#i might fuck around and get a couple of leather jackets and a trench and a shearling coat

[sabadorks]

there are a surprising amount of people who are reselling their second hand leather jackets and fur coats around here.

#i might fuck around and get a couple of leather jackets and a trench and a shearling coat #ngl might as well get me a fur coat for next winter if i find something cute and affordable #i was not expecting to see so many fur coats on the sell your old stuff platform #i don't think I've ever seen anyone wear fur around here

[pinknatural]

(ao3)

Sometime after Cas gets his grace back, but before Dean knows that the angel riding his brother’s meatsuit is Gadreel, not Ezekiel, Dean finds himself in a pawn shop. Generally, he finds himself in pawn shops pretty often--not as often as like, someone who deals in pawns, but more often than the average person, Dean thinks. 

He’s there to see if they’ve got any guns for cheap, since he basically always needs more guns. None of the ones at that shop strike his fancy, so he walks around and looks at the other things. Browsing. Just in case--he has a house (well, a Bunker, but same thing) now, and maybe he should decorate. Maybe.

Dean passes by the jewelry without much more than a cursory glance, then he doubles back and stares. There’s a ring--a twisted band of white gold and silver, and something about it… It’s not something Dean would wear. He’s not sure what about the ring compels him, but he feels like Gollum as he looks at it and knows he needs it. What for, he has no idea.

Dean buys it. He doesn’t wear it, but sticks it in a flat little box originally meant for a bracelet and slides it into his jacket pocket. 

And he carries it, jacket pocket to jacket pocket, for years. He doesn’t tell anybody about it, but he gets into the habit of patting his chest to make sure it’s still there. Even when he’s a demon-- Crowley goes through Dean’s clothes one day, when Dean’s laying on the motel room bed naked, and he finds the box. 

“What’s this?” Crowley asks, and the First Blade is in Dean’s hand before he can process the movement. The First Blade is in Dean’s hand a lot, these days. 

“Open that and I’ll kill you,” Dean says, looking at Crowley dead in the eye so he knows that Dean isn’t fucking kidding, and Crowley stares back for a minute before he tosses the box aside and goes back into Dean’s pocket. He pulls out a condom, and the box is quickly forgotten. 

Anyway. The ring is there, in Dean’s pocket. It stays there. It’s there when Dean kills the Stynes, when he meets Amara, when he hugs his mom for the first time in thirty years. It’s there when he goes to the Apocalypse World, and the Bad Place, and Purgatory (again). 

And it’s there in that fucking dungeon, when Cas puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder and looks him in the eyes, smiling and crying. Dean feels it, burning a hole in his pocket, as Cas says things like most loving man in the whole world and you changed me and and one thing I want is something I know I can’t have and I love you and, worst of all, goodbye, Dean.

And Dean sits there, sobbing into his palms, and he knows what the ring was for.

--

Dean wraps one hand around an angel blade and curls the other into a fist. He nods at Sam, then Eileen, then he leaps into the dark pit on the wall that haunts his nightmares. 

The Empty is dark and, well, empty. His footsteps echo like he’s on a marble floor, but as far as Dean can tell there’s no difference between the walls and floor and ceiling. It’s just black. 

Dean tightens his grip on his angel blade, and he finds the first body. 

It’s a man in a grey coat. Dean doesn’t recognize him, and he keeps walking. 

Dean sees a woman in a leather jacket, a man wearing a torn polo shirt, and a woman dressed like a lounge singer. He sees a child in a pink dress and a man in a black sweater. Then there’s a fan of red hair, and Dean falters. 

Anna lays in the Empty, hair scattered around her head. Her eyes are closed and her chest moves slowly, as if in a deep, deep sleep. Dean swallows, heavy, and keeps walking. Next time, he thinks. Next time he’ll wake everyone.

The next body he sees is another unknown--old man in a brown blazer--but the one after that is someone familiar. Dean squints, decides it’s one of the douche angels he or his brother has killed over the years.

The body after that one is Ruby, and Dean gives her a wide berth. Then it’s Balthazar and Lilith and Hannah. Uriel and Raphael, Hester and Samandriel. Dagon and Ramiel. Azazel.

Alastair.

Dean keeps walking. For every body he recognizes, laying in a coma-like sleep, there’s four or five more that he’s never seen before. Some of them look vaguely familiar, like a demon he ran into once or Background Angel #5. 

Dean walks by Ishim right before he walks by Meg, and the next couple are random demons Dean vaguely remembers from his own time as one. Dean nearly trips over his own face, then he hustles to keep away from the alternate Michael. 

He’s not sure what he’ll do if he runs into Crowley. Not sure at all. But--

in the distance, a trench coat. 

Dean sprints, slides to his knees. Cups Cas’s face with his hand, leans in close. 

“Wake up,” he murmurs. “Wake up, Cas. Come on.”

Cas doesn’t stir. 

Dean shakes him. 

“Wake up, man,” he says. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” a voice says, and Dean looks up to see a vaguely humanoid shaped black blob of goo. It crosses it’s arms. “You can’t be here.”

“I’m getting him back,” Dean tells it. “I’m taking him home.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” the Shadow asks. “He’s mine.” 

“No, he’s not,” Dean says.

“What do you mean?” the Shadow asks, tilting its head. Dean considers throwing his knife at it. “We had a deal, and now he is here, and he belongs to me. Fully and completely.”

“Fuck you,” Dean says. “He’s not yours, he’s mine, and I’m taking him home.”

And with that, Dean presses the tip of his angel blade to Cas’s throat. His grace spills out like smoke, spreading through the air, and Cas’s eyes open and he gasps. The Shadow shrieks. 

“No!” it wails. “You can’t do this!”

“I already did, asshole,” Dean spits, and then the last of Cas’s grace evaporates, and Dean grabs onto Cas’s arm, and everything goes white, then black. 

Then Dean’s on the library floor, and he stares up at the Bunker’s golden lighting for a moment before turning to face Cas. 

“Cas!”

“Dean,” Cas says. He’s still laying on the ground, and he props himself on his elbows. “What happened?”

“I got you out,” Dean says. He laughs. Cas is looking at him with wide blue eyes, and Dean feels like he might start to cry. Instead, he throws himself at Cas, tucks his face into Cas’s neck, holds him tight. Cas falls back to the floor, wrapping his arms around Dean, and for a moment they breathe together. “You stupid son of a bitch,” Dean breathes. “You can’t fucking do that again.”

“I won’t,” Cas says. His voice is rough and deep, right next to Dean’s ear. Dean thinks he might cry. 

“You have to stay,” Dean says. “You have to stay.”

“I will,” Cas says. Cas promises. “Oh, Dean.”

Dean pulls back, just a little, and cups Cas’s face with his hands. “Cas,” he says. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, eyes bright and sparkly, and Dean kisses him. 

He kisses him, and Cas kisses him back, and Dean thinks--well, if he had an Empty deal that would take him when he felt true happiness--Dean would be dead right now.

He pulls back, drops his forehead to Cas’s. “God, I love you so fuckin’ much.”

“You do?” Cas asks, and Dean hates himself. Cas should know that he’s--he’s Dean’s favorite person and Dean’s best friend and Dean loves, loves, loves him. He reaches into his jacket, into the inside pocket. 

“Yeah,” he says, and he presses the ring box into Cas’s hand. “I do.”

#supernatural #deancas #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #writingtag

[mochegato]

Covert Dating

Written for the Jasonette July First Date prompt.

This was it. Marinette had managed to get out of the house without Adrien knowing about it so she could have her first date with Jason. Not that she didn't want Adrien to know about it, it's just that she absolutely DID NOT WANT ADRIEN TO KNOW ABOUT IT.  At least not until after the first date… or tenth, you know, whatever.

Adrien knowing meant endless teasing, “knowing” glances, waggling eyebrows, and in-no-way subtle references.  Adrien knowing meant an attempt at a shovel talk, which as humorous as it would be to see Adrien attempt to shovel talk a man twice his size, and as flattered as she would be that he tried, no.  Just No.  She was nervous enough about this date.  She had waited long enough for this date.  

She and Jason had been building up to this for months. They had first run into each other a few months ago at a coffee shop they both liked and started exchanging courteous nods and discrete, longing stares whenever they ran into each other, eventually building up to smiling at each other and occasionally making funny faces to get the other to smile.  But they only really started talking a few weeks ago when she sat at his table and started up a conversation.  He looked shocked for a few seconds but then grinned that heart-stopping grin of his and started responding.  After that they chatted and flirted whenever they were both there until they finally took the next step, or rather he did, asking her on a date just after she knocked a would-be mugger on his ass after he had attempted to take another patron’s purse.

Hmm… should she be worried that violence seemed to be the tipping point for Jason?  Nah, she was going to assume it was because he liked strong women, another bonus to add to the growing list of impressive things about him.  

Jason was absolutely amazing. He was funny and he was smart and he was handsome and he was so sweet to her.  He cared about others and she had seen him stand up to a few people he thought were acting improperly, which they were.  He was interested in her and he had always been more than willing to listen to her and encourage her.  He seemed to return the favor and would talk to her about his days and trust her with some of his secrets too.  They had built up an immense amount of trust in a very short time, which was frankly a little alarming but also comforting, like being with Jason was right.

They had taken so long to get to this point and now she was completely enamored with Jason.  She needed this date to go well.  She didn’t need outside interference messing it up.  And if Adrien messed up this date, she was not going to react kindly. Which would be a problem because blood was a bitch to get out of carpeting.

She had taken all the necessary precautions.  She had smuggled her clothes for the date out of the apartment the morning before and hidden them in her office so she could leave straight from her office that night.  She then told Adrien she had to work late, which wasn’t unusual for this time of year so he shouldn’t be suspicious, plus it was kind of true. She had worked late on some designs before getting ready for the date, so it wasn’t a lie.  It wasn’t ideal getting ready in the office, but she made it work, not that she needed a lot of space or time, really.  

She had opted for casual elegance rather than fancy, which would seem out of place in the small, cozy restaurant they had agreed to meet at.  She had chosen a loose silk shirt with red detailing and black tailored pants paired with red flats, in case they wanted to go for a walk after the date, and bright red lips, in case he needed something to focus on during the date.  The killer red leather jacket she had designed and created, inspired by Jason, tied it all together and was hanging on the chair behind her.  It wasn’t her regular style but she liked the end result and if it made Jason speechless for a few seconds, even better.

The waiter brought a glass of water for her while she waited.  She thanked the waiter and brought the glass up to her lips to take a drink then thought better of it and set it back down.  Her phone pinged almost as soon as her hand left the glass.  She looked down and saw a text from Adrien.  

‘Too scared to actually take a drink?’

What?  No. She was NOT too scared to take a drink. That's not why...  Well, kind of.  It wasn't her fears that were getting to her it was her anxiety, which was caused by fears. It was a fine line, really.  

She knew everything was set for them to have a great date.  They had great banter, they trusted each other, they were attracted to each other (if the lingering stares he gave her were any indication), and they were both interested in the other and single.  She knew she had no reason to be nervous and as soon as Jason got there she would relax, but anxiety didn’t always need a reason to take over.  So she focused on controlling as much as she could in the hopes of repressing her anxiety.  She had chosen the perfect outfit and done her makeup flawlessly.  And her lipstick!  She couldn’t take a drink before Jason even got there because she didn't want it smudged before he could... wait… What the Fuck!! How did he… Oh no.  No, no, no, no, no.

