#but yeah. if i get this job its like..... 90% of my problems disappear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychameron · 2 months

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Untitled Apollyon Fanfic

Vikram was jerked out of his dream by someone sitting on his bed. Blinking in the light of his room, he peered blearily “The hell?”

Aditya was sitting on his bed. “Your mom sent me to get you; it's almost eight.”

Vikram blinked a few more times at the silhouette of his friend, information still tumbling around in his head. “Mom? Wait, did you say eight? As in, 8 am?”

“What other eight would I mean?” Aditya said, rising. “Why're you still asleep? You've been up and ready by 6:30 for the last few days.”

Vikram swung his feet around to the hab-block unit's floor and pushed out of bed. “If I ever sleep this late again, don't wait for mom, just come get me.”

“About to not be my problem, or so you say,” Aditya commented as Vikram rummaged around for clean clothes and started dressing. “Your mom says you're still gonna quit studying and get a job.”

“Tomorrow I'm 20 and they can't use my age to keep me out of the mines,” Vikram said, snatching up a brush off the floor and tilting the salvaged chunk of chrome metal that served as his mirror. He ran the brush through his hair and took the opportunity to break eye contact with Aditya. “I get a job, I get my own money, and I don't have to live with my mom anymore.”

“She doesn't like that,” Aditya said, stepping into the angle of mirror so he could hold Vikram's gaze again. “Thinks if you work the mines you'll wind up just like your dad.”

“I want my own money and my own place,” Vikram said.

“You mean you want somewhere you and Komal don't have to creep around.”

“It's different when you got a girlfriend,” Vikram said, fishing his mala off the repurposed vehicle chock that served as his night table. “I want to do what I want, and give Komal things. Like gifts. And maybe somewhere to live.”

“Man you are two kinds of crazy. You know anyone who got married at twenty that's happy?”

“I am tired of living in this hole in a wall studying some biochemistry crap on the hopes that maybe some day I'll get to shine some topsider's shoes while he calls me a good boy while I do 90% of his work and he gets 100% of the credit.” Vikram coiled the mala around his wrist, and pulled the guru bead to its proper position, to the right of his arm.

“Hey, in a few years that topsider might be me,” Aditya said.

“Gonna leave us cave bats for some penthouse apartment, drive a fancy car and go blind from all the sunlight?”

“If they pay me enough,” Aditya smirked. “I know you're sick of hearing it, but maybe at least finish school? The mines are always gonna be there and you'll get two years of peace from your mom before you can throw your hands up and say 'well I tried.'” A pause. “Not having to pay rent would be pretty nice, too. And who's to say you don't actually do well and get a real job where you get to sit down for a living.”

“Nah, I'd rather do real work.” Vikram picked his bag off the ground. “We ready to go?”

“Yeah, let's get moving.” Aditya shouldered his own bag. “Take some of the breakfast your mom made on the way out, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vikram said, shooing him forward. “Let's get to school.”

Vikram sat in the light of central thermal reactor of Pahalagufa. Almost ten thousand people in the caverns used it for heat and electricity, but today Vikram used it for light, as well. Pages and pages of chemistry disappeared under his eyes as he pored over pages he'd been over dozens of times before. To the casual observer, he might seem to be studying. And after a fashion he did study. But his mind lingered on where his new home would be once he had paychecks from work in hand. From his vantage on the third sublevel of the cavern, Vikram could see nearly sixty percent of the habitation blocks like the one he grew up in. Most had the soft red glows of occupancy, but quite a few the green glow of an empty unit.

Most of them were barren metal cubes with little to recommend them to the average inhabitant of Pahalagufa, but a variety of factors made them the only option for the last three generations of workers laboring in Apollyon's massive mineral mines. Of which Vikram would soon find himself one, as soon as he could secure employment.

I'll need chairs, Vikram mused. Mom probably won't let me take any of hers. Bed probably won't be a problem. Or will it? I'll need a bigger bed for both of us. His brow furrowed as thoughts of nucleotides and phosphate bonds disappeared under logistical concerns. Beds are expensive here. At least, proper ones are. I should ask Komal if she knows a way to get a bigger bed.

As if conjured by his thoughts, Komal appeared out of the teeming throngs of people making their way through the avenues of the third level of Pahalagufa. Vikram pushed his textbook to the side and rose to greet her, but her posture and gait put him on edge. “Komal?” he ventured, reaching out to her.

Komal took Vikram's hand and tolerated his brief kiss on the back of her hand before sinking onto the same bench he was seated on. “Ugh, what a day,” she lamented.

“What's wrong?” Vikram asked, concern coloring his voice.

“Nothing,” Komal said. “Classes at my level are a nightmare. You'll see the same when you get to your fourth year.”

“You can handle it,” Vikram stated confidently. “Anything I can do to help, you say it and I'll have it to you before lunch.”

“I volunteered for the biochemistry track, it's my problem,” Komal said. “You said something about getting your own place soon?”

“Yes,” Vikram said. “My birthday is tomorrow, and once I'm twenty, then I can legally work in the mines. Once I have paychecks, I can afford my own place.”

“I don't understand,” Komal said. “Mining shifts and school are incompatible. You can't be in two places at once. You'd have to stop studying.”

“I know,” Vikram replied, preparing the spiel he'd rehearsed for days prior to this. “I will have to take a break from school in order to get the hours in, but once I've saved up enough I can quit working the mines and finish the biochem track, just like you. Depending on the pay that could easily be done in two years, maybe four if things are tight. Besides all that, once you have a big fancy science job you won't need me to support you.”

“Vik,” Komal said, her tone shifting to admonishment. “Do you know anyone who quit work in the mines and went back to school?”

Vikram blew out an exasperated sigh. “You sound like Aditya. Some people get sucked in and make it their lives but that won't be me. I know what I'm doing. I'm smart, and I have the most beautiful woman in the world to keep me on the right path.”

Komal smiled briefly at the compliment, but returned to her previous tone. “It is not worth it. Finish school. Once I have work in a laboratory I can recommend you for employment, too. It's only two years.”

“Don't, do not say 'it's only two years.' Two years is a lot different when it's under my mother's roof.”

“Your mother is watching the little boy she taught how to use a spoon learn about pheromone biosynthesis and G-protein dissociations,” Komal commented. “She's probably having a time, thinking about how she's going to be alone sooner rather than later.”

“It's an ending for her; it's a beginning for me,” Vikram protested.

“It is, but there's only one reason for you to do this, and that's because you want to be away from her.”

“She treats you like trash.”

“Don't change the subject,” Komal chided. “Whatever problem the two of us have, it's not worth you risking your future. I can deal with your mother hating me. I am not gonna deal with you fouling up your education just because you don't want to live with her.”

“Komal-”

“No, I've made my position clear. I'm done talking about this. These are next week's problems. We should be talking about your party.”

Vikram sighed. “I don't want a party,” he said, trying not to visibly pout.

“Well, too bad. There's going to be a party and sweet cakes and we're all going to tell embarrassing stories about you.”

Vikram released her hand. “I only want one thing for my birthday and apparently no one thinks I should get it.”

“Don't pout,” Komal ordered. “I have to go see my own mother about something. Try to pretend you're surprised and delighted tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Vikram surrendered. “Did you make sweet cakes for me?”

