hot enough outside without abandoning decorum (with his accuser, no less). “Your midterm and the circumstances around it. I'm just hopin’ against hope that in these last few minutes before this very public hearing, you will too.”

“It isn't public, is it?”

“It's public enough.” His eyes suddenly lifted to the attention of someone in the short distance beyond Cairo’s head, and he waved as the footsteps clacked up the stairs. “Speakin’ of hope.”

“Hey Mr. Miller!”

Cairo’s jaw clenched when she heard the sing-song voice of Winnie Black, but when she turned towards it, she was dumbstruck by how different Winnie looked: her usually untamed mane was combed back, the length of her long, bushy tresses held at bay with a baby pink hair band. Her light grey and pink argyle cardigan complemented her pleated knee-length skirt, which was far too tight on her curvy form. She looked like a completely different person, and if it weren't for the careless, open-mouthed way she gnawed on her gum—and her white faux fur tote bag that looked like a yeti’s nutsack—one might believe that she was.

She yelped as she almost fell into Jon, snagging the toe of her black Mary Janes on one of the steps.

He steadied her with his hand. “Oo, careful there —”

“I'm just so eager to help you that my feet got ahead of me,” she cooed, her trademark flirtatiousness as incapable of being contained as the breasts that were almost bursting through the white dress shirt underneath her sweater, which she pulled down and adjusted as she righted herself.

Jon spoke to her, but his gaze remained frozen on Cairo’s bitter countenance. “Okay, well don't — you don't wanna git yourself hurt now, Miss Black.”

“We sure wouldn't want that now, would we,” Cairo blurted, staring at Winnie’s profile. Her words cut fast like a bullet, killing the cordiality between Winnie and Jon instantly.

Winnie finally turned to acknowledge Cairo’s presence. A sly grin peeled across her lips as she checked her out from head to toe and back. “Well look who showed up lookin’ like her dog done stepped on a bee.”

Jon’s internal seismometer could feel the impending quake. Cairo’s eyes hadn't left Winnie’s face. He dipped his chin and picked up his bag, backing away. “I'll let you — I'll give you some space.”

“See you on the other side, Mr. Miller!”

Winnie snapped her gum as she watched him purse his lips and turn up the stairs, hopping up each step towards the doors. She languidly turned back to Cairo with a sigh, her judgmental eye scanning her former friend up and down.

“The preppy look don't suit you.”

“That suit don't suit you.”

“Looks like two can play at this little cosplay game, sweetheart.”

Cairo’s brow remained deeply furrowed. She could feel her breathing start to tighten. “What're you doing here?”

“I'm here to testify against you…like I told you I would.”

“And like I told you, your credibility —”

“What credibility? I haven't told any lies, Cairo. I may’ve flirted heavily with a teacher, that's my cross to bear. I've already written it all down, just like you did,” she said, sliding a manila folder out of her bag and holding it up, fanning herself with it. “I don't know Your Honor —”

“It's not in front of a judge, you —”

“I was just bein’ a lil’ aggressive with my platonic affections for Coach Fillmore,” she continued, uninterrupted and undeterred. “You see, young people can get a little crazy sometimes…,” her voice faltered. She looked down at Cairo’s shoes, then looked up, a tear falling from her eye, her lip quivering. “Cairo made me send that photo to him —”

“You fucking bitch, I'll —”

“You’ll what, kill me?” Winnie had shut off the water works as effortlessly as Cairo had, and Cairo’s small stature jolting forth didn't even make her flinch. “Oh honey, I know you don't care enough about me to trade Yalie blue for prison orange. If they'll even have you after this.”

Jon leaned against a pillar base, watching Cairo’s face fall from the top of the stairs, her heart-shaped lips dropping open. Broken. The turn of her chin towards him in her crestfallen disbelief lasted a lifetime.

Winnie turned and hopped up the stairs. She pat Jon on the stomach, causing him to huff.

“Almost showtime, cowboy,” she said, turning around and walking backwards. “I mean…Mr. Miller, sir.” She winked at him, but her eyes widened as she stuck her fingers in her mouth and plucked out her gum, flicking it into the trash bin behind the pillar before she stepped in through the building’s doors. She waved at him with the same fingers, and he waved back.

When he turned his head, Cairo was slowing her steps to the one right underneath him. His heart leapt from his chest to his throat, then to his gut: her brow had relaxed into a neutral position, but she still looked terrified.

“It's too late, isn't it.”

“For some things, maybe.” He watched her frown deepen, and she moved to continue into the building. He was able to grab the crook of her elbow, but upon her nasty glare, he let go, hands up. His own brow softened. “Maybe not,” he offered, his concern thickly coating his words. “You'll get destroyed in there, Cairo.”

“Too late for that,” she grumbled, attempting to continue on.

“Hey,” his abruptness startled her still, and he was able to cut in front of her path. He moved to place his hands on her shoulders, but instead, stuffed them in his pockets. “I'm here. Not for me, my fate’s already decided. I'm walkin’ in there on suspension. I'm here for —” he sighed through his nose. “I know you didn't want this. Nobody does. But I understand what I did, Cairo. Now when you walk through those doors, you'll understand what you did too, and no one’s —” he swallowed, shaking his head and averting his gaze. He lowered his voice and his lips to her ear.

“People don't look too kindly on manipulators, even in this day n’ age, even in the thick of #MeToo. That's all I'm sayin’.”

“I don't have anything more to say than what is in my written complaint, so I politely decline to take – to make any further comment.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Don't need ‘em.”

“Well, what about your lawyer, or advocate, anyone?”

“Don't need one.”