Her head whipped up as she looked around the restaurant.  There were a few couples laughing and gazing lovingly at each other, quite a few people on their own watching their phones as they ate, a group of three at another table partially hidden behind menus.  They were a bit suspicious, but the blonde in that group was a girl and the boys both had black hair, so they weren’t Adrien.  She looked behind her and saw someone grinning at her.  

Well, fuck.  Apparently not all the necessary precautions then.

Because there was Adrien in a “top notch” disguise; dark glasses, baseball cap, a black mustache, seriously? A black mustache with his blonde hair?  That looked… natural, and was that a trench coat!? Yep, that was a trench coat. WTF Adrien! That idiot has absolutely no chill. None whatsoever. Not too surprising really, being the drama king that he is.  No blending in unnoticed skills either, which is, you know, a bit surprising considering all the times they snuck out together and that he was Chat freaking Noir.  Apparently all his stealth was used when he was Chat and he had none left over for Adrien.

Marinette glared at him and was about to start threatening him when she heard the bell from the door opening.  She turned around in time to see Jason entering.  Adrien momentarily forgotten, Marinette relaxed and gave a beaming smile, standing up to greet him.

Jason walked in and scanned the room narrowing his eyes then rolling them and started muttering under his breath.  Her anxiety ramped up.  He didn’t seem to be in a good mood.  Shouldn’t he be happy to be there?  Granted she was nervous, but she was also really excited and happy.  She couldn’t be the only one that felt that way about first dates.  No, Adrien said he felt that way whenever he went on first dates too.  Jason just looked annoyed.  Oh God, what if he had changed his mind?  What if he didn’t want this date anymore?  Before she could spiral further, his eyes landed on her and lit up, “Hey Pixie,” a smile spread across his face and his shoulders relaxed as he made his way over to her.  His eyes gleamed as he looked at her, “Damn, you look amazing.  But then you always do.” He gave her a hug and kissed her cheek before sitting down.

She blushed slightly then responded when her heart calmed down a bit, “Thanks.  You look good too.  But then you always do too.” She noticed his eyes shifting around the room with suspicion. “Hey, Jason,” she started hesitantly, concern and a bit of worry etched in her face, “is something wrong?  You seem… distracted?”

He sighed.  “Sorry.  I don’t mean to be distracted.  I want to focus on you and making you blush more,” he grinned when his words worked and Marinette blushed again.  “It’s just… there’s a creep in the corner in a trench coat making me nervous.”  

“Ahh,” she shifted nervously.  She was going to kill Adrien.  “Do you want to go someplace else?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.” Marinette started to gather her things.  “Normally, I’d consider staying just so I could watch him and make sure he doesn’t do anything that I might have to…uh, stop,” he stuttered over his words and hoped she didn’t notice.  “But I see several of my family attempting to hide over there,” he said indicating a table to their left with three people hiding behind their menus, “and they can keep an eye on him.”

She stopped and looked at him with an amused glint in her eye, “Your family was worried about me?”  

“No, maybe for you but not about you.  They’re probably more curious who I was able to convince to go out with me, since I wouldn’t tell them about you, BECAUSE IT IS MY PRIVATE LIFE AND NONE OF THEIR FUCKING BUSINESS.”

The three at the table she had noted before slunk down a bit further in their seats until the older man spoke up.  “Hey Little Wing, what are you doing here? What a coincidence, huh?” he said sheepishly.  

Jason rolled his eyes and took a deep steadying breath.  “I hate my family” he muttered to her under his breath.

“Huh, maybe your nosy, intrusive family should join the creepy guy’s table.  They can chat about violating other people’s boundaries.” She giggled with an amused smile. “The creepy guy in the trench coat is my overprotective, mother-henning brother, who somehow found out about this and wanted to make sure you weren’t a serial killer or rapist.”  She seemed to think it over quickly and consider all the possible ways that could backfire on her, “On second thought, they shouldn’t meet.  We should keep them far, far apart.  They can meet at the wedding.”

“Wedding huh?” He said with a smug glint in his eye

Marinette’s eyes went wide and her cheeks turned a bright red color that would make Rudolph proud.  “It’s an expression?” She offered weakly putting on the jacket she created for the date.

“I think we should probably have at least one date before we run off to Vegas...”  He started smugly, until he looked down and finally took in the jacket she had put on. His eyes widened incrementally and he lost his next words and breath for a few seconds, “…although, I can get us a jet on short notice if this date goes really well.”  He leaned closer to her and lowered his head so he was just a few centimeters away from her ear and whispered, “You look really good in that jacket.  Red is a good color on you.”

“Thank you.  I’m glad you like it.  You inspired it after all.”  She grinned up at him and it was his turn to blush. “Although I think you’ve been keeping things from me.  You know people who would give you rides in their private jets with no notice? I feel like I should have mentioned as part of the dating package.  I might have asked you out sooner.”  She gave him a mischievous grin as she slung her purse over her shoulder.

He rolled his eyes at her, knowing better than to take her seriously.  “You know I don't actually own the jets, right?”

“Even better. I’ve been told maintaining a jet is a bitch.”

“Oh, so you know people private jets too.”

“I might know a few. But no one who would just give me rides whenever I ask.”

“That's a lie!” she heard yelled from the back of the restaurant.

“SHUT IT, AGRESTE.” She yelled back at him.  “You weren’t invited into this conversation.”

“Hey, you’re here to watch her?  We’re here to watch him.  Wanna watch with us, Blondie?” the blonde girl from Jason’s family table loudly called back to him.

“Sure,” Adrien responded grinning excitedly and getting up and sitting at their table.

“Oh my God, they’re joining forces.  What do we do?”  Marinette whispered in not-so-mock concern.

“Run away.  My motorcycle is right outside.  I know a different place we can eat.  It’s a nice, family place.  You like Italian, yeah?”  Jason said conspiratorially grabbing her hand and entwining their fingers as they made a break for the door.  Marinette giggled and Jason smiled at the sounds of protest that came from their friends and family.

 Continued in Covert Romance

Inspired by this image:

Tag:

@fsketchart @jasonette-july-2k20

#maribat #jasonette #jasonette july 2k20

[the-fiction-witch]

Control P12

TV SHOW THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY X READER RATING: FLIRTY

I smiled as I drove the car though the busy new York streets, I stopped in some traffic and looked over at y/n, she sat in the passenger seat, in her little blue and cream heels. Her black stockings, her cream petticoats peaking out from out her baby blue dress, her little cream cardigan over her shoulders and arms with little roses embodied on them. I had to drag my eyes away from her chest as the dress hugged her breasts so closely, fuck that dress makes her look so good, I couldn't stop staring at her cleavage. I tore my eyes away as I needed to move the car a little down the road in the traffic. As soon as I did I looked back to her, seeing her perfect curls where she took them out her curlers after her shower this morning, her make up done perfectly without having to hide brusies and black eyes, a beautiful smile on her face as she plaid with her fingers, "You look so beautiful" I smiled holding her hand "when your happy" "You look even more beautiful" she smiled laying her head on my shoulder "the most handsome boy ever" "Then your the most beautiful woman ever" I smiled kissing her hand "are you excited?" "Yes!" She giggled "Any ideas?" "Blue" "Blue?" "Blue or black, dark colours." "Dark colours? Okay, how about something that might work with mine?" "Maybe" she giggled fiddling with my signet ring on her fingers, "but that's for the wedding rings to match isn't it?" "It is... While we're in the stores we could, shop from for those too" "We could?" "If you want to y/n" I told her "Any other ideas?"

"Not a diamond"

"why?"

"Diamonds are intricately worthless"

"They are?"

"Yes benny"

"Oh, But isn't that tradition?"

"It is but, I'd rather not"

"I don't think they make rings that aren't diamonds"

"I'm sure they do"

"we'll see" I told her as the traffic got moving and we found some parking, so we parked up and sorted out heading into the busy shopping area I held her hand rather tightly making sure to keep her close to me her handbag under her arm that I held so it was between us and safe, we walked past a few little shops of this and that until finding a jewellery store with a little red and white striped canopy, we stopped and had a good look in the window "Anything catch your eye little lady?"

"Ummm not really, and there all so expensive"

"Hey, price is out of the question" I told her "You let me worry about that"

"even so, nothing to interesting"

"Did you wanna look inside or go look at another store?" I asked her and she already began tugging my hand so I laughed and walked along with her down the street, I spotted  a shop with a manakin in a long leather jacket much like my trench coat bit with fur in the inside ohh that looks warm but she tugged my hand along almost dragging me down the street away from the window I squeeze her hand and gave her cheek a little kiss as she pulled me back to her and we continued to the street, trying to get out of people's way as they rushed on past, I went to walk but y/n had stopped I turned and saw her looking in a boutique clothing store at a little dress... skirt I'm not sure, it was a skirt with petticoats and then straps or a top that cut out where her boobs are so she'd wear a shirt under it, it did look lovely and she was looking at it intently but I pulled her away like she had done to me

"But benny" she whines

"AH, ah, ah where' not clothes shopping, you have enough pretty dresses come on" I told her she pouted but I gave her a kiss which made her smile and nuzzle into my neck as we walked, until we came across another little jewellery store we both stopped and looked in the window and honestly none of it was very impressive "what do you think?"

"Next shop" she says

"Yeah my thoughts too" I smiled tugging her hand along as we headed into the more bussing part of the city I looked at all the shops trying to see what they all had and I stopped at a book store that had a bunch of chess books in the window "Oohh"

"Pretty please" she begged holding my hands

"what?"

"can we go look benny?"

"You wanna go in the bookshop?"

"Pretty please" she begs

"aww of course little lady" I smiled happily letting her go in and quickly following after her looking at all the nice books she seemed so happy smiling widely as she would stand on her tip toes to reach books on high shelves we both ended up buying a few books we didn't already have so we paid and got a big paper bag with strings she carried it as she was so excited about her books and we headed back out to the streets, and as luck would have it we stumbled on a little jewellery store with black and white canopy and a full window of items I looked at a few here and there seeing the necklaces and bracelets but I saw her eyes light up and her smile widen she clearly saw something I didn't so I wrapped my arms around her and rested my head on her shoulder and I spotted what she had seen this ring right in the corner on the usual little white felt cone display, it was silver with swirls in the metal like braids in the silver, holding rows of about three small white diamonds all around this large round smoky black diamond "Is that the one you like?" I asked pointing it out and she nodded

"It's beautiful" she smiled

"Did you want to go look closer?"

"No, no, it's much to expensive"

"what did I tell you? if you like it, there's no harm in going and having a look" I told her so she nodded and we headed inside the little shop where a man stood at a counter looking over some earrings

"Good morning" He smiled

"Morning, the black diamond ring in the window any chance we get have a better look at it?" I asked

"Ohh of course" He nodded getting up putting the little tray of earrings he had away and going it the window sliding it open from this side and pulling out the ring "This the one?" He asks her and she nodded excitedly "excellent" He smiled "Take a seat" He says going to the desk so we both went and sat on the little chairs on this side of the desk he set the little cone on the desk and y/n smiled so much "would you like to try it?" He asked her and she looked to me

"Go on" I told her so she smiled and tried it on, and it fit her perfectly "Tell me about it" I asked him

"It's a one of a kind, last one the marker made before he head a heart attack at his work station, fifteen diamonds around and a natural black in the centre" He explained

"do you like it?" I asked her

"But Benny-"

"do you like it?"