“No, your mother did. She's a better cook.”

“All right. Will I see you again tonight?”

“Probably not. After I can get away from dad tomorrow for the party, okay?”

“See you then,” Vikram said, leaning in for a hug. Komal embraced him, and then disappeared into foot traffic of level once again.

Vikram watched her walk away, thoughts stewing furiously. Had he been any deeper in his mind, he would not have seen Komal drop something from her bag. Realising there was a very real risk of it getting kicked into a gutter and disappearing forever, Vikram sprang into action to recover it from crowd. Twice it was kicked by pedestrians and once more by Vikram himself, but a desperate dive allowed him to catch it. Cognizant of the possibility that he might also wind up being kicked, Vikram regained his feet and hurried back to his own bag before someone could decide an unattended bag was there for the taking.

On his way back, he turned the object over in his hands trying to puzzle out what it was. It had a clear plastic case, and inside he could see a disk that refracted blue light when another light source hit, turning a sharp purple in the red light of the thermal reactor's cycle. Resolving to ask Komal about it tomorrow, he stuffed it in his bag and made his way to Aditya's.

A half-hour later, Vikram sank down on Aditya's bed while his friend labored at a net terminal, punching calculations in and occasionally modifying an on-screen schematic.

“What're you working on?” Vikram asked, lacing his fingers behind his head and crossing his legs.

“Practice test for exams in a few weeks,” Aditya said. “I'm almost done.”

“Don't rush on my account,” Vikram said.

Several more minutes passed in silence. Vikram sat up and pulled the item Komal dropped out of his bag. He probed it further, eventually finding a latch along the meridian that would pop the case open, exposing the blue disk inside. His contemplation came to an end when Aditya said “Holy shit.”

Vikram looked up from his reverie to see his friend staring at the disk in his hands, slightly agog. “Where did you get a DORD?”

“You know what it is?” Vikram asked, anticipating Aditya reaching out for it.

Aditya took it from him. “Yeah, DORD stands for 'Digital Optical Retention Diskette.' It's a fancy recordable media. We've used a few in my CAD classes. You don't really see them down here in the caves, they're more topsider tech.”

“So not anything Komal would have normally?”

“I mean, maybe, she's on her last year of school, maybe they trust fourth years with this kind of stuff, whereas us engineering guys have to use them sooner.”

“And you said it's a readable disk?”

“I mean, it should be. If someone recorded something on it I could read it with a mod drive.”

“Do you have one?”

“Sure do, hold on...” Aditya said as he flipped through a few metal components jacked in to his net terminal, reading their serial numbers one by one. “Here we go, mod drive Escal-2, compatible with all DORD marks.”

Vikram inserted the disk in the Escal-2 drive, watching the intake actuators take in the disk and begin spinning it. A few clicks of the reading armature sliding into place, and preloaded program on the disk started.

A video player appeared on Aditya's terminal, opening on a scene from Apollyon's surface, far above them. “Welcome to the Almarta Laboratories, a subsidiary of Alandalus Biotech!” a spritely voice announced from the video's audio track. “We are proud to welcome you,” and it momentarily flashed the name 'Komal Mudaliyar' before returning to the view of the previous building. “to the Almarta family! An exciting career in biotech production awaits you.” The scene wiped away and another began, but the video fragmented and stopped abruptly as Aditya ripped the disk out of the mod drive.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Aditya cursed, staring at the disk in his hand. “This is...probably private.”

“That was a surface-level biotech lab,” Vikram said. “I know the Almarta name. They were mentioned as a corp that doesn't discriminate against cave-district graduates, and thus a good place to work after graduation.”

“So...maybe Komal was looking at working for them?”

“Past tense. Looked. That video looks like something they send to new hires. As in, already hired.”

“We don't know that.”

Vikram shot his friend a look. “Komal already accepted a job with a surface-level lab. With a corp that provides on-site housing for employees. No way she'd sit through a three hour commute to and from work.”

“Vik,” Aditya began. “I thought the two of you were going to get a block.”

“I wouldn't be able to live on the surface. No way to get down here for classes.”

“We'd have to be apart for two years, except for holidays.”

“Or maybe...ah shit, I'm sorry. Maybe she's gonna move topside and then break up with you when there's 3 hours of funicular transport between the two of you in case you take it poorly.”

Vikram held out the disk's case, and Aditya replaced it. Vikram relatched the case. “Sounds like she and I have something to talk about before my party tomorrow.”

Sleep had some difficulty finding Vikram that night.

The habitation blocks of Pahalagufa would've been nightmarish for non-natives, constantly transmitting the dull hum of machinery and any raised voice from the neighbors, but to someone like Vikram, born there, listening to his neighbor scream at her husband about money spent on liquor that month was normal. Vikram's thoughts were occupied with how to confront his girlfriend about what was most likely an attempt to abandon him.

It took hours, with several breaks to watch shows on the hab-block's terminal but after 4 am his exhausted body finally silenced his restless mind.

Sleep was not restful, though.

Vikram walks the halls of Pahalagufa, but unlike the teeming throngs of workers commuting between work and home, he's used to, the halls are empty. He clutches his bag of books, trying to sling it over his back, but it gets incrementally heavier with each step until it unbalances him and he must drag it. He reaches out to Aditya, but his friend drags his own burden, a similarly overbalanced bag of books. Ahead of him, other students labor, some so weighted down by their books that they are resorting to pushing them along. At the end of the hallway, completely unburdened, floats Komal, less a student and more a goddess, untethered by gravity, one hand in the vitarka mudra and the other in the vajra mudra as radiance poured out from behind her, both her and the central reactor, the blinding light of the sun and the searing red of the thermal coils, at once both combined and also oscillating.

“Where I go, you cannot follow,” the Komal goddess stated, and though she did not address Vikram directly, he knew her words were meant for him.

“Wait!” Vikram cried, dropping his bag and making to sprint to her. As soon as he released the strap, creatures bubbled up from the hallway's floor, human in shape but heavily modified, with masks and hoses coiling around their waists, like someone had surgically implanted mining saftey gear to them. With each step forward, more of these miner-shades came forth, locking plastic-wrapped hands around Vikram's legs and dragging him down into the floor with them. “I won't go with you!” Vikram protested, trying to push them away, but there were so many that he had no hope. In an attempt to escape them, he turned back to his bag and seized the strap. The miner-beasts reacted as if struck, recoiling and re-submerging into the netherworld from whence they came.

Vikram tried to pursue the Komal goddess while clutching the bag, but its weight prevented him from making significant progress. And if he tried to abandon his bag once again, the miner-beasts would surge forward to drag him down again. A look to his left or his right would reveal his fellow students in similar straits; some of them dragged fully beneath the hall's surface by the miner-beasts. Vikram felt he should cry from frustration, but he could not. He kept trying to push forward while clutch his bag. The Komal goddess continued to rise, now almost past Vikram's reach. “Wait for me!” he called desperately.

Very suddenly his bag became even heavier, as though it was pinned down by something. Vikram looked back at it, and found himself staring up in to blazing red eyes and a mane of fire. The creature squatting on his big was enormous and yet also delicate, a massive humanoid form of fire and gold, yet it balanced its considerable bulk on only the single point of Vikram's bag.