Principal Joyce Manner was nonplussed. “Miss Sweet —”

“Don't I have the right not to testify?”

“Well, you were the one to bring the complaint….”

Cairo couldn't mask her disgust at the female lawyer Jon’s wife had hired as her parting gift to him. She was a celebrity lawyer with the capacity to render any liar lie-less within minutes of interrogation, apparently, and she was pricey; much pricier than even Cairo’s parents.

And she was gorgeous, just like each of her parents.

In another timeline, the lawyer and the lawyers' daughter might be related; both flavorful, petite, dark brunettes, the chestnut undertones of their hair were particularly visible under the natural light pouring in from the windows of the hearing room. There was little difference, how the sun touched their skin and clothes, but their individual posture was telling as Cairo sat forward in her seat while the lawyer relaxed her shoulders and clasped her hands before speaking softly.

“Miss Sweet. Thank you for showing the courage to be here. You're a very brave young woman.” Her voice was mellow and comforting, emphasized by her upturned, pitying brow, but Cairo knew better. Same look, same vocal tone as Mama Sweet whenever she was doing the same thing during her own trials to butter up the hot lobster she was slow-boiling on the stand. It appeared that this lawyer could sense from Cairo’s silent defiance that the tactic wasn't working, as she quickly flipped off the heat. “Please tell us in your own words what happened between you and Professor Miller. Starting from when you first entered his classroom.”

“Can I plead the fifth?”

“This isn't a criminal trial, Miss Sweet.

“Then why do I feel like you're treatin’ me like a criminal?”

“That's not our intention today, Miss —”

“Isn't it?”

“Miss Sweet. Can you just proceed to tell us what happened?”

“And I have stated quite plainly that I have no desire to do that. Everything I had to say is in my complaint.”

“Let's move on, then,” the lawyer didn't miss a beat, nearly clipping the end of Cairo’s sentence. “You had a conversation with your classmate about Mr. Miller. Miss Winnie Black?”

Her gaze automatically flickered to where Winnie sat just behind Jon. She was unreadable, but then, Cairo had hardly stopped to read, her eyes quickly turning back to the podium.

“I’ve had several conversations with Miss Black about Mr. Miller.”

“Will the board please look to Exhibit 7B, please,” her strike was swift and hard, as if she had been anticipating Cairo’s calculated caginess. She approached the stand with a thin packet of papers, placing it on the ledge next to Cairo's water bottle. “Apologies, Miss Sweet, here's a copy for you, please review it.” To observers, the time that the lawyer gave to Cairo to look over the documents seemed far too short, but they were also so far unaware of the conversation’s brevity. “Does this look like a conversation you had?”

“Looks like one. Coulda been edited,” she half-heartedly suggested, carelessly dropping the transcript back where the lawyer had put it.

“I assure you, it's not edited. In fact, this is a transcription of an audio recording provided by Miss Black in Exhibit 7A, which I will play for the board in just one second —”

“Hey, I object to my bein’ recorded without my consent —”

“Tennessee is a one party state, Miss Sweet, or did Greg and Ivy not tell you that?” The expressed familiarity with her parents had its intended effect on Cairo, with her turning to Joyce for support that wasn't there. The lawyer dropped her eyes, shuffling her papers. The unkindness of her rhetorical question stung, the board members shifting uncomfortably in their seats as the lawyer reached for a small remote.

Cairo shot up out of her seat. “Then I wish to withdraw my complaint —”

“It’s too late for that, Miss Sweet. The matter is out of your hands. Now sit down,” Joyce spoke up and tried not to show her annoyance. She waited until Cairo slowly sank back down, defeated. She nodded at the lawyer, whose thumb was poised but patient on the remote. “Play the recording, please.”

What're you doin’ to Mr. Miller?

I'm testifying against him. In front of the school board.

Why?

He underestimated me. I overestimated him.

Are you okay?

I'm inspired.

That's not funny.

It is. A little.

Please don't do this.

Why?

You're gonna ruin his life. And for what? To avenge your rejection? To punish him? Because he didn't want to [bleep] you?

He wanted to [bleep] me, Winnie.

Huh. Yes. But he didn't leave his wife for you. …I'll testify against you.

No you won't.

Excuse me?

I'll show them the evidence I have against you and Boris…and not only will your credibility be shot to [bleep], but you'll incriminate him as well.

Cairo abruptly popped out of the leather seat and sprinted past all of the scrutinizing eyes towards the double doors.

Two teachers can lose their jobs. Oh hey, maybe we can double team.

Jon had shifted in his seat the moment she started objecting. Not a single person moved to chase after her. Not one, until it was almost compulsory for his feet to start flying down the same path.

Winnie: “how's it feel?”

“Fuck you!” Cairo cursed aloud at the text.

Winnie: “knowin that I'm gettin that rec that you so desperately wanted? 😘”

Jon called out, slightly out of breath as he chased her down the barren sidewalks. “Cairo! Cairo, stop! Don't do anything stupid —”

She whipped around, her face contorted in a pathetic anguish. “It's too late for that!” She turned back to her phone, hyperventilating.

Cairo: “FUCK OFF!!1”

She typed quickly, her hands shaking, even as she screeched the words in real time. Her phone hit the pavement as hard as she threw it; it bounced against Jon’s shoes as she sobbed and continued ripping her way through the sidewalk in her Keds.

Winnie: “right back atcha, bb 🖕🏽😎🖕🏽”

He scooped it up, glancing at the shattered screen and their conversation before pocketing it and struggling to keep up with her quick strides.