"Yes" she giggled "It's beautiful"

"We'll take it" I told him

"Really?"

"If you like it, then you can have it. so you can have a proper engagement ring"

"Ohh it's an engagement ring?" He asked "Then I can offer you a twenty five percent discount"

"Really?" she giggled

"Of course, I always do for engagement rings there such lovely things" He says "And if you come back and get your wedding rings done here I'll knock fifty percent off them if you show the recited for the engagement ring"

"Sold," I told him getting my wallet

"Would you like to wear it out Miss?" He asked her

"If I could" she smiled

"Of course, I'll wrap the box up for you" He says going to the back for a box as she admired her pretty ring

"You can have this back now" she smiled handing me back my signet ring

"Thank you," I told her "You happy?"

"Extremely happy benny" she smiled nuzzling with my shoulder "I love you"

"I love you too" I told her kissing her hand.

I sat playing chess with y/n, it was her move so I was waiting for her to take it. I sat in my usual white chair, barefoot, in my black jeans without my belt, My black t shirt and my usual chains, I kept trying to fix my upper lip as I know I needed to.. trim it, I'm not shaving but I need to trim it it's getting too long, and yet my chin has still not yet met the bit under my lip, I watched her as she thought, she sat on the other white chair, in her little black dress with her white petticoats poking out the bottom of her skirt, the top of her dress a boat neck with white lace across the top, her hair in her rollers, she had her move and smiled widely going back to her knitting all the while admiring her beautiful ring. I sat thinking for a while she had lurred me into a trap and she knew she had that's why she was just sitting there admiring her ring and knitting almost ignoring me.

"You win" I sighed "I need a coffee" I told her giving her head a kiss and going to make myself a cup of coffee "Would you like a cup little lady?" I asked as I made the cups up

"No thank you benny" she smiled packing the board away

"I think we need to have some discussions" I told her as I opened the fridged and poured her an apple juice in her usual mug and headed over to the table with her and I grabbed my note pad and pen

"About what?" she asks a little worried

"Well as you have your pretty ring shouldn't we start getting sorted?"

"For what?"

"For the wedding, Provided you want a wedding and don't want to sign the paper work and go to dinner?"

"I'd like a wedding, if it's okay" she smiled

"Then we shall have a wedding" I told her holding her hand clicking my pen "Church? chapel? elsewhere?"

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere you want"

"what do you want?" she asks

"I really don't mind, doesn't bother me." I shrug "It's up to you little lady"

"Would you be okay with us getting married in a nice garden?"

"If that's what you want" I smiled making a note of it "Any idea on your dress?"

"That's for me to know and you two find out" she giggled

"Alright, when were you thinking then? if you want to be outside we need to think about it for the weather and all"

"In the fall? with the beautiful changing colours in the tree's and the flowers"

"That sounds lovely" I smiled taking her hand and giving it a kiss "I would be happy no matter how we get married, we can have a thousand dollar wedding in the most beautiful garden in the world and the most beautiful expensive clothes in the world, and a Sixteen tear wedding cake, Or signing the paperwork at the hall, in our pj's, and back to the apartment with a bottle of five dollar wine and one of your jam roly-poly's. Or anything in-between my little lady"

"You sure?"

"We will do whatever you want" I told her "we just have to plan,"

"Alright, we shall plan" she smiled getting up and we headed to the chair I sat down first and she sat down with me with her legs over my lap her butt just next to me, I wrapped an arm around her and she rested her heads on my chest, and we sat talking though Idea's making notes on my pad until the early hours of the next morning.

"Benny!" Y/n called from the bedroom

"Yeah?"

"Have you seen my....... my....... thing?" she asked leaning on the doorframe in her dress

"What thing?" "The thingy thing?"

"... the thingy thing?" "The thing with the things on it"

"The thing with the things on it? Okay y/n just... think and then speak"

"My... hair thing"

"You're hairbrush?"

"Yes!"/

"It's in your hair darling"

"It is?" she asks pulling the brush out of her hair "Ooohh... thank you benny"

"You're welcome" I laughed at her as she came and brushed her hair for the day still admiring her shiny ring, it had been a good few months now and we were getting into the fine details for our wedding even if we hadn't set a date quiet yet I had noticed the last... month or so, she'd been doing that a lot her brain just sort of I suppose gives up. she hasn't won a chess match in weeks and I've been going easy on her, she had real trouble with forgetting things and just generally not being to with it, I didn't worry about it too much maybe she's just feeling a little weird or something?

I looked at her as I often do, today she had put in her little white sneakers which was unusual, she almost always wears her heels or her pumps but no, sneakers today. and she didn't have her stockings on she had her thigh-high black socks instead still there adorable, she had fewer petticoats than usual, in her little dark blue dress, it was tight on her, seriously tight on her, in fact, she hadn't even zipped it up all the way at the back as it wouldn't go up any higher, her breasts looked like if she sneezed they would jump out her dress. that dress used to fit her fine?

she came over and smiled getting her book

"Y/n?" "Yes benny?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course benny, ask anything you'd like?"

"Are you.... having a bad day?"

"what do you mean?"

"do you have a tummy ache?"

"No"

"Are you feeling... bloated in any way?"

"No"

".... Have you gained some weight, honey?"

"Maybe," she said sadly

"I'm sorry, I was just asking because you hadn't done your dress up"

"It's a pound or so nothing more Benny, I'll get it off again soon my  weight fluctuates it always does" she says

"Okay, It's alright if your happy, I was just asking"

"Ummm... I think my boobs have gotten bigger though" she says

"Uhh maybe yeah I hadn't really noticed" I lied

"Ummm sure you didn't" she giggled

I smirked grabbing her boobs and giving them a squeeze "Size and a half"

"Hu?"

"Bigger."

"You can tell that by just groping my boobs?"

"You'd be amazed what I can do with my hands darling" I winked at her but she pushed my hands away "That and I am very used to your boobs. I know them well. Year's of fantasy and now reality your boobs grow or shrink a centimeter I'm gonna know about it"

"Perv" she giggles

"I'm your fiance you'd rather I not have an intimate knowledge of your boobs?" I laughed "you probably have an equally good knowledge of my dick?"

"Maybe" she giggles

"Pervert" I smirked at her "is anything up though? seriously?"

"Eh" she shrugs

"Is it your period?"

"No. I'm late"

"How late?"

"... two weeks, but that's not unusual I've been later than that before and it's all been fine, Mine are irregular anyway" "Okay but keep me posted alright, I like to know your okay" I told her giving her cheek a kiss

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Five): Just To Want It All

Notes: As stated in last chapter notes, i have a decent chunk of chapters done so these are coming out pretty rapid fire. Otherwise, I don’t have much to say other than massive thanks to my friend who reads these over for me and has been cool with me dropping 80+ pages of fic on them in a week. because yeah...I finished another chapter of this. 

Word Count:  7885

Chapter Warnings: mentions of alcohol and cursing, if that counts as a warning in cyberpunk 2077.  

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

Lizzie’s Bar stands out brilliantly in the city; out of all the gangs, she thinks she likes The Moxes aesthetic the best. Vivid pink and bright teal. Their colors splashed across the overpass, along with a neon pink skull sign with hair and a bow. At the side of the building is a towering neon skull girl sign, full bodied with an animated kicking leg and axe held above her head, the same hot pink color.

She parks and gets out of her car, doing a quick scan of the area, searching for more Militech drones. None that she sees, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. The credchip burns in her pocket, remembering some of the stuff T-Bug has taught her. How to crack an encrypted shard and see what’s on it, how to transfer its contents. V rifles through her bag, remembering she had a blank credchip somewhere. If Militech did anything dirty, V should be able to transfer the eddies onto a clean chip.

V makes a beeline to the front door, cement blockers and walls covered in graffiti.  More neon signs, the bars name over the door in glowing turquoise letters. Lizzie Jizzie scrawled across an outside wall; two screens on each side of the double stores, all covered in Nicola ads requesting V ‘taste the love’.  Groups of people loiter in the open outside the bar. V’s eyes are drawn to the two bouncers outside the doors.

Two women, one leans against the outside wall as she puff away on a cigarette. Short slicked back hair that starts blue and then fades to green, eyes hidden behind sunglasses and a gold septum piercing in her nose. The other one stands in front of the doors, a yellow spiked bat held over her shoulders. Long hair pulled up into space buns, purple roots and pink ends. Both of her arms are metal; black with pink and teal accents as well as spikes along the forearms.  Both women are skimpily dressed, no shame in that. The one wielding the bat has a white top with cleavage going beyond her breasts,  showing her almost plastic looking skin and the Moxes tattoo across her chest. The other shorter haired bouncer is wearing neon pink pasties beneath a teal bomber jacket.  V’s been here before, has maybe seen them in passing, both really attractive. She’s not sure there’s a Mox member who isn’t.

“Hey there, dollface!~” The bat wielder greets her with a grin, as if she could actually see V’s face.

“Interest you in a preem BD?” The smoker offers.

“What you got?” V asks to be polite, she doesn’t honestly even like brain dances. But the girls are cute, so… no harm in a little small talk.

“What don't we got? Women and men of your dreams, synaptic acting A-listers. No washed-up virtuporn boytoys or blow-up dolls here.”

“Auteur stuff - It'll grip your heart and blow your nerves right outta your body. Pure bit-based ecstasy - that’s why people come here.”

“Sure know how to sell it, don’t you?” V signs, trying not to laugh as the bouncers give her the spiel.

“Not a sales pitch, it's a warning. I'll give you one word - bespoke. Not for everyone's synapses.”

“Think you can handle it?”

“Think I can manage it,” she tells them, knowing damn well she has no intent to get any sort of virtus.

“Mmhm. Couple of things you need to know first,” she affectionately rubs her bat, “Ahem. Severe penalties for any unauthorized recording… “

“No drugs, no groping. Someone catch your eye, you do not grab 'em. You find 'em in the catalog, ask for a BD and get yourself a box.”

“No worries, not even my first time here.”

“Door's open. Have fun, Doll.”

“Welcome to Lizzie’s.”

The double doors open and V walks through a blue beaded curtain. There’s a front room, a stand where a woman with a bright pink mohawk is selling clothes, under another Nicola ad and neon letters saying ‘Fuck To Death’ behind her.

“My what a sweet face you have,” she says, her tone honeyed but its clear she hasn’t looked up from the counter, not even noticing as the masked merc walks past through another beaded curtain and double doors to the main club.

“Here in Night City~”

Music thrums as she steps in; the room is lit with strobing pink and teal lights. Couches with neon glowing lights on the underneath, some people with BD wreaths and others playing on their phones. People dancing  to the club music and  bar tucked away in the corner.  She doubts the client will be right at the start of opening, so V finds an empty stretch of couch, sitting down on black leather with a pink neon light at her feet.  V slides the Militech cred chip into her mask, it takes a moment, but she manages to crack it and get a look at the inside.

Ten thousand eddies and malware; it was meant to send all of Maelstrom’s data to another server and then fry the systems. Meaning, if V handed it over Maelstrom would get their systems fried, with her and Jackie dealing with the aftermath. V slides the blank cred chip into another slot in her mask’s edge, transfering the clean money over to it. Fucking around with tech and daemons isn’t her strong suit, but if she recalls Bug telling her that fairly simple malware like this could be reworked pretty easily. She works through the coding with her thoughts, the data and interface all on her mask. If she can get the coding right, she might be able to have it send something other than data back to the Militech servers…  Shifting and twisting what she thinks will work… if she’s done it right, instead of sending data back to Militech’s server, it should inject the same malware back into their system. If used, it would spike both Maelstrom and Militech.