THERE YOU ARE, it thundered, apparently not speaking and yet the words arrived in Vikram's ears just the same. TRYING TO HIDE FROM ME IN YOUR OWN DREAMS? It paused, as if waiting for an answer. NO MATTER. YOU ARE MINE NOW.

“Wha-what?” was all Vikram managed to stammer before the creature snatched him up effortlessly and dropped him into its yawning red maw.

Vikram was snatched from a sea of boiling oil by his mother's voice. “Vik, wake up! We have a million things to do and you cannot spend all morning in bed.” Bhairavi busied herself with scooping some of the chaos of her son's room into a managable pile. When Vikram groaned and curled further into his sheets, she pulled his pillow out from under his head. “This minute,” she insisted.

“Why does my face hurt?” Vikram asked, burying his face in his hands.

“You stayed up to late at Aditya's again,” Bhairavi stated. “Now get dressed, we have to eat breakfast and go to the supplier. If I'm going to make your favorite dinner, we need to get things.”

A half-dozen memories of his dreams, having his skin peeled off by tanners' knives rose in Vikram's mind and he sprang out of bed, only to hit his head on his mirror and go down in a heap.

“Vik!” Bhairavi exclaimed, rushing to her son's side. “You look like death. Go wash up and get dressed. I will check on breakfast.”

Pleased to be away from his mother so that he could reorder his thoughts, Vikram spent a moment on the floor trying to sort his memories from his awareness from the dreams he was just in.

Hot nails pounded into his forehead, bamboo stakes prying up his fingernails, cast into pit to be ripped apart and devoured by pigs-

None of it was real, all dreams. But his face burned, worse than how he imagined a sunburn would feel if he'd ever spent long enough in the sun to get one. His fingers itched like sand grit was pushing against the inside of his skin. He found his feet and trudged to the lavatory, scrubbing down his face washing his hands furiously, but nothing he could do would chase away the burning or the itching. Pushing down the immediate sense-memory of the boiling oil ocean, Vikram dried his face ran a brush through his hair, only to look down at it and see more hair than he was expecting to be pulled by the brush's bristles. “Is my hair thinning?” he wondered, compulsively checking his reflection in the lavatory mirror again. “I can't deal with this,” he said. He returned to his room and dug through his closet for clean clothes and scooped up his bag before heading out into the wider hab-block.

And he was greeted by a dozen faces, all smiling broadly, and shouting “Happy birthday!” The main area of the hab-block was decorated modestly, and significant amount of food was laid out.

Dozens of leering faces reciting Vikram's sins, while a figure in a smiling mask lashed his back into a bloody mess-

“What?” Vikram managed weakly, looking around in his still groggy state.

“We're having your party early,” Bhairavi stated. “Aditya I'm sure has something planned for later, but for right now you're going to have a party here.”

The next moments were a blur as a few of Vikram's cousins shook his hand and teased him about being twenty, as he undshouldered his bag, and some of his school friends telling him about his mother had been planning this for weeks and tracked them all down individually. All of this passed in a haze as Vikram tried his best to smile and be polite even though he was still stunned.

One thing cut cleanly through the haze, though. Komal was here, prudently far away from Bhairavi, but amongst the guests. All the sleep in Vikram's head melted away like a butter pat on a hot griddle, and the burning in his face increased an order of magnitude. Vikram's teeth clenched and every muscle in his arms and legs tensed at once. Vikram strode over to his discarded bag, pulled it open and obtained the disk he and Aditya viewed the previous night and crossed the room instantly, the party and his friends and family melting away until all he could perceive was a long red tunnel with Komal at the end of it.

Vikram stepped within arm's reach of Komal and brandished the disk's case where she could clearly see it. “What is this?” he demanded, tone making it evident that the situation was about to escalate.

Komal regarded him with confusion at first, then realization. “My DORD! I thought I'd lost it.”

“Your job offer from a topside corp,” Vikram said. “That you accepted.”

By this point, everyone present realized the situation developing. All eyes were on Vikram and Komal. “Vik? You're scaring me.”

“You'd have to live topside, a long way away from me,” Vikram continued. “What was the plan? Wait until you're in corp housing and then break up with me? Or just keep stringing me along and hope I lose patience with only seeing you four times a year?”

“Vikram Mehrotra,” his mother called, in the tone she reserved for correcting misbehavior.

“Vik, please, this is not the place,” Komal said, trying to move away from Vikram.

“I think this is exactly the place,” Vikram said. The itching in his fingers was nearly impossible to ignore. He reached out to Komal, intent on preventing her from moving away.

He never got the chance, because two of his cousins grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him back.

Gigantic demons beating him with canes-

Vikram tried to pull away from them, but they had the advantage in positioning and numbers. Vikram's teeth clenched once again and the burning in his face was unbearable.

Thousands of maggots writhing beneath his skin, eating his muscles and defecating on his bones-

Vikram tried to twist out of their grip, but they held him fast. Until the skin on his fingers split and blood-soaked claws emerged, allowing him to rake his cousins' faces.

A crown of red-hot iron laid on his head by cackling imps-

Vikram's normally black hair fell from his scalp, making way for mane of thick red hair, somehow both dancing in flames and yet unburned. The burning in his face subsided as new fangs ejected his previous teeth from his jaw, causing them to fall to the floor of the hab-block with bloody clicks. Vikram tried to say “Don't touch me!” but all that came out was a primal scream.

Chased by horseback demons, lacerating his legs with sharpened sling stones as they approached-

The gravity of the situation had dawned on everyone by this point, and this time Vikram was borne down six assailants, who pulled him off his feet and down onto the floor of the hab-block.

Again, Vikram tried to say “Let me go!” but could only manage a snarl. He struggled against those restraining him, but against six other people he could not get the leverage necessary to free himself.

A cocoon of chains as he was lowered into a sea of boiling oil-

As the memory of sea of boiling oil cross Vikram's mind, one of the people restraining suddenly loosened his grip, abruptly trying to get away, screaming as he went. Vikram looked to another and thought of the red-hot iron crown, and he also recoiled, trying to claw a crown from his head. Any torture he could remember from his dreams he could inflict on another, or at least the sense-memory of it.

Now free from those dragging him down, Vikram rose, chest heaving, head still coruscating with red flames, claws scoring the floor of the hab-block. His eyes darted around, looking for Komal but not seeing her. The door to the hab-block still swaying on its hinges seemed to indicate where she'd gone. Stepping over the bodies of those who sought to trap him, Vikram picked up the disk again and made for the door.

Before stepping out into Pahalagufa proper, Vikram again heard his mother's voice. “Let go of me, I don't care, he is still my son!” Bhairavi rushed to her son's side. “Vikram, please, do not follow her. If people see you like this, they will call the police.”

“Mother,” Vikram said with a voice like green wood popping in a bonfire. “I hope they do.” He reached up his clawed hand and cradled the side of his mother's head, then inflicted the Hell of Bamboo Skewers on her, leaving her clutching her fingers in agony on the floor of the hab-block.