He had almost reached her. It surprised him how briskly she could speedwalk on those little legs, and he was already panting. He tried to grab her arm, but she jerked away. “Cairo —”

She turned again, her face reddened and tear stained. “Just fuck —”

She squealed in terror as she was suddenly weightless, his body a blur to steal her tiny form from the path of the oncoming SUV that hadn't seen her. She hadn't even heard him scream her name to warn her. Maybe he did. Or maybe it was all in her head, just like everything else.

Whatever it was, it stole her breath, and she fell limp like a ragdoll in his arms, fainted.

“Cairo? Cairo,” he said, holding her up. Jon looked around, struggling to keep her upright. There were a few uninterested people around the street corner; the other few people who had passed in their cars seemed to slow down until he backed onto a bus bench, heaving her onto it lengthwise with her back to the street. He slid her phone out of his pocket—its shattered screen was almost chipped in one corner, flashing on and off depending on how he held it. He dropped it into his jacket pocket before his trembling hands found their way to his own. Still panting, he glanced at Cairo’s form on the bench, scanned the area for the nothing that it was, and cursed.

Boris pulled up to the curb in his black sedan as Jon waved him down. Jon’s sweaty, thankful face filled his passenger side window as soon as he lowered it.

“I didn't know who else to call…or text.”

Boris grunted in his irritance, leaning against his steering wheel. “Where is she?” Jon moved aside, revealing her body on the bench. “Is she dead?”

Jon’s brow furrowed in his disbelief. “Wh — no, she's not dead! She just — she just fainted. And now I think she’s sleeping. I don't know — she's breathing, but not wakin’ up.”

Boris sighed, craning his neck to look up and down the street. “I don't think I need to tell you what this looks like —”

“Then don't — we're beyond looks now —”

“Maybe you are, but I ain't drivin’ no unconscious student back to their house! Alone! With you! Wake Sleeping Beauty up, we gotta get ‘er home.”

Jon looked back to the bench where she lay, her body quietly breathing. He looked back at Boris, a withering shake of his head telling of his desperation.

Boris slow-blinked into a rolled eye, acquiescing to Jon’s pleas and putting his car in park.

“God damn it,” he pointed his finger at his face while unbuckling his seatbelt.

“You owe me bigtime for this.”

“I know.”

Sweetland Manor, Lovell Hill

“Just set her down there, right there on the settee —”

Jon led Boris inside, and his instincts could've led the good coach to believe that he might've previously been inside her house for an extended period of time, even when he hadn't. Boris’s wide eyes drank in the darkly opulent hallways and decor until he was directed to set Cairo down on the velvet couch near the tall windows of the parlor.

“God damn. Didn't know Miss Cairo was rollin’ in the dough.”

“You didn't?”

“I told you before. I know where the line is —”

“And that's why you're still teaching and I'm not —”

“That's exactly right. Now let’s get the Hell outta here before that line gets stomped on any more,” he turned, trodding back down the hallway towards the colonade. Jon followed, but with a different type of urgency as Boris’s keys jingled in his hand.

“I can't leave her alone.”

“That's for damn sure —”

“That's not what I mean,” he stopped in his tracks at the front doors. “Boris.”

He threw his head back and turned. “Man, you can't be serious —"

"I'm very serious, I haven't been more —"

"You're in enough trouble already —”

“And I would never forgive myself if somethin’ happened to her! I'm already never gonna forgive myself. But this…it’s the least I can do for her now.”

“For her or for you?” He stabbed his car key so hard in his direction that Jon could feel the wind of it on his face.

He swallowed. “Are you askin’ out of concern or curiosity?”

Boris huffed, nodding as he watched the tip of his key scratch into the center of his palm. His anger vanished, replaced by guilt. They both listened to the white noise of it before he softened, and looked his friend in the face. There was genuine concern written into his brow, and genuine fear as well. “You really think she'd do somethin’ to herself?”

“She's all alone.”

“Is she?”

“Did you see anyone back there with her? Or here?”

“I take it Miss Black —”

“Testified for me, remember?”

Boris put his finger to his lips, looking like he was going to be sick. He shook his head, hard. “God damn it!” He continued to his car, incensed and alone. He whipped open the car door and stabbed his key at Jon again before dropping into his seat. “Next time, call an Uber.”

Jon hurriedly approached close enough to plead for one last thing. “And uh…please don't —”

“Deaf, dumb, and blind. Like Helen Keller,” he said as he turned his key in the ignition.

“Drive safe, Helen,” he waved.

“Who's that dumbass talkin’? I don't know who the fuck he is, never seen him before in my life.”

It was a blended storm of frustration and consternation as he stood over her, watching her shoulder rise and fall as she lay dead to the world, but thankfully not dead. She came pretty damn close, though.

Goddamn, Little Ghost. What am I supposed to do with you now?

The pressure in his bladder that he felt so strongly in the hearing room had returned—it had been driven away by the tightening he felt the second he pulled her away from the path of the SUV; a miracle considering the situation should've called for instant release—so much so that it overpowered his reluctance to let her out of his sight. At least she was home, and there didn't seem much incentive to run.

Run to the bathroom, maybe grab a drink of water or juice if she has any, then come right back was the plan.

Of the Greek Revivals in the South, Sweetland Manor, a.k.a. Lovell Hill, most closely resembled the Thornhill plantation house in Forkland, Alabama, and Jon knew this after some midnight Google stalking the day that Cairo told him where she lived. Still, he’d been drinking the night he looked at the floor plans, so his mind’s eye was bleary when it came to what was where.