She’ll call up T-Bug before they hit Maelstrom, double check she did the steps right. If Maelstrom play nice, they can pay and be done, if not...she can fuck over the gangoons, Militech, and walk away with an extra ten thousand in her pocket.  She puts the credchips in her pockets, spiked one in her left and clean one in the right.

Time to have a look around for the client. V making a beeline for the bar, bartenders always have all the info. Lizzie’s Bar in neon over the drink station, a brightly blue lit corner where a man works at making drinks, shelves of booze behind him.  She climbs onto a blue vinyl bar stool, feet no longer on the ground and unable to resist swinging them a bit. The bartender comes to her; a man with slicked back dark hair,  glowing white cybernetic eyes, and silver embellishments run across his cheeks and jaw. His shirt bright blue with a tropical design and if not for a single button above his pants, it’d be completely open. Beaded necklaces bringing even more attention to his exposed chest and stomach.

“Get you something?”

“Looking for Evelyn Parker,” she speaks the woman’s name, not wanting to waste time fingerspelling it even if the sound feels tight in her throat.

“And you are?”

“V, me and her were supposed to meet here.”

“Well, V,  it’s a pleasure. I’m Mateo.”

“Nice to meet you… any idea where she’s hanging around?”

“Club's big. Gonna have to look around. Can't do it for you-”

“It's all right, Mateo,” a feminine voice calls out and V’s eyes are drawn to a woman at the bar, “I was waiting for this one.”

There’s something about her, distinctly Mox and also not. Her hair is a short vivid blue bob with bangs cut straight across her forehead. Heavy makeup, a tight silver sequin dress with a dipping neckline, red thigh high vinyl boots, a black trench coat that pools around her knees with a pink and white feathered collar.  She holds two fingers up to the bartender and moves to the bar stool closer. There’s a clang and tink of glass; Mateo getting out a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses.  

“That won’t be necessary,” V signs before he can fill the second glass, “I don’t drink on the job.”

“Aww, what a good girl,” Evelyn coos, a smile pulling at her painted lips, “Evelyn Parker. I knew it was you as soon as you walked in.”

“And you decided to let me wander around instead of introducing yourself?”

“I wanted to get a good look at you first.”

“And?” V watches as Evelyn takes a swig of her tequila.

“Rest assured, if I didn’t like what I see, you’d know,” she takes another drink, “C'mon. Know a place we can talk where ears won't prick up to listen. We'll be in the lounge, Mateo. Anyone asks we're not here.”

Evelyn takes her black clutch purse and leaves the bar, V puts some money down for Mateo; if nothing else to compensate for his time. V hops down from the stool and follows after Evelyn, through a pair of double doors that goes into a hallway tinted red and pink, booth doors lining the way. The blue haired woman opens up a door, standing to the side as V walks in.

The booth is small, circular with a red vinyl couch around it’s curve, a table in the middle projects a hologram of a stripper who twists and dances. V sinks into the cushions, watching Evelyn stride in and light a cigarette as the door closes behind her. Everyone in the city a smoker it seems.  As Evelyn puffs on a cigarette, V is somehow just noticing the gold nail like finger caps she wears.

“Dex had a load to say about you. Called you professional, effective. And trustworthy. I hope he wasn't overselling…“

“You don’t give a shit what he says,” V retorts, not missing the tinge of disdain Evelyn’s voice. V doesn’t need anyone to blow wind up her ass.

“You have trouble accepting compliments?”

“Flattery’s beneath you.”

“Maybe Dex is beneath you,” Evelyn moves around the table, grabbing an ashtray from the table, then sitting down next to V, crossing her legs, “Have you known each other long?”

“First time working with him.”

“Hmmm, I've heard there are two kinds of fixers. Those with stable crews on long contracts and short leashes. Loyalty and predictability they value above all else. Then there's the other kind- Dex's kind.”

“Meaning?”

“Headhunters. They lay their trust elsewhere, not in people but in a thing- their intuition. They bet on potential. And if they lose that bet…It's the last mistake they ever make. I’m hoping Dex’s intuition served him well in this case.”

“Let's get to the point, why am I here, what’s this about?”

“Your target - I trust you know what it is.”

“Arasaka biochip.”

“Mmmhmm, their Relic, secure your soul technology. Arasaka's poured billions into personality transfer technology. But me - I just want the data on this one. The chip is tucked away inside Konpeki Plaza, the hotel. You ever been?”

“Fancy corp hotels? Yeah, no, way out of my price range.”

“The decor's to die for. As you'll see for yourself.’

So, V and Jackie have to bust into some fancy hotel to get the chip people are arguing about on tv. Understood, so far. But, theres a lot of risks involved in a heist of this scale. Its one thing to rip off a dropped piece of cargo or a convoy from a corp; but this kind of top notch tech?

“You know where the chip is, exactly?”

“In a suite on the top floor. The room's occupied by Yorinobu Arasaka.”

V swallows the lump in her throat, the son of Saburo Arasaka, heir to the entire fucking corp. She’s once again finding herself wondering why Dex thinks her and Jackie can handle a job of this caliber, the Arasaka’s seem downright un-fucking-touchable to a merc like her.

“He’s in NC?”

“Don't you read the screamsheets?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Well, the media couldn't get enough of Yori coming to Night City, it was all over the headlines. He's heir apparent to the Arasaka empire - Saburo Arasaka's only surviving son.”

“So, he trying to take over while he’s in town?” V asks, trying to understand what exactly is going on.

“Only a handful of people in Night City know what the Arasakas' real plans are.”

“And you included in that?”

A smirk stretches across her face, green eyes devious; “Yorinobu is a puppet. He lost all his cards years ago when he failed to do daddy's bidding. Saburo's had Yori's balls in a vise for years. He might just turn the screw and crush them outright if he learns his son's up to no good again.”

“Someone like him is bound to have an army surrounding him, that hotel is probably a fortress by now.”

“Yorinobu keeps exactly no muscle around. Not one guard. Got rid of them a long time ago.”

“Why?”

“Surely you know what they say about Arasaka intel? Sneeze in Night City and a blossom drops from a cherry tree in Tokyo. Yorinobu was convinced his Arasaka security detail reported directly to his father.”

“If you got a spare ache up your sleeve, I’d love to see it.”

“ Now, this should make your tits perk up,” she says, putting the ashtray aside and leans forward.

“My tits are quite comfortable where they are, I assure you.”

“Cute, but more importantly, Yorinobu recently swiped the chip from an Arasaka laboratory. He's made a deal with NetWatch, aims to sell it to them. Have you spotted my ace yet or do I need to spell things out?”

“Okay, no muscle because he has daddy issues and no security on the device because he stole it from said daddy. Any idea where he’s hiding the thing?”

“Likely in a specialized container, one that mimics an organic neural environment. On the outside, it looks like an ordinary briefcase.”

“Which would be where?”

“You'll see for yourself soon enough,” she stamps out her cigarette and stands up, walking to the door, “Provided we're done gossiping about the Arasakas.”

“You know anything else about him?” V asks, wanting to see if she can mine any more useful information about the heir that could help.

“Quite a bit, actually. He studied finance and biotech in Tokyo. Hm, probably didn't have a choice in the matter, come to think of it. Saburo was grooming him to be his successor. But then Yorinobu vanished to chase his own dreams, cut himself off from the corp for years. Long story short, though the black sheep returned, the bitter taste remained. But that's only one side of him. There's another - an intelligent man who has always walked his own path and so has his own designs on the corp.”

There’s no doubt in V’s mind now that Evelyn knows Yorinobu personally, the way she talks and speaks is clearly colored by experience. Some prodigal son who ran away from his father and then came back with his tail between his legs when he couldn’t cut it alone. An odd lump in V’s throat at the thought; running away from shitty dads, being a black sheep…

“Sounds like any other corpo dick to me,” V signs, not liking the parallels her brain is starting to draw.

“Hm. Ever tried to imagine what life might be like for an emperor's son? You have everything, yet you are no one, nothing. At least as long as you remain in Saburo Arasaka's shadow. I…” she scratches almost sheepishly at her neck, her wannabe femme fatale attitude slipping for just a moment, “...sympathize. It's a vulnerability I understand well.”

V is still finding herself finding uncomfortable similarities between herself and fucking Yorinobu Arasaka. Its stupid, she doesn’t know the man and he has the wealth to destroy her for pretending she does. But, a power hungry leader for a father, leaving home, terrified of being under his thumb. Only difference, well many, but most pressing is she’s managed to make it on her own...so far… at least. Not that she hasn’t had her doubts or worries.

“So, what’s next?” V asks, practically shaking her head to dispel the weirdness swimming in her brain. Black sheep or not; Yorinobu Arasaka has a silver spoon in his mouth. She’s a nomad turned Night City edgerunner; their lives couldn’t be more far removed.

“Now comes the best part,” Evelyn opens the door and turns to leave, “Follow me. Got somethin' for you. Should help you plan. Braindance from Konpeki Plaza.”

V follows Evelyn out into the hallway, “ how’s a braindance going to help?”

“Think BDs are only good for fondling virtual tits, jackin' off to in those boxes?”

“Thought that was the main selling point, yeah,” V teases back as they turn a corner in the hallway, headed towards a door.

“No. They can be a very useful tool. Good for analyzing details human perception, even boosted, doesn't grasp. Exactly what you need,” Evelyn teases as they enters a dressing room, a few Mox at the tables painting their faces with makeup and styling their hair.

“What's on the tape?” Through another door and neon lights fade to harsher, darker lighting.

“Yorinobu's suite. The glorious interior,” the walk down a short metal flight of stairs, “You'll need to locate the Relic yourself. Hope I grabbed enough detail to make that possible.”

The stop at the end of the steps, Evelyn turning to look at V with a hand on her hips. Not that V really had any more doubt about it, but she’s been given more evidence that Evelyn and Yorinobu know each other.

“You recorded it?”

“Mhm. BD rec implant. Why, you object?”

“Not particularly, who you know and what you do with them is none of my business, lets see the braindance.”

“Judy'll help. She's a Mox, too,” down another short flight of stairs, deeper into the basement, “Besides, we go back… years.”

Evelyn stops them again outside a pair of double doors, Lizzie’s is starting to feel like a little maze at this point. But more importantly, Evelyn’s paused again, stumbled over her words and showed something under her facade. V felt something was off, a Mox but somehow not, and she’s starting to think Evelyn is purposely trying to put up a front. That she’s trying, a little too hard, to come across like femme fatale or corpo. Evelyn clears her throat.

“V, this is important. Judy's always been there for me. Always helped out. I trust her. But she's a Mox, not the latest member of your crew. Try not to forget. So you'll be a good girl, tread lightly and keep that tongue on a leash.

“Oh, but it's not my tongue you need to worry about.”

“Hmm, can feel you smirking under that mask, keep it up and I’ll tie those hands down, too,” Evelyn says with a wink as they pass through the double doors into another hallway, then through one more door.