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dreams, Chapter 11

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 11

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2616

Summary: Another dream makes things more clear for the reader and less clear for Sam.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n

The booths are those plastic-coated pressboard swoops that are so easy to clean, one row down either side of the long room once you walk past the counter to order. Like other pizza places, there are red pepper flakes and grated parmesan on the table, but they also keep ranch dressing in a minifridge behind the counter as a concession to Midwestern sensibilities. You know you’re just outside Dayton just like you know the pizza shop is run by a family, father and two older teenage daughters deftly throwing dough and scattering cheese evenly over it in a way that shows their years of practice. Dean sits across the table with his elbows on it, one forefinger and thumb picking through a plate of nachos between you. His black t-shirt, amulet, and lack of flannel make you notice the hum of the air conditioner in the background, straining over the 90’s alternative radio and reminding you that you’d been here in a heat stroke the summer after you and Dean had gotten together, his golden freckles and lightened tips of his slightly messy hair underlining the memory.

“They don’t serve nachos here.” It’s half statement and half question.

“Babe, it’s your dream. They’ll serve whatever you want. Does the pizza suck in Wisconsin or something?”

The two sisters are whispering to each other as they look over at your table, an almost-argument that ends with who you suspect is the older sister poofing a pinch of flour into the other’s face. They’re both cute girls but she’s adorable, soft cherubic cheeks and messy bun piling impossibly glossy hair on her head as she walks over to the table with a gigantic pizza. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks in a perfect welcoming cheerleader pitch.

“I think we’re good for now, sweetheart,” Dean purrs with a wink. That you remember; you’d playfully chastised Dean for dazzling the teens, laughing in his face when he’d said it wasn’t on purpose, that he couldn’t help it if chicks dug him. The wink had proved your point then and now it makes the girl’s cheeks flush red.

She catches herself remarkably well, the stammer almost slipping under the radar as she assures you that you can “holler if you need anything!”

Dean brushes his fingers free of nacho debris and loosens a piece of pizza from the melting cheese of the ones next to it. “Last time you had all kinds of sweet nothings and questions for me and now you’re Silent Cal?”

“I don’t think this is real, but I’m pretty sure if I push it you’ll either die in this dream or I’ll wake up, so my plan is to stay here as long as we can.”

He drops the pizza back into the box and wipes off his fingers on a napkin before slouching into the booth, arm stretched across its length. “So test me then. Gimme a question only I would know or something.”

“Well if I ask you something that I know the answer to, my brain will just project you knowing it. See the problem?”

Dean squints and pouts in consideration, touch of a smile dancing across his face and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen may you be struck dead right now. “Then ask me something you don’t know the answer to.”

You think about explaining how that too could just be some part of your subconscious recreation of Dean but you don’t want to keep pulling at loose strings in the event that it wakes you up. It’s too hard to keep from smiling, seeing Dean charming and relaxed like this, and when you grin it makes Dean bite his lip. “What’s something I don’t know the answer to?”

“Ah, ah—I thought I’m just a hologram, how would I know?”

“Projection, but okay,” you stall. “Wait, here’s one. Sam said when I first started going on jobs with you guys that you had to have a conversation about staying focused. What was that all about?”

He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Man, why would he tell you that?” he says under his breath, smirking mostly to himself before leaning forward to meet your eyes. “Fine. I’m not even sure that you’re going to remember this. There was a vengeful spirit in Indiana, some like homesteader guy, ring a bell?”

You have only the vaguest sense of recollection and sort of waggle your head to show it.

“It was way at the beginning of when you started coming on jobs with us. You and Bobby got into it because he wanted you to bring your own car so you could ditch us if we were ‘acting like cretins’ or some shit like that?”

That fits the last puzzle piece in for you and makes you chuckle. “He ended up giving me like $250 of mad money in case I needed a new room or a bus ticket, yeah. I remember.”

“I didn’t know that part but that’s gotta be the same trip. The whole thing was really stupid. Basically we were supposed to have your six but both me and Sammy wanted to carry a shotgun instead of doing that protection spell because it looked cooler. We were arguing about it when the spirit whipped a chunk of the barn’s scaffolding at you and we didn’t catch it in time. You heard it coming and ducked so nothing ended up happening, but it fucking demolished the wall behind you. It was a huge fuckup—thing could’ve taken your head clean off, you know? Sam was so broken up about it he was wasted for like a week solid after we dropped you back off at Bobby’s.”

“Really? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“I know, usually he does some kind of pouty baby bullshit. But I mean both of us felt really guilty that bitching at each other could’ve taken you out.”

Dean’s eyes rake over your face, seeming to linger over every inch like he’s going to draw a topographical map of it later by memory. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something but you can’t think of anything other than tracing each of his freckles where they dust across his nose.

A hand reaches over the table to run his fingertips along the back of yours, and that certainly feels real enough to send an ache into your gut. “What if you ask Sam? If he says that’s not what happened then you can keep saying I’m not real and you don’t have to listen to me.”

“But he already basically told me that. The only thing I probably wouldn’t have guessed about that is Sam getting drunk about it—these could’ve been just well-informed guesses about when it probably was or the kinds of things it seemed like he was implying.”

His lips press into a firm line and the barest touch of pink rises in his cheeks. “We, um, we pinky swore on it.”

The adorableness of his embarrassment makes you grin teasingly as much as the divulgence does. “A pinky promise? You guys must’ve been pretty serious to take such a sacred oath.”

He rolls his eyes at your ribbing and throws his hands back in his lap with a defeated smirk. “Laugh it up. Would that be good enough proof for you?”

It seems like Dean has figured out a loophole in the system, but you’re sure the light of day and Sam’s scrutiny will figure out why it isn’t actual evidence of communication with Dean beyond death, and you tell him that.

A curtain of suspicious confusion falls over Dean’s face. “Sam being weird about it is what’s keeping you from trusting this? Kid, I’ve been talking to Sa—”

And you woke up.

The bed was empty next to you but you could smell something sweet in the air and hear the light clinking of pots or pans Sam was trying his best to keep quiet. You blinked back a few tears of frustration—who even cared if it was real or not? Reliving a great memory with Dean was more than enough and instead of enjoying it you’d wasted a chance at some small respite from your constant ache of grief. And even then, you hadn’t used any of your time to figure out how the whole thing worked, how you could see him again.

But the most pressing issue was what you thought Dean had been trying to say before disappearing; that he had gotten through to Sam. Sam, of course, deserved to have secrets, but if he had been sitting on the resolution to all the angst you’d been struggling through in the last weeks (months?), you couldn’t imagine a reason why that wouldn’t hurt. Nothing would be solved by laying in your bed to sulk about it, though, so you threw on some clothes and went to brush your teeth.

When you came out, Sam was hunched slightly, the standard stove highlighting his decidedly non-standard height as he shuffled a pan’s handle. He had a dishtowel over his t-shirt clad shoulder, a habit from the bar that sometimes held over when he was in the kitchen at home, and bare feet under old jeans. They were wearing through at the knees, and you knew they were absolutely pajama-soft from having periodically thrown them in with your own laundry. Through the kitchen window, enough snow-brightened sunlight came into the room to cast him in a halo glow that gleamed off of his hair. As long as it had gotten, chunks still swept into his face as he looked down at the stove, and he tucked one behind his ear as he looked up, half-singing a Buddy Guy song that was playing softly. It was stunning—he was stunning, statuesque and strong and right there in front of you. Cooking you breakfast while you slept in, of all things, chocolate chip pancakes he had to have remembered were your favorite from ages ago. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had them and right now, nothing in the world sounded better. He beamed and tilted the pan toward you. “Morning! I made pancakes, you want some?”