Across the hall from the parlor was a bedroom, but his urgency sent him down the hall and past a—a library!—that he would have to check out after he was done with his business. As he started to breathe deeply in his attempt to avoid incontinence, he smelled an oddly sweet scent in the air, wherever he stepped: it was a dichotomously light and heady fragrance that reminded him of the tropics. The Bahamas. Bimini, in particular, where he and Bea honeymooned so many years ago. It was a strange combination of floral and…fruit? He stopped, his body temporarily forgetting its need to piss as he wracked his brain trying to place the scent. Pineapple? No, it's not that sharp. It smelled just as sugar-savory, though, and it was coming from all directions. He thought for just a moment that perhaps it was a Glade Plug-in, but those things were never as pleasant or subtle. A minor stabbing in his abdomen woke him out of his enchantment; he pinched his nose to rub out the obsession as he peeked around corners, finding the dining room, the rather modern kitchen, a large back patio that had an absolutely gorgeous Edwardian wrought iron and glass table, and finally, the bathroom. Or, a bathroom, since this one seemed to be a mere water closet off of the kitchen.

He glanced at himself in the mirror after he was done. He looked awful—his normally bagged eyes were even baggier from lack of healthy hydration and sleep. His reflection couldn't blame him; ever since Cairo turned in her midterm, he hadn't been able to sleep much. Obviously from her current state, she hadn't been able to, either. A splash of cold water against his eyes and he was headed back to that kitchen to quench his thirst after all of the stress and activity of getting the little tired ghost back home.

It was odd to see such a modern kitchen in an old mansion like this, but it is what it is, and perhaps her parents were foodies—Greg and Ivy Thompson, as he was informed by his own entertainment lawyer, hobnobbed with their rich and famous clients on the regular, so surely there was a celebrity chef amongst that lot. White with black and gunmetal furnishings, the decor was minimalist compared to the rest of the house, and the cabinets, plenty; Jon’s breath caught at the sight of them. Not the cabinets themselves, but what sat on the shelves behind the glass panels of the doors.

Row after row of staggered row of hard liquor: vodkas, tequilas…whiskeys. Not just any whiskeys, either, as he’d discovered after his beeline to the row of beautiful golden browns behind the cab right next to the fridge—none of that Crap Daniels gasoline—but celebrity whiskeys and bourbons. Decent ones, at that. Bob Dylan’s Heaven’s Door Small Batch, Lagavulin Offerman Edition Charred Oak Cask, Sassenach Limited Batch Blended. A lonely blue bottle of David Beckham’s Haig Club Clubman in the back, untouched. His hand twitched and went straight for his favorite, a mostly full bottle of Sweetens Cove Blended Bourbon. He opened it, deeply inhaling the notes of toasted oak and brown sugar, his mouth watering for the sweet taste that reminded him of a densely alcoholic Almond Joy. He found himself a crystal lowball glass and poured it halfway full before replacing the bottle in its place, taking a moment to thank the cabinet for its fine spirits before gently snapping its door shut.

He checked his watch as he briskly headed back down the hall—How long had he left her for?—but not without almost spilling his Cove all over the front of his shirt when his feet stopped on his recent memory—the library. All of those leatherbounds, hubbed spines, gilt letter volumes of classics, wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling shelves packed full and equipped with sliding ladders on each for the ghostly occupant of the house who might be a little too short to reach. He could already see where she’d deigned to, from the empty spaces on the highest of shelves…and lower shelves where he, but not she, could reach. It tickled him to imagine her attempting to reach for one of the tomes and failing.

He set his glass down onto a lower empty shelf and reached into one of those high hollows of darkness next to a ladder, the gilt of “1905” on the foot of a spine catching his eye. “NOVELS OF THE SISTERS BRONTË | THE PROFESSOR” it read in gold between the raised bands of its fine, red Moroccan leather. It had been moved, possibly read, but lazily left behind against others that were too thick and obscure for a busy young girl. He flipped it into his hand and reached for his glass, pausing for a moment to appreciate the little finger marks in the dust on the edge of the shelf that he’d missed before.

His anxiety was quelled once he wound his way back to the salon. She was still fast asleep, huddled in a little ball against the velvet and pillows, her bowed lips in a frown as she breathed through her nose. Her normally kempt bangs were clinging to her forehead in sweat, but there was a slight shiver to her breaths. He glanced around the room, the afternoon daylight still spilling in to illuminate its quiet sanctuary, but there was nothing else besides more pillows and books, so he put his treasures down on the book-crowded coffee table and skipped over to the bedroom across the hall.

He winced when he found it, but it was the only thing light enough to tote around quickly without cumber: a Denver Broncos woven throw, from their 2015 Superbowl win against the Panthers. Jon was a Titans man through and through, but he also had great respect for the Panthers (at least, he had great respect for Boris’s Carolina fanaticism). He was there, in San Francisco with Boris, thanks to Bea and her highfalutin' connections. Also thanks to Bea—and Boris—his own collectible throw lay unused in its bag in a closet back at the house, after he was convinced not to burn it in the parking lot after the game.

He draped it over her body as carefully as he could without waking her, his only fright being a soft murmur from her throat as it settled around her shoulders. He seemed to be incapable taking his eye off of her very safe and secure form, even as he pulled one of the salon chairs up to the coffee table, where he relieved a spot of its books for his bourbon. He sat, Brontë book in hand, but was reminded of his pocket heavy with their phones when the bulk jabbed into his thigh.

Cairo’s screen was totally fucked. She had thrown it with such force that it rendered her neon green case useless against the hot, solid Tennessee pavement. It turned on, but there was no use trying to access any apps. He laid it face up next to his glass and checked his own phone, which should’ve been thanking its lucky stars that it hadn't met the same fate as hers. A message from Boris and a shit ton of messages from Bea.

I oughta block her.