Evelyn leads her through the basement doors, a dark little room with servers, netrunning chairs and screens. In an office chair slouching with one leg on a desk is a woman; late twenties or so with olive skin. One side of her hair is shaved, the other shaggy and down to nearly her shoulder, a deep green color with bright pink ends. The woman is heavily tattooed, bright red roses nestled above her collar bones, a spider web on her right shoulder, a cartoon ghost sitting in a shell, and a large number 13 on her bicep are among the standouts. But V could spend hours describing each artwork.

“Ahem.”

“Hey, there you are…” Judy greets Evelyn, a playful almost flirty tone to her voice.

“This is V. She's here for that BD roll. And V, this is Judy - best braindance editor I know.”

“Enough already, gonna make me barf.” There’s a slight accent to Judy’s voice, not unlike Jackie’s.

“Impressive set up,” V signs, at least, she assumes it’s impressive. Tech is already a bit of a blind spot for her, especially when it comes to brain dances.

“Mhm, Analyzers, sensory sig amps, acoustic and emotive wave monitors, facial expression translators.”

“Ahem, Judy,” Evelyn stops the inked editor before she can tell V more.

“All right, all right… Compiled your BD, Ev.”

“What do you think? Will it do?”

“Still pretty raw… but yeah, oughta do.”

“Mhm. V needs to get deep inside, that's most important.”

“So, let's calibrate, tune it to her,” Judy stands up from the table and moves to the desk closer to the door, sitting down below a neon pink light, “Believe me, I've dealt with worse. Should see the dig-Jig Street porn we gotta contend with sometimes.”

Evelyn has followed behind Judy, standing behind the editor’s chair, “So we drop V inside? Let her look, let her rummage around, right?”

“How 'bout it, V? Raw braindance - ever taken a dip before?” Judy leans forward on the desk, looking at V.

“No, not at all, but I’m a quick learner,” that feels like a lie as soon as she says it, “ and need to know what I’m dealing with. So.”

“Siddown, settle in, and we'll get you goin'.”

V turns around to the chairs, either netrunning or ripperdoc chairs, she’s not sure. But, she climbs into one, settling down into it as Judy comes back out around the desk. Judy is nearby, fiddling with a brain dance wreath.

“Be easier to fit without the mask.”

“Mask has optic tech, linked to my neuroport and biomon, should work just like it does with any set of cybereyes.”

“‘Fraid of ruining the mystery?” Evelyn asks, teasing again.

“Mask is for business, lot harder to track a merc if you got no clue what they look like. You that curious, feel free to try and track me down during my off time.”

“Fine, fine,”  Judy affixes the BD wreath around V’s head, lining it up properly on the merc before walking back to the desk,  “Gotta create your sensory profile first.”

“Go for it.”

“Now, sit still, look at me. Gonna run the analysis soft should feel a slight tingling…”

V’s breath catches as it prickles across her skin, a crackling and warm sensation crawling across every nerve. From the base of her skull, down her spine, across her arms to her fingers, running down her legs to her toes. A vague pulse, a current of something.

“OK now let's set the optics and other sensory sigs. Look smack into these two screens, pretend it's an eye exam.”

The two wreath panels flash and strobe white light, building in urgency and frequency.

“Gimme two more minutes. One more sec, need to get the pain receptor limiters in… OK. All set. Need to test your profile first. Tossing in a sam-”

“We can just use my recording, there’s no point in wasting time,” Evelyn interrupts Judy.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I’m fine with just jumping to her BD,” V interjects her opinion, “better to get right to it.”

Judy sighs and rolls her eyes; “Fine, fine, what do I know.”

“Great, I’ll just need to patch Bug in.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Who?” Judy jumps up from her desk, crossing her arms and looks at V like she just asked to summon Satan.

“Runner from my crew, security specialist. She'll tell me what to look for while we analyze. No problem, I assume?”

“Actually, it is a problem! You’re already asking me to cut fucking corners and now you want to bring someone else in?! Not what we agreed, Ev!”

“It’s not a big deal,” V signs, not sure what Judy’s sudden problem is.

“No big deal! You don't quite grasp the risks I took by lettin' you in here! What I'm risking pokin' around with this stuff!”

Judy continues to yell and V rolls her eyes, she’s a BD editor, not part of the actual crew, the client, or the fixer. If Arasaka goes after anyone it sure as shit won’t be Judy, so why is she throwing a fit.

“And you don’t seem to grasp the risk I’d be taking if me and my partner went stumbling into that hotel with no fucking clue as to what we or our runner are up against. I miss one hidden turret and I get pumped full of lead, either my runner links in or I’m gone.”

V makes a point to twist her head and look at Evelyn at the last part; Bug is the most highly trained member of their crew and Dex’s go to runner. Without her involvement and eyes on it, the job won’t be going anywhere.

“Bye then!” Judy yells out, “good riddance and don’t let the door hit you on the way out!”

“Judy, please…”

“Ev, she wants to bring a 'runner in. What part of that don't you understand?! How do I know she'll only perch in this footage, observe, not fuck with anything?!”

“Because Bug is literally involved with the heist, has a dog in this fight, and wants it to go well too,” V signs, hoping the AI voice is getting her annoyance across, Judy does level a glare at her over Evelyn’s shoulder.

“Me,” Evelyn steals Judy’s attention, “I'm your guarantee.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Help me, this one last time. I promise everything'll work out,  just like we planned.”

And it hits V, between the flirting and the soft drop in Evelyn’s voice here. The reason Judy is so worked up about this; her and Evelyn have something. Friends teetering the line into something else, girlfriends already, or maybe even more than that. V’s not sure. But there’s something distinctly not platonic to the way they interact. Maybe that’s the play on Evelyn’s. Scam Yorinobu Arasaka then run away with her porn editor girlfriend.

“Fine,” Judy shakes her head and sits back down, the anger gone, “call Bug and we’ll dive in.”

That issue taken care of V rings up T-Bug, the netrunner answering after a ring or two.

“What’s up, V?”

“Bug, listen. I got some useful footage from Konpeki Plaza. It's a braindance.”

“Konpeki? Ohhh, thought as much…” Judy looks up at Evelyn.

“Someone there with you?”

“Client and her...friend...is what I’ll settle on; that’s not what matters right now, its going to give us a layout of the room, a chance to find where the chip is, and some idea of security.”

“All right, see if I can walk you through it. Jackin’ into your tech now,” notifications alert across her mask’s interface, “Mh, you've gotta give me access. Opening port 1779… Secure protocol? Good, I'm goin' in. Should be getting my request… …now.”

“Got it. You ready?”

“Millisec. OK, connection confirmed, now some quick temp ICE and… we're clear. Ready to dance.”

“Let’s do this.”

And with that the wreath panels begin to flash and strobe in front of V’s eyes, quicker and quicker until the world goes out in white. And in the next snap of a moment, one reality becomes another. Her body is no longer her own, she’s placed in Evelyn’s mind standing outside an elevator. What feels like her body, moves to adjust a purse strap, gold capped nails.

“All right, V - eyes open. Gotta find out where Yorinobu is keepin’ the Relic. Everything is controlled by thought and intention; you can step into editor mode, access everything her cyberware picked up a signal of, can scan, rewind, fast forward. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

The doors open, exposing the hotel room, and a horror show of a man walking towards her. V can feel the spike in fear, whether from Evelyn in the moment or V’s own instinctual reaction; she isn’t sure. He’s around eight feet tall, complete metal and cyberware from his feet to his upper lip; more machine than human. Wire, hydraulics, steel; all branded with Arasaka. The flesh section of his head is sickly ashen protrusive veins, glowing red where eyes should be. As he draws closer there’s a whirr of machinery, hydraulics pistoning to give him movement. How is he alive? How is he functional?

“You look like a cut of fuckable meat. Are you?” He asks as he walks past, voice edged with something inhuman.

Evelyn reigns her fear back in, the past version of her walking deeper into the room, where a dark haired man sits at a table in front of a large screen where another blonde haired man speaks back to him.

“I said no,” the dark haired man speaks out, his voice colored by a Japanese accent and V knows it’s Yorinobu. Evelyn continues to walk closer, her heels clicking against the floor.

“They'll have my head for this…”

“Then you shall perish for a good cause.”

“But I-”

“Make yourself comfortable. I need a minute to finish,” Yorinobu tells Evelyn, sparing just a glance over his shoulder.

“Listen in on that conversation, V! Could be something important.”

She wants to watch through first, do an initial watch to look for things and then go more in depth. Two watches at least should mean she’s covered everything. Yorinobu switches the conversation to his holophone, pacing around the room. Evelyn meanwhile puts her purse down on the chair, then walks behind him, trying to keep him in range

“My father is a tired, visionless old greybeard who thinks nothing will change and he'll live forever in his tiny, frozen bubble! You will listen to this - Saburo is an addled despot utterly removed from reality, stuck in some fossilized vision of a world that no longer exists! Of a world that may never have existed! We have not seen eye to eye for the last twenty years. I am quite sure we won't now.”

Yorinobu continues to talk as Evelyn pours herself a glass full of champagne and takes a drink, the tech allowing V to taste the sweet bubbles as if they were on her own tongue. Glass in hand she takes a slow look around the room and walks back to the center of it, sitting at the table, the plush of the cushion letting her sink into it.

“Noted,” Yorinobu says into the phone as he starts to walk back to Evelyn, there’s something in his eyes, “enough.”

He hands up, putting the phone down on the table. Evelyn looks up at him and V through her eyes gets her first good look at the Arasaka heir. Dark hair with the sides shaved down close to the scalp, glasses perched on his nose. His cyberware is surprisingly minimal for a man of his wealth, two streaks of silver going up his neck to his jawline.

“Sorry, to make you wait,” he touches Evelyn’s shoulder and the woman rises, “business can be stupid.”

They’re close and V can feel his hands on her, Evelyn’s, hips. Evelyn’s hand on his shoulder.

“Mmh, it wasn't long,” Evelyn hums and it feels wholy unnatural to feel like she’s speaking with someone else's voice, “Not even long enough for me to grow bored.”

His hands start to creep and Evelyn goes to pull away, movements playful, when Yorinobu pulls her back in. Then he starts to dip his mouth.

“Fuck no!” V yells out as she pushes the thought to enter editor mode, separating her senses from Evelyn’s before she has to feel Yorinobu’s lips on Evelyn’s neck. She looks down and sees herself, though slightly digital, her bright blue nail polish and not gold jewelry. The scene around her has paused and a digital filter over them.

“Something wrong?” T-Bug asks with a slight laugh.

“Nearly had corpo droolon me,” V signs, happy to find the tech allows her translator to work in editor mode, “was going do a watch through, then a second go in editor mode, figured two look throughs would be best...then”

“Then you nearly had to lock lips with Yorinobu Arasaka.”

“Gag, rewinding back to scan the call fully.” With a thought she watches as Evelyn and Yorinobu move in reverse, getting back to win the heir was starting the call. Once she gets where she needs to be she scans his phone and restarts it from editor mode, thankful for the sensory disconnect. She hears the man on the other end of Yorinobu’s call speak.

“Please speak with your father. He's taken a particular interest in this project, he can certainly explain the risks invol--”

“My father is a tired, visionless old greybeard who thinks nothing will change and he'll live forever in his tiny, frozen bubble!”

“I should not even be listening to such things.”

“You will listen to this - Saburo is an addled despot utterly removed from reality, stuck in some fossilized vision of a world that no longer exists! Of a world that may never have existed! We have not seen eye to eye for the last twenty years. I am quite sure we won't now.”