And you should’ve just let the moment rest, sat in the rare bright winter morning and eaten chocolate chip pancakes and relished how well the boiler was working, maybe later in the day read a predictable murder mystery or taped off the living room to be painted and listened to REM until your shoulders were sore from running rollers up the walls all afternoon. Instead, about as stupid and weird a flop as if a toad had come out of your mouth, you said, “Have you been talking to Dean too?”

Sam’s face fell but not in the right way. There was too much angle in his brow and that confirmed it. “What?” he asked, but it didn’t land.

“How long have you been talking to Dean?”

He kept that curious smile for a second, like maybe he could push through by playing dumb and you would forget, but finally his lips flattened and his jaw clenched as he stacked a finished pancake on top of its predecessors. “Just because I’m having dreams about him doesn’t mean it’s really him,” he finally answered, softly and as though he was telling the bubbling pancake batter in front of him, unable to meet your eyes.

You felt the lump forming in your throat and tried to get the words out ahead of its solidifying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“For what?” He let go of the pan and turned toward you, supporting his weight on the countertop. “So we can both—”

“Both what? Be delusional? Is that what you were going to say?”

Sam didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw was firm and he kept his eyes locked on yours.

“He told me you were drunk for a week after the hunt you were talking about.” You watched as Sam’s pupils widened a touch. “And that you didn’t just promise each other to buckle down, you pinky swore.” Sam’s Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. “It’s true, isn’t it? I can see in your face that it is. Did you already know it’s really him?”

He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I was pretty sure. Or at least I really hoped I was pretty sure.”

You felt more than consciously allowed your mouth’s falling open. “How? How long?”

“It just—I don’t know, it just felt different. I—uh, the first time was after we made those cupcakes; he asked about the cupcakes.”

You slumped against the countertop opposite him, speechless. He shoved the pan off the hot burner a little too hard, put a palm on either side of the stove to brace himself. The two of you stood like that for a long minute, the smell of chocolate not matching the stiff heaviness in the air at all.

“I don’t—what if it’s not real?” His throat sounded bound even though you couldn’t see his face, hulking mass of him spread across the tiny kitchen.

He seemed so defeated, so young, and then you couldn’t believe how selfish you’d been, not putting two and two together that something challenging Sam’s grip on or understanding of reality must shove him back to the brain melting torture he’d endured in the cage and the months—years, maybe, he was always so tight-lipped about it—afterward. What the fuck were you thinking, not seeing it before, how this could seem like a perfectly laid trap for Sam, the most poetic way to whip his mind into stiff peaks of meringue. It made so much sense why he would need time to really suss it out, see the situation from all angles and investigate, check and re-check. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away. This was not about you or your complicated need for him, it was about Sam, what he’d been through, what he was likely putting himself through even now.

“The, um, the pancakes smell really good.”

“Yeah?” There was half a laugh behind his words, humorless as it was. “I hope they’re okay, I know they’re your, uh, your favorite.”

“I’m surprised you remembered.”

Sam leaned on one arm to rub his face with his other hand. “Yeah, well.”

“Can I help?”

After a beat, he stood up and offered some space next to him on the stove. You worked hip to hip, sprinkling the chocolate chips while Sam flipped. He was scraping the last of the batter into a last little runt pancake with a spatula when you couldn’t help yourself and wrapped your arms around his waist. He seemed surprised, if sad, before setting down the bowl and covering as much of you as he could, folding over you like a protective shell. It reminded you of that dirty motel room, months and months ago, when Sam held you together as you cracked in his arms. All he could do then was be steadfast in reminding you he was still there, if nothing else was, and you hoped you were able to give him the same now.

You silently laid two place settings on the kitchen counter while Sam set the food out. He sat next to you and had picked up his fork when you touched his wrist to still him. “If it’s not real for you then I’m losing it too.”

Sam thought for a second, then raised his forearm and kissed the back of your hand where you held onto him before cutting into his pancakes.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 12

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi? (Gigi x Nicky) - Peridot

A/N: Y’all wanted domme Nicky and sub Gigi? You’re welcome.

This is a little lesbian one shot I wrote for the season 12 girls because I’m really enjoying them! I haven’t written a fic since December, so I’m sorry if I’m a little rusty! Also go easy on me, I don’t usually write smut and I only did the tiniest bit in this, so be gentle. Please leave me some feedback, I’d love to hear what you think of this! Also come say hi at my sideblog @artificialperidot, because I wanna make friends!

Summary: Gigi didn’t think anybody could make her sub. That was, until she met miss Nicky Doll.

Hope you enjoy!

The pair stumbled through the door of Nicky’s apartment, Nicky’s hands an iron grip on Gigi’s wrist, practically dragging the girl. The door shut with a click, and in a split second Gigi found herself shoved against it, boxed in by Nicky’s arms.

“Put your hands above your head, bitch.”

“There’s no way”

Gigi rolled her eyes and took a sip of her strawberry mocktail whilst the group around her snickered. She and her flatmates Heidi, Jackie and Jan were out for drinks at their local bar, sitting in a leather booth with some unrecognisable 90s beat playing over the speakers, barely audible over the chatter of people. It was their first night out in a long time, a celebration for Jackie’s new job offer in a weekly cabaret show. Gigi, however, wasn’t drinking with her friends - she knew how fast Heidi could get her drunk, and she was not about to have another crazy night, and was not about to let her friends get to that stage, either. The last one had been christened, “The milkshake incident” and Gigi had never quite lived it down. And she did not intend to have a repeat tonight.

But, as things often did when they had a girls night, the conversation quickly turned to sex.

“Oh come on, G,” Heidi exclaimed, “Are you saying no one in God’s universe could make you sub?”

“Highly doubt it.”

“Not even if you hadn’t had sex in years?”

“Nope.”

“Damn, I knew you were a control freak, but didn’t know you cared that much.” Jan quipped, received a chuckle from the group.

“Yeah, well, that and the fact that I don’t think anyone could turn me on enough for me to listen to them,” Gigi added. “Like, I’d have to be about to fucking explode before I’d let some bitch tell me what to do.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” said Jackie.

“What do you mean?”

“You think no one could turn you on that much?”

Gigi shrugged. “I don’t think so. Girls are hot, but no one’s that hot.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow. “Well, let’s make things interesting then. Let’s arrange a hook up for you. If we can find a bitch that’s hot enough to make you sub, then you’re buying our drinks next time.”

“Ooh bitch, I like the sound of that,” Heidi chirped.

Gigi scoffed. “And if I win?”

“Then… then we’ll never bring up the milkshake incident again.”

Gigi paused. Now that would be worth it. “Deal,” she said, reaching out a hand to shake Jackie’s across the table, to the excited squee of Jan and the ‘ooohs’ of Heidi. “This sounds amazing. I’m getting a free hookup out of this, and I get to dom. I can’t lose.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Miss Goode,” Jackie commented, tapping at her phone screen, which she kept hidden from Gigi. “I have some contacts.”