The obsequient in him merely steered his brain towards ignoring the messages as they came, and instead checking what Boris had to say. The problem was, Jon didn't know what to say back. Just as he couldn't admit his feelings to him that day in the bleachers, he couldn't admit to them now. But now, he was just angry about it. Angry at himself for being so gutless, but also angry at Boris for pretending like he hasn't done worse.

Yes, damn it, yes, I'm in love with her. She's—you don't get it, she's eidetic, I'm eidetic. To the same photographic degree! Fuck man, don't just look at her face, her body, that's all bonus! I'm talking about her mind. Her mind. It's overflowing with talent and knowledge and…and feeling. That g…that woman knows things. She is…exceptional. And I went about this the wrong fucking way. I know that.

But fuck, Boris. Fuck you and the lesbo porn you're jackin’ off to, with her n’...her n’ Miss Black! Don't you get it? She wanted you to show that shit to me. God damn! Fuckin’ self-righteous asshole. Don't gimme any of that goddamn line shit either…like you ain't after Miss Black. You gave her your phone number, dumbass! Imagine what would happen if fuckin’ Cairo turned you in, too. She's got those photos hangin’ over your head now, we're brothers in arms. Don't you fucking abandon me.

Jon reached for his glass and took his first sip of the Cove, the nutty Neopolitan dessert notes blanketing his tongue and granting a little calm and clarity. He punched in a simple emoji and left it at that, pocketing the phone and getting comfortable to read, his eyes flickering up to keep watch on the girl who seemed to have no idea that he was there. Or that she was there. Something pretty hard must've hit her in that moment she wasn't hit, but Jon would keep vigil regardless. It was the least he could do.

That, and without his car, he was pretty much stranded there.

But, you're only really stranded when you don't want to be where you are, and his acceptance of that fact quickly dispatched the excuse to another sip of that sweet, sweet bourbon. He sat back into comfort and slipped his reading glasses on, prepared to keep company with another English professor and a girl who was much more demure and diplomatic than the little wrecking ball at his feet.

“Cairo? Cairo!”

Jon popped up when he realized he’d fallen asleep. He nearly tripped on the Broncos throw at his feet when it hit him that he must've been asleep for more than ten hours, and that in ten hours, a lot could happen with a broken-hearted young girl whose life had crumbled before her eyes. He thought he might start to hyperventilate when he caught wind of it again.

That smell. That weird, tropical scent of flowers and something. It was stronger, somehow. It felt damp, and this time was accompanied by a very faint and muffled 90's power ballad. Celine Dion? He followed his senses, and they led him down the hall and up the stairs, where an acrid cloud of fresh cigarette smoke was wafting out of a room at the top. The cloud swallowed the pleasant scent, but at least now he could breathe.

The music had stopped the second he stepped foot into the room. He found her on the window seat across from her bed, cigarette in hand and laptop in her lap. The ashtray on her little table stand told of her chainsmoking, since it clearly needed to be emptied.

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder at him.

“Left, right, left, soldier. Or didn't you get the memo?” Her eyes followed him as he stood to lean against her footboard. “I left you a note.”

“I didn't — I didn't see a note.”

“I knew I shoulda stapled it to your forehead. You just looked so peaceful, I didn't wanna wake you.”

He was snoring when I woke, his open book on his gut, threatening to slide off onto the floor on the next inhale. I slipped it carefully from under his slack fingers and placed my blanket over his form, along with one of my mama’s decorative pillows under his cheek. Gets cold at night in this old house, and a crick in the neck’s made worse by it.

Kissing him for the first time was a lot more tender than it was in my imagination. It was the feel of his beard on the backs of my fingers that was unexpected. Softer than it looked, even with every other hair deciding to grow at an angle unconducive towards neatness. The funny corner of his open mouth was all I could get from him in his state, lest I wake him from his exhausted slumber. I can still feel the hairs poking into my lips, even as I tried to keep it brief.

I could've pet that beard forever, though.

I left it propped up on the coffeetable. I thought for sure you'da seen it. “Left, right, left, soldier. Come and find me.” Written in red and punctuated with a stupid little schoolgirl’s stupid little heart…because goddamn —

I still love you.

“But that begs the question, why did I wake up to find you sleepin’ in my house, and why haven't you gone?”

“Those are two separate questions —”

“I believe they have the same answer.”

“...I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Do I look alright?”

He pursed his lips. Her hair was brushed out, and she was wearing an oversized flannel nightshirt over floral silk shorts. Blush over black was somehow fitting, and aside from that odd mismatch and the redness around her eyes, she looked cleaned up.

“You look like you been cryin’. Have ya?”

She took a long draw on her shortened cigarette, shortening it further down to the filter. “I vomited so hard I was up in tears, does that count?”

“So you're not alright.”

She crushed the end of her stub into a pile of ash next to the other butts in the ashtray while at the same time reaching for a new one.

“I'll manage,” she said as she struggled with her low-fuel lighter. She checked the end and twisted back to her laptop, taking a big drag and exhaling slowly as she started to close tabs on her browser. She glanced at him, dismissive with her cigarette hand. “You can go. I know you don't wanna be here.”

“Now what on Earth gives you that impression?”

“So you do wanna be here?”

He eyed her cigarette, and her pack. “May I?”

“You may.” As he bent back from taking the cigarette, he looked around for something to sit on. “I got a chair by the vanity,” she gestured.

He humbly thanked her and dragged it over, close enough to reach the ashtray if he needed it. He lit up, his first large stream of smoke directed towards the ceiling.

“Tell me why you wrote it,” he said, his eyes watching the smoke drift. He turned his head to see her slightly confuzzled countenance.