“Read the documentation carefully. The Relic requires specific storage conditions. You MUST provide them.”

“Noted,” Yorinobu hangs up again and V pauses the BD.

“Heard that? Relic docs gotta be around here somewhere. Look for them,” Bug confirms.

“Once we find where the chip is stored we’ll do a clean sweep of the security, okay Bug.”

“Smart thinking.”

V watches half-heartedly as Yorinobu and Evelyn interact; her range of vision and senses limited to Evelyn. She fast forwards through the two canoodling, only mildly catching Evelyn mentioning something about ‘candy’ though V assumes it’s of the nose variety. Evelyn separates away from Yorinobu for a moment and walks to a control panel, offering to lend music to the scene.

But V’s interest is piqued when she catches Evelyn rifling through Yorinobu’s messages, a few spam and scam emails. Then she pulls up an email from Clouds, a dollhouse in the city. Evelyn deletes it, V rewinds back and pauses. The email thanks Yorinobu for his patronage; hmm, heir has a taste for doll prostitutes. Something, Evelyn doesn’t want that email to be there… Its all beginning to make more sense and V’s not sure she likes it.

The merc fast forwards further through the BD, moving through to Evelyn playing awful music and going to meet Yorinobu in his bed. Where he sits with a tablet, the second the screen is clear. She pauses and scans it, bingo.

“Manual details a special temp controlled container. Relic needs to be kept real cool,” T-Bug explains through the technobabble.

“Chip’s got to be in a freezer.”

“Yep. Could damage it otherwise. OK, switch on thermal layer detection in the editor. Should be easier to spot where Yorinobu's keeping the chip.”

V switches with a thought, the world turning into temperature signatures as she searches for unnatural cold places and spots. An air conditioner pumps out cold air, but that would be a stupid place to put billion dollar tech. One malfunction and you lost it all.  She rewinds back to get more of a view, a ice bucket for champagne, a fridge?

“That’s just a regular fancy fridge, not cold enough,” Bug tells her when she spends t0o long contemplating it.

V rewinds further and an amass of blue ice cold air from behind a pillar catches her eye, It seems to come up through the floor, unlike the AC, ice bucket, or fridge she has no clear idea where this one is coming from. A secret container in the floor? Seems like a much craftier place to hide expensive stolen tech, V scans it.

“Right, grabbed the heat sig. Matches the spec in the docs,” T-Bug tells her.

“Chip has to be here, we got it.”

“Mmhmm, time to scan security.”

V switches back to the regular mode, looking for what she needs to scan. The camera system first.

“Shit, cameras packed with newtech motion sensors, heat sig activators. IFF.”

“Can you kill it?”

“With access to their subnet, but we need the Flathead bot for that.”

They continue on, with Bug commenting on each security measure they scan. Alarm with fresh firmware, Automated turrets connected to the hotels server. Yorinobu’s pistol, loaded with the safety on. V rewinds and fast forward, searching anything else that might be an issue but comes up empty handed.

“Seems like we got everything. Looks like all their security systems are linked to the hotel subnet. We need the Flathead. No other way to shut down these systems,” T-Bug sumises.

“No way around it ourselves?”

“Nope. Least I'm fresh out of ideas. Think we got everything we need.”

“Okay, but hang on the line with me after we get out of the BD, need you to look over something for me, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem.”

V exists out of the brain dance, a flash of white and the world returns. Judy and Evelyn looking at her from across a desk, T-Bug still in the call panel of her mask. Her eyes hurt, her throat feels dry, and she can feel a migraine pushing at her temples. She fucking hates brain dances.

“Get everything you need?” Judy asks, a dark raised eyebrow.

“From the BD, yeah, got to clear something with Bug while I got her on the horn,” V gets the chip she fucked with out of her pocket and slides it into the proxy reader of her mask, “got a chip I fucked around with; decrypted and tried to rewrite the virus on it, so it will spike the people who gave it to me. But I want to make sure, I didn’t fuck up.”

“Need me to grade your work, V?”

“Kind of…”

“Oh, shit, V. You fucking over Militech?” T-Bug exclaims, a little pride in her voice as she reads over the code, thankfully her voice is only audible to V through her hearing aids.

“Mmhmm.”

“And you don’t want to sign and have your translator read it, because you don’t want to risk the client knowing you’re fucking over Militech while prepping to fuck over Arasaka.”

“Mmhmm, will it work?”

“It will fry the servers of any tech it’s plugged in proper and fry the servers it’s linked to, a Militech van from the looks of it. Won’t be a dent in their bottom line, but will surely piss off some reps. That what you meant for it to do?”

“That was the plan.”

“Preem work then, but I do want to make some...edits,” T-Bug edits the chips code in front of V’s eyes, “there we go.”

“Something wrong with it?” Nerves creep up V’s throat, if she fucked up, she’d rather learn her lesson now.

“Nah, I added a bit of a personal touch for you, nothing wrong with a little style added to your hacking.”

“Appreciate the help.”

“You know I won’t always be here to check your work.”

“I know, I know, but it doesn't mean I won’t take advantage while I can. Thanks again, talk soon.”

“Later, V.” With that V hangs up the call and slots the spiked credchip back into its respective pocket. Judgement, suspicion, and resentment are radiating off of Judy.

“I'll wipe the cache and your data. You were never here.”

Judy stands up from the desk and V tries to decipher a few of the tattoos she sees, noticing more sea themed ones, like a dolphin and sharks. V flinches behind her mask as Judy removes the BD wreath, glad to be free of the contraption, but she could have taken it off herself.

“Thanks…” V signs, despite this, just trying to be polite despite their spat.

“Keep it,” Judy hands her the wreath, V getting a good look at the octopus tattooed on the woman’s hand,  “I'll put it on Ev's tab. Portable device for handling BDs. I already uploaded your calibration settings. Not as sophisticated as what we got here, but should do the trick.”

“And it keeps you outta harm's way. Clever.”

“Speaking of harms way, know what I see looking at you,” Judy pins her hands to her hips and gives V that look again, “walking, talking corpses.”

“We needed this recording, just… relax, will you?”

“Relax! If Arasaka finds out you have it, you're dead. I'm dead! If you fuck this up and Arasaka comes knocking on my door!”

“Judy, relax, that’s… not gonna happen,” Evelyn is the one trying to soothe the editors temper again.

“Evelyn, please… no shortcuts. You go that route, city'll always win. So be careful.”

“'Course I will be. Besides, we'll talk in a bit,” Evelyn looks to V,  “lets walk.”

V stashes the new BD wreath into her bag and climbs from the chair, following Evelyn out of Judy’s basement space. It’s not like V is heartless or doesn’t know anxiety; but of everyone involved, Judy has the least skin in the game. V can’t spend her time coddling someone who doesn’t have a whole hell of a lot to worry about compared to her, Jackie, or Bug.

“Well? What do you think?” Evelyn asks and V can see that hint of nerves coming back.

“You’re not worried about this coming back on you, if they start looking through everyone he’s been dealing with?”

“They'll have a long list, then. Packed full of big names. Much bigger than mine. You tell me who they check first. Corpo hotshots and cutthroats? Or a little bedroom plaything like me?”

“Well, then... “ V tries to find her words, this all seems, too good, “intel on the heir, on the place, know roughly where the chip is, and how we should get to it… Seems like a perfect plan and job.”

“Mm. Thanks. Now the punch line, please.”

“Seems too good to be true, there’s got to be a catch…”

“Cold feet? Are you looking to get out of it?”

“I want to know you’re in control here; that there’s no secrets, no catches, no surprises that turns this heist from a cakewalk into a bloodbath.”

“V. I have zero reasons to haze you. We’re in this together. Really. Trust me that I got this.”

“Okay, if you say so, what next?”

“V….” there’s nothing good in the way Evelyn pauses, words stuck to her tongue for a moment, “Do this job for me. I mean me alone. No splitting the payout with anyone else. No middlemen. No Dex.”

Of course, of fucking course, there had to be something. Evelyn’s trying to play cutthroat corpo, fucking over a fixer because she has dollar signs in her eyes. But, she’s too damn naïve to the game to know that no merc with the lead in their gun would pull that shit. Greedy mercs who screw over their fixers end up broke on the street at best and swimming  with cement shoes at worst. And a high profile one like Dex has the means to destroy her.

“Fucking knew there was a catch, you want to fuck over our fixer.”

“Dex is a middleman. And a useless one at this point.”

“You don't fuck with fixers. That's the one rule every merc in this city knows - and actually follows!”

“But if we're smart…”

“There is no smart to this, a mistake like that will cost me my reputation and without that, a merc is fucking nothing in this city. Are you serious about this?”

“Better ask yourself that question. Do you want to spend the rest of your days blasting scavs? Or become a legend overnight? Your choice.”

“He would put me in the ground, if I pulled some gonk shit like that.”

“I could give you fifty percent, V, . Eddies enough to do whatever the hell you like, without needing Dex for anything. With cred like that, you wouldn’t want for anything, you could retire.”

“It’s not about the money.”

“I thought you were a merc. I thought it was always about the money.”

“No, its not actually. He trusts me, he’s taking a leap with me. And even if he weren’t, I’m not the only person I got to worry about. Bug vouched for me too and Jackie is my partner. I fuck over my fixer, it hurts them too. I’m not going to send them down the river for a bigger cut of the pie.”

“Fine. I never asked. But V?”

“Yeah.”

“I just hope you're as good as you are naive.”

“Pff, you think I’m the naive one, here. Cute.

“If you need me, call. I'll send you my number. Now go. I need a few words with Judy.”

“Later, then.”

And with that V heads back up the stairs, tension draws tight across her shoulders. This whole damn thing with Evelyn throwing her off. The BD and everything seems clear cut, if they get the Flathead, the job might even be easy. But, wanting to fuck over their fixer. Evelyn is not the corpo or femme fatale or whatever she seems to think she is. A doll, V’s sure of that.  Evelyn must have deleted the email from Clouds because its’s connected to her and the Mox offer protection to sex workers; must be where she and Yorinobu met. Clouds even has connections to Arasaka through the Tyger Claws. And she managed to become a powerful rich man’s plaything, so now she thinks she’s smart enough to fuck over not only him but Dex too.

She’s a messy client with good intel. V doesn’t want Evelyn to get hurt. The older woman is in over her head and doesn’t know how the merc world works. She doesn’t deserve to get hurt for that, the last thing V wants is for Dex to lose his cool and hurt the woman. But, V also owes it to him to let him know Evelyn put that deal on the table. If she doesn’t, what’s to say Evelyn won’t pull this on another fixer? Or Dex gets another job aligned with her and the next merc she offers this to isn’t so loyal? She has to tell him.

V fumbles with her holo as she walks back through the club, doing some quick research on Konpeki Plaza. Finding their policy on guns. Given the stealth nature of this mission, she can assume the only way they’re getting in is to find a way to get in like regular patrons. Which means they’d be scanned for guns as soon as they get through the door. If something goes south, she doesn’t want her and Jackie left unarmed with a hoard of Arasaka soldiers on their ass.

But they can’t confiscate cyberware.