Jackie couldn’t keep the mischievous grin from her face. “Who did you have in mind?” Heidi asked her, leaning over her shoulder to look at her phone.

“Just a little friend of mine, from back in New York.”

“Girl, if it’s who I’m thinking of, Miss Gigi doesn’t stand a chance!” Jan added.

Jackie smiled mischievously at Jan, giving her a knowing look, before leaning over and whispering something indecipherable into Heidi’s ear, which sent her reeling. “No way! Oh, this bitch stands no chance!” she exclaimed, a little too loudly for Gigi’s liking. “Drinks for us next Saturday bitches!”

Jan laughed, and Gigi rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t be too confident. I can be intimidating when I wanna be.”

“Do you wanna be intimidating all the time then? Cause you are a scary bitch,” Heidi added, receiving a giggle from the group. “Seriously I’d still be frightened of you if I hadn’t seen the milkshake incident go down with my own eyes.”

The girls began cackling with laughter, and to save her embarrassment, Gigi laughed along too.

At least after tonight she’d never have to hear about it again.

This should be easy.

After about an hour or so of cocktails and a trip to the dance floor (where Heidi decided to give everyone in the bar some dance lessons, whether they were willing or not), Jackie disappeared and returned with a woman following along behind her.

“Gigi, there’s a little someone I want you to meet,” Jackie grinned. “This is Nicky. Nicky Doll.”

Jackie stepped to the side, and forward walked a woman. A woman who looked as if she was straight from the covers of vogue.

Gigi couldn’t deny that the woman standing in front of her was beautiful. Fuck, she may have just been one of the most gorgeous women she’d ever seen. Long blonde hair, dark features, and a body to die for. She wore a tight red mini dress that showed off her perfect curves and tiny waist, with a leather jacket thrown over her shoulders, embroidered with roses. She exuded sultriness, in the sort of way that made you certain that she knew just how sexy she was. Her bedroom eyes looked Gigi up and down like a predator surveying its prey, and a smile formed from her pursed lips.

Fuck.

She’s good.

Well, two can play at that game.

Gigi strutted over to the woman, swaying her hips, and slowly reached out a hand for her to shake. “Good evening, Nicky.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow and took her hand, gripping it firmly. “Nice to meet you, darling,” she drawled, her tone exuding confidence. “You want me to top her, Jackie? Shouldn’t be a problem.”

It was then that Gigi picked up on her accent, and her heart jumped a little. It took her a second to distinguish it, but after years of french class in high school, her ear was attuned to the pronunciation.

French. Fucking French?

Somehow it made her ten times hotter.

But, Gigi wasn’t about to back down yet.

“It might be a problem, seeing I’m head and shoulders taller than you,” she quipped, quirking an eyebrow and lifting her chin.

“At least I’m not a skinny little bitch,” Nicky quickly shot back, taking Gigi off guard. “She looks like one of those inflatable car advertisements, you know, the one with the flailing arms.”

The group began to laugh, including Gigi, trying desperately to brush off the joke and not show a crack in her armour. The little jolt in her chest when Nicky looked at her didn’t help make matters any easier.

Of course Jackie just happened to know this gorgeous French supermodel who was just as intimidating as Gigi, maybe even more so. This bet wasn’t going to be as easy as it seemed.

Either way, she was so fucking glad she was going to fuck this bitch tonight.

The sound of Jackie’s voice shook Gigi out of her daydream. “So guys, are you still willing to go home together tonight?”

“Oh, yeah, absolutely. She’s really hot,” Gigi said, in her sexiest voice. “Can’t wait to see her on her knees.”

Nicky didn’t flinch at Gigi’s last sentiment. She simply raised an eyebrow, as if to say are you kidding?

Gigi would be lying if she said that it didn’t turn her on. Slightly.

“Well, Nicky?” Jackie prompted.

“Eh, she’s not bad looking herself.” Nicky shot Gigi a smirk. “I’m up for it.”

“Great,” Jackie said with a clap of her hands. “The bet’s on! Now, who’s for another round of drinks? On me!”

The sentence was met by whoops and cheers from Jan and Heidi, and the girls slunk their way through the crowd towards the bar, Gigi and Nicky following after them.

Gigi felt an arm slide around hers, interlocking them, and felt a voice by her ear.

“Darling, I’m just checking you’re staying sober for tonight?” Nicky said in a hushed tone. The breath on Gigi’s skin made her shudder just a bit.

“Of course,” she replied with mock confidence. “I wouldn’t be comfortable any other way.”

“Good,” Nicky replied. “And, I want to check that no matter what goes down tonight, you're ok with it? Like, if you don’t top you are still comfortable.”

Gigi smiled. It was cute that she checked. “I’m comfortable with whatever goes down, though that shouldn’t be a problem for me anyway.”

“Good,” Nicky said matter-of-factly, before slipping her arm out from its entwinement with Gigi’s and starting to walk ahead of her to catch up with the group. She stopped after a second though, turning her head back to Gigi and waiting for her to catch up. She leant into her, her voice even more low and hushed than before.

“And don’t get too confident, baby. It’s not cute,” she said, giving Gigi a tap on the ass, before walking ahead of her again as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t enough to hurt - it was barely enough for Gigi to even feel it. But it made her stop in her tracks, rendered immovable.

Gigi gulped. She didn’t know if it was possible for a human heartbeat to exceed 100 miles per hour, but she was sure that hers had gotten pretty close.

Shit.

Gigi wasn’t sure if it was the pounding of the music through the speakers, or the pounding of her heart that made her feel lightheaded, but after a while she needed to sit down. Not wanting to bother her friends, who were busy laughing and dancing and spilling their cocktails all over the dance floor, she left their group and made her way over to a booth at the side of the room, resting her elbows on the table. She squeezed her eyes shut. It didn’t make the loud beat or the flashing strobe lights go away, but at least it stopped her head spinning a little.

After all, the thoughts swimming in her brain were enough for her head to deal with.

All she could think about was Nicky.

Before long, she felt someone slide into the booth beside her, a hand moving to rest on the small of her back.

She didn’t need to open her eyes to guess who it was.

“Are you alright, my darling?” a thick french accent murmured.

Gigi opened her eyes to face the girl beside her, whose eyes were wide with concern.

“I’m okay Nicky, thanks. Just felt a little lightheaded, that’s all.”

Nicky flashed her a caring smile. “It’s okay Gigi. You can rest your head on me if you need to, that might help.” Gigi smiled gratefully at her, before laying her head on the shorter girl’s shoulder. Nicky began rubbing her back in small circles, comforting her. “Do you need any water?”

“I’m okay, thanks. I’m starting to feel better already.”

“I’m glad.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, Nicky soothing Gigi, and Gigi trying to conceal her inner panic. She’d never met someone like Nicky before. Never. No one had ever turned her on as fast, for a start. And, she seemed to genuinely care about her, and they’d only just met for Christ sake.

Let’s just say, Gigi was pretty excited to go home with her tonight. She was even more excited to see her again after tonight, though. On a date.

That is, if she plucked up the courage to ask her.