“I told you why —”

“No. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me —”

“ ‘ — coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit-droppin’ seagulls above’?” She watched Jon chuckle, smoothing his hand over his eyes and then his mouth. Her second recitation from Apostrophes and Ampersands had its intended effect on him, just as the first one had before, but she remained guarded. Coy. Lovestruck. “Because I wanted you to fuck me.”

“Why?”

“B’cuz I wanted you to take my virginity.” Her words came forth a little deeper now, her voice exuding a husky quality that he hadn't heard before. It could have been the cigarettes, or more likely, her conscious denial of the present tense.

He shook his head, but his nervous chuckle betrayed the disbelief of his position. “I'm twice your age.”

“More than twice.”

“Cairo, please.”

“You're askin’ me why…why I wanted you to take my virginity.”

“That's exactly what I'm askin’.”

She finally looked away, taking a drag with a big sigh. “If you have to ask, you can't afford the answer.”

“Please, Cairo, I'm already under suspension —”

“Well I guess that makes two of us then, doesn't it,” she sniped, busying herself with her laptop.

He blinked. “What?”

She turned her laptop towards his view: there was a .pdf file letter with the Benson Agricultural Wildcats seal in the center at the top on the screen, but that was all he could read without his glasses. “Two weeks out of school suspension with a permanent note on my record,” she announced with a defeated acceptance. “For ‘severe violations’ of the Student Code of Ethics.” She shut the laptop and set it aside on a pile of books, sliding her legs off the seat to hang over the edge and ashed. “I checked my email when you were sleepin’.”

He swallowed. Something like that ain't gonna get ‘er into Yale.

“Surely your parents can take care of that —”

“I don't want them to take care of it. I want to take responsibility for my mistakes. That's the adult thing to do, isn't it?”

“Cairo, honey, you don't have to —”

“ ‘Honey’?”

“I may be makin’ another mistake by continuin’ to treat you like a friend, but that's all we are right now, isn’t it?”

“Are we? Friends, Mr. Miller?”

“Y’aint in my class anymore.”

“That’s ‘cuz you ain't teachin’ it no more. Right now, at least.”

“And whose fault is that?” He watched her brow rise, and he swore he could hear her breath catch whatever it was she was going to say. He put his fingers up, his perpetually nervous smile diffusing his heat. His voice sometimes wavered under such stress, and it was stressful to look into her big brown eyes. “I didn't come—I didn't stay here to argue.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I didn't wantcha to be alone right now —”

“Why?”

“God, you ask too many questions! —”

“Just the same questions you're askin’ me. ‘Why?’”

“Can you just — please. I got nuthin’ right now. Between the suspension n’ the divorce, I just —” he pressed his fingers into his eyes. “Please.”

She hadn't taken a drag on her cigarette in more than a few moments and had to ash. Her large eyes were heavy-lidded in her search of his face for his intent. “You want me to make you feel good about yourself, is that it?”

“Nothing about this is ever gonna make me feel good about myself, Cairo.”

Don't be too sure about that, she thought as she took a long drag. “What was the question again?”

“You know what it was.”

She sighed. “ ‘Tell me why you wrote it. No more hiding behind academic aspirations. No bullshit. It's just you n’ me now. You n’ me, coastin’ on a tattered raft out in the ocean, all alone save for the salty sea air and the shit droppin’ seagulls above.’ ” Satisfied with the subtle shake of his head and his smiling eyes, she crushed the long end into the ashtray. “That's exactly why I wrote it.”

“But…why?”

“That ain't good ‘nuff reason for ya?” She watched as he struggled to comprehend his station…and her. “Well, why not…”

“Because I'm too old for you.”

“I wasn't finished.”

“My apologies.”

“Why not you, is what I been askin’ myself for weeks. Once I was around you, that is. Your captivatin’ lil’ words on the page of your one and only book —”

“You mean those mediocre words?”

“I was mad when I said that, I'm not mad right now at least not yet,” she snapped.

“I'll stop interrupting you.”

Her gaze flickered away in shame, but just for a missed moment. “No, that wasn't right, and I apologize. In case you haven't noticed, sometimes my temper matches my height. I don't mean to slight you as hard as my stature.”

“Yeah, you are a little…a lil’ shrimpy,” he smirked.

“ ‘A little shrimpy’?”

“Just a little,” he teased, holding his fingers up to almost pinch the air. It drew her grin back, and she blushed.

“You really wanna know why?”

“I do.”

She inhaled deeply, as if to answer with a defeated affirmative. He had finished his cigarette, and upon her offering the near-empty pack, he obliged, slipping one out and nabbing the lighter so that he could light hers as well.

“Lookit us. Just like old times.”

“It can't be like old times.”

“It has to be, since it's the answer to your question.” Her curtness indicated a self-righteous sensitivity, but she softened as smoke made its way out of her nose. “I wanted to save myself for someone with whom I had a connection. And I don't connect with boys my age. Never have.”

“You've connected with other, uh, older —”

“Why Mr. Miller, you do sound jealous —”

“I'm not jealous —”

“Good, ‘cuz you shouldn't be. You’d be the first one. Hence…vir…gin…i…ty.”

It was the first time in a while he’d seen that neon smile. It was the first time in a while it came to the door, following her favorite person into the shared fresh air and the sunlight of his eyes.

“Don’t lie to me now, Mr. Miller. I know you felt that connection too. Otherwise you wouldn't be here.”

He looked away. He hadn't sat back in his chair after reaching for the cigarette, instead twisting his body to lean against its solid arm rest as he stared at her while she talked. His gaze swept over the piles of books and papers next to her on the sill, and her laptop’s energy light flashed red, then stopped.