Might be time to cash in her savings for something. Her holo buzzes in her hand as Dex calls; her stomach drops. Unsure for a moment what to say to him, if she should go ahead and tell him what Evelyn tried to pull. Would he lose his temper? Drop the entire damn heist? Would he hurt her for it? It weighs on her shoulders as she pushes through a blue beaded curtain, considering her options with a finger hovering over the phone.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #(slowburn eventual) #evelyn parker #judy alvarez #aidan becker #aidan v becker #female v

[artificialqueens]

Just Below the Surface (Taywhora) - Phryne

A/N: Hello all and welcome to the shark fic, an absolute labor of stupidity, a half-processed thought come to live in the middle of the night. This fic is inspired by @incorrectdruk’s post. Please comment and like if you’ve enjoyed; it means the world! Also a shout out to my wonderful girlfriend, @scarletenvy, who reviewed and supported me throughout this fic. All my love to you. 

Tayce tries to get Aurora out of a design funk by taking her to the aquarium for some inspiration. Aurora has never actually seen a tiger shark in real life—she gets a rude awakening about sharks, and imminent failure.

When her drab little apartment is getting her down, with its peeling pre-war paint and hard water stains; when the rain no longer feels soothing and mesmerizing and sleek; when Aurora finds herself tapping her pencil against her face instead of against her sketch pad, Tayce insists on a change of scenery, even when sheets of rain are splattering against their windows. 

She comes up behind Aurora, spreading her fingers over her shoulder. It’s a risk, knowing that Aurora might startle and throw her head back into Tayce’s nose, but she kisses the crown of her head anyway. “Not going good, is it?” 

Aurora groans, but nonetheless leans into the touch. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?” She holds up her sketch pad with nothing more than the model on the page. 

“Reckon you can’t send nudity down the runway, love?” Tayce laughs, digging her thumbs into the base of Aurora’s neck. “Though I’d call off work to model that one for you.” 

Ignoring the quip, but for quirking a brow, Aurora shrugs out of the touch and continues. “I’ve got nothing. No inspiration. No real idea. No thoughts about structures or colors or fabric I’d like to work with.” She slams the pencil down. “I’ve started from every square one I can think of and I’ve still got nothing. I’m supposed to put more of myself into these designs but myself is giving me nothing useful.”

As much as Tayce understood the classic Aurora ‘I’m not amounting to anything, everything I do is dull and boring and meaningless, but, insert forced laugh here, if I give up now I can still be your sugar baby, right?’ speech was coming, and would typically be chased by a reminder that she was only a couple years younger, exceedingly talented, and a retail worker’s salary could never sustain both of their tastes, Tayce decides to cut off the monologue before it even starts. 

“Let’s go.” Tayce says, releasing Aurora’s shoulders and giving a hearty clap. “Grab your slicker, we’re going to the aquarium.” 

Aurora hums before letting the request fully sink in. “Why are we going to see a bunch of scum covered fish?” She pauses, pushes her hair out of her face and tries again. “It’s a lovely idea, but I don’t have much time for a date right now. I need sketches and fabric samples by Monday.” 

But Tayce ignores her, taking the pencil and pad from Aurora’s hands and stuffing them into her purse. She continues absently, “There’s a new tiger shark exhibit that I think—” 

“A fucking tiger shark?” Aurora turns around, resting her arms on the back of her chair, glancing up at Tayce and speaking through that Cheshire Cat smile of hers. “You’re telling me we’ve got a tiger shark now?” 

Tayce feels herself brighten along with her. “It looks rather interesting, world’s greatest predator and all—” 

“Of course it is, it’s a tiger shark. Like, just try to think of something more fierce than that.” Aurora punctuates every word as she hauls her purse into her lap and sweeps the contents of her desk inside, zipping the top even as her fuchsia and forest green pencils stick out from the corners, muttering on about the world’s greatest predator, how it’s an absolute destroyer. 

Tayce takes Aurora’s sudden disinterest in organizing her pencils into their case—by most to least used—as her cue to leave and slip on her boots, already wearing a pleased little smile. 

*

They settle into the tube, Aurora securing her umbrella before sitting down next to Tayce. It’s easy to find a seat, the car less crowded than usual, likely thanks to the weather. Aurora thinks she’d like to stay inside with the rest of London, put the kettle on, and work in the living room where she can see the damp landscape before her and Tayce on the couch beside her, but that wasn’t working before. So here she is, wet blonde hair plastered to her forehead, the thought of seeing the tiger shark still coursing through her, lighting her like neon. 

“Concept: a tiger shark suit,” Aurora poses, just as Tayce holds her hand out for Aurora’s purse. She obliges and continues. “A little shift on the color forecast. Instead of yellow and grey—so bloody industrial, I’m thinking orange and grey. Would need a poly to get that wet-look of vinyl though…” 

Aurora tends to work like this, rambling off her ideas in a whirlwind, usually tearing apart the flat for the nearest pad of paper to get it all down before the idea’s lost forever and she’s left pouting while Tayce is trying to work as well. She’s become used to the smattering of Post-It pads around the house, reminding Aurora to dig the pens out of her pockets before running the wash, cheeky grins as she pulls pencils out from Aurora’s frantically done bun before properly lying down for bed. It’s endearing though, the chaos Aurora works in, the way Tayce’s chaos stabilizes Aurora’s.

So Tayce digs around in the tote until she pulls out a little baggie with her croissant, and Aurora’s notebook, pleased at how she’s taken to the leather bound folio Tayce gifted her for their last anniversary. She hands it over before picking at the almonds atop her croissant, adding, “bitch to make though, isn’t it?” 

Aurora knows what Tayce is referencing and almost shudders at the thought of more vinyl after her Spring/Summer 19’ collection. She spent hours on end cursing the fabric, trying not to tear the tissue between, which she used to help the panels float smoothly under the presser foot as she sewed them. On an industrial machine, no less, which was a bitch to haul up into their flat. It was a disaster to get an invisible zipper into the gown, the damn thing ripping itself out with every try-on. And at the end of it all, she had to sew Tayce into the finale catsuit not fifteen minutes before the show, which meant she had to cut her right out of the garment at the end of the show, with her girlfriend’s reassurance that it was “bloody sexy” and “what’s a little bit of scissoring between two lesbians?” doing little to sage her qualms about ruining hours of work in a snip. 

“Maybe some treated leather.” Aurora nods solemnly and writes notes wildly, not sure she’ll even be able to read anything besides the “SS19” with an angry cross over it when she reviews them later. “Either way, I’m thinking it’s going to be fierce, especially if I can figure out the movement; move like the tiger shark, no? To get that floating through water feeling.” 

Aurora doesn’t expect an answer, seeing that Tayce is occupied with picking almonds off of the pastry. She holds her hand out for them, throwing them back in one shot before taking half the pastry as well. “Why get the one with almonds if you just got to pick them off?” 

“The taste, the flavor,” Tayce says through a bite. “And I know you prefer them, so…” 

Aurora gives her a light shove before pulling her back in by the crook of her arm. “You’re soft,” she taunts, capping her pen and sticking it in her hair. 

“We can’t all be tiger shark ladies, babe.” She gives her pastry a deep bite, raising her brows at Aurora as she does so, if for nothing but to catch a chuckle from her, from what was a miserable day. 

Aurora shakes her head, but nonetheless shifts closer, taking a bite and swallowing quickly. “Stupid, absolutely dense—” 

“—The idiocy, the dullness, dimwittedness, superficiality of it all,” Tayce continues, brushing the crumbs off of her black trench jacket, picking a couple tricky ones out of the red stitching with her nail. Head resting against Aurora’s still damp shoulder, she adds between a cheeky grin, “We gotta finish up; Waterloo’s in just a bit.”  

*

By the time Aurora gets her things gathered and finds the umbrella, Tayce is taking her hand and leading them to the exit. They schlep along to County Hall, Tayce holding the umbrella high above them, Aurora wrapped around Tayce’s arm, bundled up against her, pressing her bag flush against her side. She’s practically buzzing by the time they reach the aquarium, her childish enthusiasm endearing, and Tayce feels it bubble up in her as well. It’s contagious really, Aurora’s joy. It practically travels through the air, filling the room.   

“Here, let me,” Aurora says, fishing for her wallet as they approach the ticket counter. “Since I’m spending our date looking at a shark.”

“Tell me what you really think of me, why don’t you,” Tayce quips back, laying on as much annoyance as she can while still holding a grin, studying the exhibit poster in front of them. 

Aurora takes her card back, muttering as she stuffs it back into its slot. “It’s the world’s fiercest predator, babe. I don’t know what to tell you.” She hands Tayce her ticket before taking her hand, dragging her to the queue. “It’s me in animal form, though I wouldn’t typically pair black and orange, especially for spring.” 

Tayce breathes out a laugh. “Then what am I?”

“Dunno. Maybe a squid.” 

This time, Tayce fully cackles. “A squid?” she asks, and she feels the rest of the queue turn to look at them. She shakes her head playfully as Aurora eyes her long legs and arms before she shrugs, already moving on, focused on a poster next to the queue. 

“Or maybe an absolute hound.” Aurora pokes Tayce’s side before wrapping herself around Tayce’s arm, tugging them forward. 

“Shark fact,” Aurora continues, reading off the line-marker. “Tiger sharks have a near completely undiscerning palate. Some tiger sharks have eaten sting rays, birds, squids, old tires—even other sharks.”

“Sounds like you, A’Whora,” Tayce teases, pulling her in closer, draping an arm around her shoulder. 

Aurora rolls her eyes and pats Tayce’s forearm. “I obviously only go for the finest of squids,” she says, before glancing up and giving a pronounced chomp. 

“Babe, please don’t bite my pussy.” 

Aurora doesn’t get to respond, finding herself right in front of the ticket scanner, who’s shifting around a bit in his uniform, unable to look at the two women in front of him. Not that Tayce or Aurora particularly care about offending some greasy twenty year-old boy at an aquarium with the concept of pussy. He scans their tickets and gives them a nod, so they walk off toward the exhibit, breaking into laughter once they clear the lobby. 

The hallways are lined with fish, of all different colors and sizes, flitting in and out of coral and anemones and grasses. There’s a reception class gathered around a circular tank, trying to find the Nemo, but to no avail. Tayce knows that usually, Aurora would stop by the tank and help the kids out, wholeheartedly join this hunt for the orange and white fish. She’d remind the kids that the little clownfish might be taking a break in his anemone, just like he did in the movie, but that he’ll surely come out, especially if they’re kind and patient. And usually, Tayce would stand back a few feet and watch the scene play out, heart swelling in the process. 

Today, however, Tayce’s heart is going double-time as Aurora takes her hand and pulls her through the crowd. Aurora’s on a mission, weaving in between strollers and other couples, skirting behind tour guides as they explained how algae grows, following the signs pointing toward the tiger shark exhibit with a cutting precision Tayce hadn’t seen since last year’s Arlington sample sale. 

Aurora breaks free when she sees the tank, running up to it and practically smashing herself up against the glass, with no care for the second years or the family of four next to her. 

Tayce catches up. “Love, you don’t gotta press your tits up against the glass, he knows you got them,” she breathes out, wrapping an arm around Aurora’s waist, pulling her back in the process. 

“What the fuck,” Aurora whispers. The look of wonder she once carried is replaced with shock, her face fallen, a dangerous pout forming. “That’s not a tiger shark.” She trains her eyes to the tank and speaks quietly, pointedly, like she’s jabbing the shark with each syllable. “That’s just a shark.”