She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

Nicky began stroking Gigi’s hair, softly and gently, being careful not to mess it up, and Gigi melted into the touch. “You okay down there?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just wanted to stay like this for a little while.”

“That’s okay. I like it too, ma crevette.”

Gigi’s eyes blinked open with confusion. “What does that mean?”

Nicky paused and smiled. “You’ll laugh.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a term of endearment in french, sort of like ‘my darling’,” she started, “but the literal translation is ‘my shrimp.’

The two girls began silently laughing to each other, like two school girls giggling over a secret. “You’re joking!”

“I’m serious! French is weird when you put it into English.”

“I used to study french, you know. Back in high school.”

Nicky looked impressed. “Really?”

“Yeah, but I can barely remember any of it. It was the only class I consistently failed,” she laughed. “That and basic math.”

“Speak some french for me Gigi. I’ll be the judge of that.”

Gigi racked her brain, trying to come up with something more interesting than ‘bonjour’ or ‘je m’appelle Gigi’, when she remembered a little song from ‘Moulin Rouge’ that she thought would fit the bill perfectly.

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

Their little booth erupted into fits of giggles, Nicky barely able to comprehend her choice of phrase. Gigi watched closely, loving the way her nose screwed up when she laughed, and the toothy grin that took over her face.

Gigi didn’t know it was possible to be sexy and adorable, but she’d been proven wrong.

“Someone’s seen ‘Moulin Rouge’,” Nicky laughed.

“Well? Is that a yes? Oui or non?” Gigi persisted, leaning her shoulder into Nicky’s side.

Nicky shook her head and rolled her eyes with a sense of disbelief, but she didn’t try and stop the smile from creeping over her lips.

“Oui, my darling,” she laughed, before planting a kiss on Gigi’s cheek. “But, just because I’m being nice now doesn’t mean I’ll be nice later when I’m punishing you.”

Gigi felt a pang in her chest, and bit the inside of her lip, despite her ambivalence. She was embarrassed of the way it turned her on. The thought of Nicky doing what she wants to her, having her way with her, was so sexy.

But the thought of Nicky down on her knees for her, was a pretty tempting thought too. So, she concealed the way her heart leapt out of her chest by raising an eyebrow, hoping her dark features and intimidating aura would have the same effect on Nicky as she had on her.

“Bold of you to assume you won’t be the one getting punished,” Gigi said, glaring into Nicky’s eyes and hoping she matched Nicky’s ice-cold stare.

Nicky scoffed, an evil smirk forming on her pursed lips. “Oh please. Tell that to the girl who was lying on my shoulder 5 minutes ago, letting me pet her and stroke her hair. Or the girl who let me spank her earlier with no retaliation,” she started, her predator gaze burning into Gigi’s skin, making her want to squirm. “Face it, you’ve been practically begging for me to top you all night. You’re so pathetically desperate for it.”

Fuck.

Gigi’s breath quickened, the rise and fall of her chest matching the speed of her frantic heartbeat, sending adrenaline all around her body, electricity shooting down her legs and arms to the tips of her fingers.

Nicky saw that Gigi’s mask was slipping, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Gigi wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or her anger that made her primal instincts kick in, but suddenly she was on top of Nicky, attacking her in a kiss. She used her height to her advantage, leaning over the smaller kiss and cupping her face, as she kissed her with a passion and strength that she wasn’t sure she still had in her.

The kiss was messy, all teeth and tongues, mostly because Gigi was overcome with desire and desperation and a strength of emotion she’d never felt before.

As for Nicky, she kissed back with more precision, but fuelled by the same fire that drove Gigi. She clutched Gigi’s wrist as she kissed her, so hard that Gigi was sure there would be finger-shaped bruises there tomorrow. Her movements were more controlled, as if she was set upon taking Gigi apart with ease and leisure, not allowing the other’s frantic movements to make her lose her cool.

When they pulled apart for air, Gigi wasn’t quite sure who’d won in their battle for dominance.

Before she could say another word, Nicky leaned up, so that the two were drawn level with each other, their noses practically touching as they stared into each other’s eyes with animalistic lust. “Someone’s touchy,” Nicky said with a cocky smirk. “Was that a little too close for comfort, darling?”

Gigi didn’t respond. She didn’t know how to respond, now that Nicky could see through her facade. Instead she simply bit the inside of her lip and broke the eye contact, too ashamed of her feelings to look Nicky in the eyes.

Her fucking beautiful eyes.

Nicky reached a hand up to Gigi’s face, delicately tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, before holding up her chin to face her. “Asked you a question, baby.”

Gigi felt a hand slide around her waist, pulling her in closer. Looking at the woman in front of her, Gigi was sure she’d never wanted someone as much in her life. She was so embarrassed, so ashamed that she was so turned on, and somehow it fuelled the emotion and made it even stronger.

She didn’t give a shit about who topped anymore. She just needed Nicky.

“Fuck the bet.”

Nicky smiled, tapping her nose. “That’s what I like to hear, baby. Call us a taxi. If you can still talk, that is.”

The taxi ride felt like the longest ride of her life. The only thing that kept Gigi tethered to reality was Nicky’s hand clutching hers tightly. But it couldn’t distract her from the aching need between her legs, and the quickening of her breath, which verged on hyperventilation at this point.

They sat in silence for a while, Gigi too consumed by her own thoughts, and Nicky having played the ‘I don’t speak much English’ to avoid awkward small talk with the taxi driver. The silence was broken, however, when Nicky leaned in and started placing butterfly kisses all over Gigi’s neck, feather-light. Gigi couldn’t help but melt into the touch, closing her eyes tight and imagining that they were anywhere but stuck inside a taxi, seatbelts holding them firmly in place. Gigi enveloped her in another frantic kiss, all teeth and tongues, and Nicky bit the other girl’s lower lip, reclaiming her dominance and causing Gigi to inhale sharply.

Before she knew it she was palming at Nicky’s chest over her red dress, longing for some sort of contact, and Nicky was sucking a precise mark onto Gigi’s neck that left her writhing. It caused a whine to escape from Gigi’s lips, a desperate, needy whine that made Nicky swear under her breath, and without a second for Gigi to comprehend what was happening, a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth.

It was animalistic, really, the way they clutched at each other. The bet was long forgotten in Gigi’s mind. She had never felt so strongly about another woman, never wanted anyone like this before. She was usually the one in control, the one who had made countless other girls writhe beneath her in the past.

Oh how the tables had turned.

When the taxi pulled up slowly at a red light, the two were so enamoured with each other to notice the driver, glaring at them from the rear view window.

“Ahem.”

Startled by the noise, the girls pulled themselves off each other in surprise and embarrassment, sitting up straight like they'd been caught cheating on a test. The cab driver shot each of them a dirty look from the mirror, making Gigi wonder if he was homophobic or one of those uptight straight guys that doesn’t like anyone messing up their car. Either way, that typically wasn’t the type of person Gigi liked.

Nicky shot him an affronted look in the mirror, eyes wide with disbelief, as if to say how dare he. “Do you need some medicine for that cough?” she said in her most sarcastic tone. “Or, uh, how you say….. some manners?”

The driver was silent.