He picked at his fingernails, the cigarette hanging carelessly between his fingers. “Still got your sights on Yale?”

“What's it to you? It’s not like you can write me a recommendation.”

“I could still get my wife to write you one.” He erased at an invisible chalkboard with his finger and pointed. “Soon to be ex -wife.”

“Now that…is a gargantuan feat I'd love to see.” The soft neon glowed in amusement.

“Barbaric,” he chuckled. “But she’ll do it, if I ask nicely.”

“Anything to get the little homewrecker outta sight, outta mind?”

“No, that's — no. But she'll have to, if she wants me to sign the papers.”

Her brows raised. “I'm not sure how I should feel about such coercion, Mr. Miller.”

“No one’s askin’ you to feel anything about it. Just take the rec. It's what you want.”

“And how do you know what I want?”

He leaned back in the chair. “Fair ‘nuff. Then what is it that you want?”

He could see that she was chewing on her inner lip before answering.

“I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I still want you.”

His hands lifted up off his thighs, gesturing at himself. “This?”

“That.”

“I'm too old for you.”

“You said that already. But I think that’s up to me to decide.”

“Cairo —”

“Mr. Miller. Jon. May I call you that?” She took the ashtray and emptied it into the little trash basket by her feet. She set her cigarette into one of the grooves to let it burn. “I told you why I wanted you, yet you seem to be fishin’ for more. Do you really need me to elaborate —”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I need a damn good reason for why I'm even here, in your room, in your hou — your mansion, alone with you when just a few hours ago, we were sittin’ in an academic courtroom watchin’ our lives get blown to smithereens!”

“Or maybe you just need some reassurance that what you're doin’ is right.” He balked, but she hit a nerve. One of many she’d been battering for weeks, and her grin of awareness turned neutral. “I can assure you, it's alright. We’re both legal adults, ain't no crime here —”

“Maybe no crime, but ethically —”

“Not every romance is ethically sound, Mr. Miller.”

“Romance. Is that what this is? You – you wrote that it wasn't.”

“I did, but that was your line in the context of fiction and right now that's neither here nor there.” She watched as he stammered through whatever it was he wanted to say, shredding the words with his teeth. “I know how I feel about you.”

“And you think you love me.”

“Don't you feel the same?”

“I — this isn't about how I feel —”

“Then what is it about, Jonathan?”

“Please —”

“Sorry. Mr. Miller…sir.”

“We could've had this talk before —”

“We’re havin’ it now.”

“I shouldn’a done what I did, but you shouldn’a done what you did.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda…three of my least favorite auxiliary verbs,” she blew a small raspberry at them to emphasize her annoyance.

“And why’s that?”

She blinked into deep thought, as she would often do around him during class and office hours. The intensity of his stare always gelled her thoughts to completion.

“Hesitance for the weak,” she nodded. “And the negatives are often rooted in fear and regret.” She quickly plucked the nearly burnt out cigarette up for a drag, but it was already done. She watched its frayed end scatter its burning tobacco bits as she pushed it down against the gray of the previous ash. “E.g.: If I had thought…it’d make you fall out of love with me…I wouldn’a done it —”

“It didn't make me —”

“So you are still in love with me?”

“...I never said that.”

“You never say anything. You write it. But you haven't written anything in…what is it, decades now?” She didn't mean to sound so derisive. She dropped her eyes to her bare feet. “I mean, why can't you just adm —”

“Alright! Alright,” He put out his cigarette and stared, his knuckles at his lips. “If I have felt anything for you —”

“Come on, Jon —”

“This won't work. It can't work.”

“Why not? If two people like you n’ me are in love, why can't we just —”

“Because it's inappropriate. It's always been inappropriate. And that was my error, my mistake. I led you on —”

“Did you? You said no bullshit. Yet here you are…”

“You sayin’ I didn't lead you on?”

He watched as she slid off of the seat and approached his chair without breaking eye contact; or at least, he believed it to be eye contact. However, she stepped over to him with eyes glassed over, not focused on anything but the wholeness of his presence. She leaned her thigh against the armrest as he sat, stricken by her proximity. The last time she was like this, she emasculated him in a manner not unlike Beatrice had several times before; but this time, Cairo's expression was less than furious. Her eyes finally focused on his, which reflected a similar fear and impuissance of which he reflected before; however, once their glances touched, contact dissolved the discomfort into reassurance.

“You led me to where I wanted to be,” she shifted against the armrest and casually lifted her hand to his beard. It hadn't been a day and she missed the feel of it on her fingers. “And now you're here. Where I want you to be.”

His hand covered hers on his cheek. “Cairo —”

She wrested it free, pushing it away as she continued to pet his beard and stare into his eyes with hypnotic determination. “You wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be here.”

“I'm just — I was just —”

“Just what? Concerned about me?”

“Yes that's exactly it —”

“I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you never wanted me the way I want you. No bullshit.” She was leaning into him; her hand had migrated to the nape of his neck, the soothing scrape of her fingernails having done their job. He looked her in the eyes and, when he said nothing, she pushed herself upright. “That's what I thought.”

“What now, then? What do you suppose happens now?”

Her eyes trailed over his head and features, roaming around until they settled on his lips. He felt like a slaughter steer, and she was checking him for quality.

“Sleep with me,” she shrugged.

“You — I mean that's —”

“I didn't say fuck me. I said sleep with me. You remember what sleep is, don't you?”

“I haven't gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks.”

“Well then. My suggestion must sound pretty damn enticing, doesn't it.”