Gigi was proud that they managed to sit in silence for about thirty seconds. But the moment Nicky made eye contact with her, the two erupted into fits of uncontrollable laughter, giggling like schoolchildren and trying to suppress their amusement with whispered pleas of ‘shhh!’ and ‘shut up!’ that were of no avail.

Needless to say, if the driver didn’t like them before that, he certainly didn’t like them now.

Between laughs, Nicky called out a ‘here’s fine’ to the driver, who was very excited to see the back of the pair of laughing hyenas from his car. Nicky tossed him a couple of bills, before pulling Gigi out of the car by her wrists, the two still unable to suppress their laughter.

They stumbled down the street as if they were both drunk, falling over each other and cackling, too caught up in their happiness to feel the cold chill on their skin.

It almost distracted Gigi from the need between her legs.

Almost.

“My apartment is a couple blocks away, but I couldn’t sit in that cab any longer,” Nicky chuckled. “A walk won’t do us any harm, anyway.”

Gigi smiled, her gaze lingering over Nicky’s for a little too long. “Babe, you’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

Nicky cocked her head to the side, bemused. “And what makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. It’s like I’ve known you for years. You’re so fun. And so nice,” she started, grabbing onto Nicky’s arm. “And simultaneously a complete bitch.”

Nicky smirked. “I thought you were being nice for a second, but I’ll take it.”

“Bitch, you knew exactly what you were doing to me at the bar. You can’t tell me that wasn’t a dick move.”

“You liked it though.”

Gigi laughed, biting her lip slightly. “Hate to admit it.”

Nicky looked amused. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, darling.”

“You’re cute all the time. Drop dead fucking gorgeous, actually.”

“You’re one to talk, pretty girl.”

Gigi would be lying if she didn’t feel herself blush a little at that.

“So, about tonight… do you still want me to top? Because if you’re not comfortable we can-“

“No! No, no, I want you to top. Please.”

“Are you sure darling? Because if you want-“

“I’m sure. I don’t think I could top you if I tried.”

Nicky laughed to herself. “Aw, she finally admits it at last.”

“Fuck you,” Gigi whined, hitting Nicky playfully on the arm.

Nicky raised her eyebrows, a stern expression creeping onto her face. “None of that language baby. I wanna make you feel really good, darling, but I can only do that if you’re a good girl for me, okay?”

Gigi felt a lump in her throat. “I’ll try. I’ve never done this before though. Subbed.”

“That’s okay, angel, we don’t have to go too far.” Nicky smiled reassuringly at the girl. “But I know what I’m doing. I know how to make you feel really really good, so I need you to trust me, okay?”

Gigi wasn’t sure why, but she did.

“Put your hands above your head, bitch.”

“You get into character quickly, don’t you?” Gigi remarked, staring directly into Nicky’s eyes, which were centimetres from her face. She felt the weight of Nicky’s hips pressing harder into hers, forcing her against the hard wood of the apartment door.

“Don’t be cocky, baby. I already told you it’s not a good look,” Nicky replied, grabbing Gigi’s wrists and holding them above her head herself.

Nicky’s pupils were blown wide, and they scanned the face of the girl before her with an intimate precision that Gigi had never witnessed before. Gigi smirked. She liked this new side to Nicky, this dominant persona who seemed set upon making her unravel.

But of course, Gigi wasn’t about to make things easy for her.

With that, she leaned forward and planted another kiss on Nicky’s parted lips, her tongue sliding into her mouth and her eyes closing shut, transfixed by the softness that she buried herself into.

The kiss was short-lived, however, when Nicky pulled away sharply, one arm pushing Gigi back against the door. Her head bumped against it lightly, and a stern gaze took over Nicky’s features, a mixture of anger and lust. “Thought you were going to be a good girl for me, angel,” she said, tucking a strand of Gigi’s hair behind her ear. “Good girls don’t touch without permission.”

“I can’t help it. You just look so good,” Gigi husked, biting her lip sensually, and Nicky let out a shattered breath, Gigi’s dilated pupils meeting her own.

Nicky slid her knee in between Gigi’s thighs. “If you don’t start behaving, we’re going to have a problem.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

In one swift motion, Nicky pulled Gigi forward by her wrists, landing a slap on her ass over her black dress. “Bedroom. Now.”

The night was a blur of silk bed sheets and passion. The smell of sweat and sex was in the air, the cool breeze from the open window mingling with the heat on their skin. The marks of ropes around Gigi’s wrists and scratches on her skin and love-bites on her neck were still there the next day. And, so was Nicky, to Gigi’s surprise.

Gigi was the first to awaken of the two the next morning. The New York skyline was illuminated by the golden sunrise that seeped through the silk curtains. The plump pillow that Gigi’s head was buried in was soft against her bare skin, and she propped it up against the bed frame, sitting up a little as she stretched and yawned, hands rubbing her eyes. The cold morning air hit her shoulders as she made herself comfortable.

She found herself with only the littlest portion of blanket keeping her decent - the rest was wrapped around Nicky like a sleeping bag, and she curled it up in her arms like she was cuddling a toy.

She presumed that the duvet was her replacement for Gigi when she had rolled over.

Gigi looked down at the woman beside her, laying on her side, her face a picture of peacefulness. Her blonde hair was spread out on the pillow around her head like a halo, and even the remnants of mascara and eyeliner around her eyes didn’t distract from the purity of her features. Her mouth was open just a little, and soft breaths escaped her lips as her chest rose and fell like a metronome.

She was beautiful.

Gigi was extremely glad that she had let her stay the night at her apartment. To be honest, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to make it home after the night she had.

Looking at Nicky fast asleep, Gigi would have never believed that it was the same woman from last night.

But, she was glad that it was. She liked that Nicky could be sexy and dominant, and then immediately switch back to being caring and sweet.

The sentiment was true last night, with Nicky offering Gigi all the cuddles and kisses she could as they drifted to sleep. Gigi remembered falling asleep to Nicky aimlessly stroking her hair, whispering something french in her ear.

And god did Gigi need that.

The night was the hottest in Gigi’s life. Nicky had tied her to the bedposts, and made her beg for her to eat her out. When she finished, Gigi found herself doing the same for Nicky, her head being roughly thrust between her legs. And then she was being fingered, and the cycle continued until she’d come more times than she could remember.

It was dirty and humiliating, but god it was hot.

The best part though, was that she got to know Nicky some more. She was surprisingly such a sweetheart, taking such good care of Gigi after they played. Gigi didn’t think anyone could make her want to sub, but she especially didn't expect it to be someone who was really kind.

Trust Jackie to know the perfect woman.

It was then that Gigi remembered the bet.

Shit.

She knew that even if she didn’t admit that she subbed, her friends would find out one way or another. Drinks were on her this weekend. Good thing she’d saved a little money. She guessed she’d be hearing about the milkshake incident for a little while longer, too.

That was ok, she supposed. After the night she’d had with Nicky, it was worth the embarrassment.

Besides, without the bet she would’ve never met Nicky.

She looked down at the still sleeping girl, her nose scrunched and her brows furrowed. She was adorable.

Gigi was definitely going to ask her out on a date.

Maybe they could go get some milkshakes together.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi x nicky #gigi goode #nicky doll #lesbian au #fluff #smut #peridot #concrit welcome #tw dom/sub dynamics #s12

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