He insisted on turning around before she got into bed, despite the fact that she was wearing the exact same thing she’d been wearing since he found her. They had agreed to keep their clothes on, and thus Cairo saw no problem in him watching her get into bed; Jon, however, knew better than that.

He was still reeling from the day’s events, but their conversation made it pretty clear that they were on the same page of the dirty fantasy that she’d written for him. Same page, same paragraph, same sentence, same words, same word, same letters, right down to the crossed t and dotted i. But he couldn't risk excitement, or even a hint of desire, especially when it could have been objectively stated that she was scantily clad: her shorts barely passed halfway mark down her thigh, and her shirt hung almost as low as the hem of her shorts while she was standing. She might as well not be wearing anything down below, but that was another idea that sent him mentally scrambling for distraction.

If only he remembered the existence of the vanity mirrors. Or, insisted on sleeping on the right side. But the right side was her side, as she so firmly informed him before dipping out to her bathroom for a minute while he stripped and got himself settled in.

Dumbass. Boris’s voice rang in his head. Dumb. Ass!

Ripping the covers over his head would’ve been far too childish. He lay on his left side while watching her kneel onto the bed behind him, a particularly sly grin on her face.

The grin was only there because she’d caught him staring at her reflection.

He quickly dropped his eyes, but it was too late. She unbuttoned the highest buttoned button on her top, slowly, paused— Was she tonguing her cheek? —and then lifted the covers, wedging under the sheets next to him, about half an arm’s length away.

Neither faced the other, but he still felt the need to pee—even though he already had.

“You know you can face me. I won't bite.”

Her voice had become tinged with diffidence while Jon’s breathing had gotten heavier, but come Hell or high water, Cairo was going to have her heaping Big Spoon somehow. “I just think it’d be warmer if one of us faced the other. And my back is cold.”

At once, Jon rolled around under the covers to face her back, and that's when it really hit him: that sweet, intriguing fragrance from before.

It was her, obviously. But that still didn't answer the question of what its tantalizIng scent profile was, or from what or where it came.

Could be perfume. Or the scent of her laundry detergent. Her hair. He resisted getting close enough to be sure, and instead stared at the dainty flowers of the floral pattern of her pink flannel nightshirt, visible between strands of her hair.

She, on the other hand, dared to scoot just a little closer, jutting her behind towards him as she made herself comfortable. He looked down into the gap between them; her shirt was pulled tight to the front, exposing the small of her back and its concave dip of her spine into the blackness of the crack of her silk shorts. He moved back a little, with ample room for the covers to hang low enough to shield his sinful view, but unfortunately for him, her body wriggled with him, and he sighed.

They were hardly settled for one minute before she turned her chin to speak over her shoulder.

“I never said fuck me, but you can if you want.”

He had closed his eyes in an absurd attempt to think his way out of the room and into sleep. Maybe if he couldn't sleep soon, he could go raid the kitchen for some more Cove. The image behind his eyelids of her head that had been there a minute earlier when he closed them remained almost exactly the same, except now he could see her shiny gold ear cuff on the helix of her little ear, as she had drawn her hair behind it. Everything about her was little, and adorable.

Save for those giant eyes that’re too large to be proportional to the rest of her face and features. Those things were big…and dangerous. And right now, Jon really wanted to read them, since he was pretty good at finessing her sincerity with just a quick skim.

“I'm not going to fuck you.”

“Sure, Jon,” she taunted. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head. It was the same feeling she got whenever she sat in his class. He was watching. Always watching. The way it thrilled her. The way the thrill terrified her, making her hope that someday it would become more than a stare. More than a shared cigarette, or biscuit. More than an argument that ruined their lives.

“I haven't slept much either, you know.”

“Yeah?”

She turned her chin further, then twisted her body around to face him, his hand in the shortened space between them unsure of where to go before it retreated to rest by his belly. The light from her lamp behind him created a halo around the silhouette of his hair until her eyes adjusted; his doleful eyes exuded concern. Pity, even.

And she hated that.

She reached towards his face, and he flinched.

“May I?” she asked, her voice as small as she looked. He nodded, and she reached her fingers along the edge of his jaw, scratching her black fingernails through the hairs along its line. She bent to touch her forehead to his chest, humming in bliss.

His stomach twisted in knots, a terrible contrast to the feel of her fingers on his face and the heat that radiated from her little body. His eyes trailed over the sheet covering her shoulders; her hair splayed over it in loose strands, and he was tempted to run his fingers though it. The temptation translated to something else, and he moved his hips back at a safe distance from her under the guise of adjusting the covers.

“Well, Little Ghost. Looks like you got your way,” he whispered, cupping his hand over hers to cease the scratching.

“Not quite.” She shifted back a little, tilting her head up. “Can I tell you somethin’, Jon?”

She trapped him in her gaze, her brows knitted up in earnest. He exhaled, not conscious that his fingers were tinkering with one of the rings on her fingers, the pad of his index scraped by the prongs of its jewel setting.

“What it is.”

As they lay locked in their stare, her brow crumpled, her expression caving to her emotions. He watched the faint muscles of her face contort, her lips pressed together to hold back what she could, however futile to fight against desperation. She choked out the words as the tears flowed freely, rivulets of regret and adoration.

“I'm sorry,” her voice keened into sobs as she withdrew her hand from his jaw to join it with her other, clutching at his t-shirt. “I'm so, so sorry Mr. Miller, please don't — hate me. Please don’t leave me. Please, I'm sorry, you don't—know—how sorry —”

“Hush now, Cairo,” he held her to his chest, his heart aching with every tremor and hiccup. He smoothed his palm over the back of her hair as she cried it out. “You're okay. You’ll be okay. Everything's gonna be alright.”

6 notes · View notes