Tayce gives her a moment, her own lips pursed as she studies Aurora, then the shark, then Aurora again, searching for the disconnect but unable to find it. She was so excited to see it, but in a moment, something had gone exceptionally wrong. 

She gives up, drumming her fingers against Aurora’s waist, before pointing to the sign. “We went to the right place, babe. The sign says it’s Oliver the tiger shark and he’s 17 years old…today.” Tayce turns Aurora toward the sign, but her feet stay firmly planted, her eyes trained on the shark. Nonetheless, she continues. “It’s his birthday, love.”

“Fuck his birthday,” Aurora grumbles, head following the shark as it passes by them. “He doesn’t look like a bloody tiger shark to me. Why’s he gray? Where’s the stripes?”  

“Aww, he’s old. That’s why he doesn’t have any stripes.”

Aurora shakes her head like Tayce doesn’t get it, and frankly, she doesn’t. As far as Tayce sees, it’s a perfectly good shark, swimming about, living his life, being as inspirational as any shark can be. But Aurora’s miffed, her mood as clouded and dreary as the weather outside. 

She hikes her purse up her shoulder and leans forward again, her nose and two fists pressed right against the glass. “You’re a filthy liar, Oliver.” 

“Babe, it’s a shark—”

“I’ll still fight an old bastard like you. You’ll pay for your lies.” 

Tayce takes her by the shoulders and spins her around, marching them out of the exhibit. “Ok, you can’t fight a shark so it’s time to leave him alone. Time to find some other inspiration in the…” Tayce looks up at the next exhibit’s sign as they walk. “…sea spiders.” She shakes her head. “Christ.” 

As they walk away, Aurora softens, though she’s still dreary and listless. The spiders, of course, aren’t helping—they’re disgusting little heathens, what with their spindling legs and radioactive green backlight. Even Tayce has to admit that. But as she pulls Aurora in for pictures, she finds her limply pressed against her side, disinterested in the pursuit, even though in one of the pictures, it looks like the spider’s balanced on Aurora just so, like it’s woven itself into her waves, made a nest atop her head. Tayce quickly sets this as a new background; Aurora only gives a hum in response. 

They continue with the deep sea creatures, with their dark tanks and neon blue tint, stopping at the octopus and its inky purple light, all spread out against the wall of its tank, its orange tentacles sticking and peeling periodically. Tayce again insists on a picture, “for memory’s sake, even though he looks like a bollock, all pruned from the bath.” Reluctantly, Aurora lets out a breathy laugh and gives in. Tayce counts this as a win, even though her pouting resumes once they move on.

At the next tank, Tayce is amused by the little round fish that dips in and out of its hole, its mouth forming an “O” as they approach it. Aurora cracks a smile, but for a moment, when Tayce pulls her in by the shoulder and makes the same face, jaw slack and nude-painted lips rounded like the fish’s. Aurora claims she’s not going to kiss “fish lips over here,” and yet she does, giving Tayce a peck. Tayce snaps a picture of her now smiling girlfriend, the red light from deep within the fish’s hole haloing her. 

Aurora needs a bit less prodding in the stingray exhibit, sticking her hand in the open tank as soon as she’s given the go-ahead. “He’s a velvet pancake,” Aurora comments, petting the flat beast, its mouth flap opening and closing as it moves through the tank. Tayce reaches for Aurora’s folio prematurely. 

“Velvet is super 2018. I’m bored of it,” Aurora explains, drying her hands before taking Tayce’s. “Thank you though.” She says it quietly, but Tayce knows she’s appreciative from the way she tightens her grip, by the way her thumb lays on top of Tayce’s as they walk into the next exhibit.  

“Look at all these fucking sharks.” Tayce glances upward, dragging Aurora’s hand with her as she points, full of awe, glued to the shark gliding above her, cutting through the water seamlessly. “Look at them go. Absolute beasts they are.” 

Aurora sees it’s clearly Tayce’s turn to be struck with wonder, and at the sharks no less. So, she tries to wipe the pout off of her face, smooth out her furrow, and take in the moment. Take in Tayce, arms spread before her. How the blue light reflects off of her cheekbones. Her still rain-slick hair and jacket. And the sharks passing above her are beautiful, with their milky white bellies and steel body, their rounded faces and sharp fins. There has to be something inspiring about them, she’s sure. Maybe in the shapes, or the colors? She could play with the sharp and round structure, surely. Or work in grayscale. Imitate the leather-y touch of their skin. She rests against the wall, pulling out her folio, clicking her pen aimlessly. 

Tayce continues with the sharks, pointing at them one by one, asking each, “let’s be having you? And you? And you?” with a silly point. She takes pictures with a few.

But when Tayce returns, suggesting they head out and have lunch while the weather’s clear, Aurora finds her paper blank yet again, more and more sure that she has nothing left to give. 

*

The cafe Tayce picks out is splendid and quaint, though Aurora wouldn’t expect anything less. The server wipes down their seats and the metal table before they take a seat, hands over the menus, and gives them a moment to look them over. Aurora doesn’t even bother looking, knowing she’s too  upset to eat much at all, instead laying her head against the cool metal, trying to focus. Or, rather, pull her focus away from her imminent failure and toward Tayce’s new story in the saga about the lady who orders all these clothes online, and every single week, comes into the store, three shipping bags in hand, demanding that everything be returned. 

“They’re not even nice clothes.” Tayce adds, dipping a chip.  “We sell some nice shit, but she keeps buying garbage and complaining that it’s garbage.” 

Aurora hums, ripping at the bits of lettuce hanging out of her sandwich. 

“So she comes on in, throws her shipping bag onto the counter, whips out this polyester blouse, and sticks her hand through it and starts ranting on about how see-through the top is.” Tayce sticks her hand up, wiggling her fingers around. 

“She shouldn’t have bothered with a polyester Zara shirt to begin with.” 

“Shouldn’t have bothered buying a top labeled “sheer” to begin with,” Tayce threw back. “I thought she’d stop her nonsense after I took her around the store, pointing out everything that was good, would look good on her, would fit her enviable work-life-balance, but she still comes back, every Thursday with more shit.” Tayce takes the now ketchup-soggy chip out of the ramekin and sticks it in her mouth. “Even if we didn’t go to the aquarium, I would have called out today. Like I just couldn’t look at those shirts anymore without frying my mind.” 

“Couldn’t have that, could we?” Aurora tries at a laugh, finding it coming up faint. 

Tayce tilts her head, analyzing the situation in front of her. She opens her mouth, like she’s got something to say, before stealing one of Aurora’s chips. 

Pointing the chip at Aurora, she doesn’t ask if Aurora’s okay, or if she’s still disappointed by the aquarium, or if she’s still racking her brain for a sliver of a design idea. Instead, she asks “Well, Whora, what did you think a tiger shark was?” 

Tayce always cuts down to the bone, even when she’s not meaning to. 

Aurora throws her head into her hands, speaking through her fingers. “Fuck if I know, something fantastic and inspiring and shiny and fierce and—”

“Orange?” Tayce laughs before popping the chip into her mouth. 

“Fuck off,” Aurora mutters, raking her fingers through her hair. “I thought it’d all just hit me, babe, and now I’ve got no idea what to do.” 

Aurora looks up, blinking rapidly. Her nose starts feeling peppery, and she knows soon her face will become red, blotchy, and streaked with tears. 

But Tayce reaches over and takes her hand between both of hers. Aurora dares a glance at Tayce, before resting her gaze on their hands. 

“Look, I know you’re not going to tell yourself this, but you’re brilliant and talented, and your brain is, like,  dancing so fast, even when your feet aren’t moving.” She gives Aurora’s hand a squeeze. “You’ve got so many ideas up there, and I’m sure you’ll have the work to show for it soon. And those ideas are surely better than a tiger shark pantsuit, promise.” 

Wiping a stray tear, Aurora breaks into a chuckle. “It was like, my dumbest idea.” 

“Not your dumbest, no.” Tayce says. “But a dumb one.”

*

When they get home, Tayce all about shoves Aurora into her office, throws a can of Fanta in behind her, and tells her to look through the pictures from today, get inspired by nature, sort it out, and come back when she’s got a design. 

“Can I at least get a kiss for good luck?”  Aurora shouts through the door.

“How about one for good work?” Tayce quips. And before Aurora can fire back, she hears the faint sounds of the Mortal Kombat theme through the crack in the door, and thinks better of disturbing Tayce when she’s in the zone, getting out the stress of Polyester Blouse Lady on Johnny Cage. 

So, Aurora picks the Fanta off of the floor, sets it on her desk to rest, and settles into her chair. She moves around in her seat, trying at least a dozen positions before taking a deep breath, flipping to a fresh page. 

She pulls out her phone, scrolling through the pictures Tayce sent her today. There’s a few of the two of them on the tube, Tayce resting on Aurora’s shoulder. Anyone who didn’t know Tayce better would think she looked ready for a nap, with her closed eyes and relaxed lips, but Tayce wasn’t one to rest in the middle of an adventure. 

There’s another of Aurora, taken from behind, stood in line, bouncing on her heels, a neon wave floating above her head, as though she were under the water herself.  

There’s Aurora, plastered against the tiger shark tank, her face blue tinted by the water and the lights in the tank, her gaze steely as she watches that shark—who is an arsehole, she might add. 

And then the next series of pictures—the two of them again. Painted in neon green, a sea spider nesting in Aurora’s hair. Then in purple, shocking purple, the octopus behind them looking ready to strangle them both, it’s tentacles plinking off of the glass like pennies into a well. Then they’re kissing in front of the little fish that kept opening and shutting its mouth, forming a perfect “o,” bathing them in a bloody red tint. She’s not sure how, but Tayce managed to miss all of the miserable faces Aurora knew she had on throughout the aquarium. But when she thinks a bit deeper, she’s not sure when she’s ever looked truly miserable around Tayce. 

She nearly puts her phone down when she comes across the next picture. She couldn’t even remember the moment; Tayce must have asked someone else to take it. 

It’s Tayce, resting against the far wall of the shark exhibit—the tunnel-style tank, with the sharks swimming all around them—glancing off to the side with a lazy grin, eyes vigilant, wild. And the neon blue all around her, bouncing off the shine of her slicker, hitting her cheekbones and her collarbones just-so, filtering through her hair. 

Tayce cackles from the other room, the metallic clash of swords following. 

Absolutely radiant. Aurora chews at her pencil, studying the picture further, the way the light bounces off of the wet jacket…

And Aurora’s scribbling, the model she sketches nothing more than a handful of lines, led by memory, as she’s working desperately to draft the design. The pencil sweeps, once, twice, three times, as she sees the fabric floating. But it’s floating over something tight, sleek, but still soft and shiny. And there has to be a shimmering quality to it, or course. It’s not opaque either, no, much more sheer. She’s going to have to work with chiffon, damn it to bits, but it’ll give her the look she’s after, the wet shine she needs. And in a moment’s time, she’s flipped over to another page for another design, one that drapes lightly. She glances once more at the picture, before following the tempo of her pencil, this time switching it out for a light blue. 

In a blink, she’s filled four pages. 

So she grabs her folio and runs out into the living room, knowing from the sound of the TV that Tayce is still there, and still ripping Polyester Shirt Lady a new one, mentally. 

“I’m here for my kiss,” Aurora announces smuggly, throwing her folio into Tayce’s lap. 

She’s smart enough to pause the game right as Aurora makes her presence known, surely anticipating her dramatics after all this time. 

Tayce flips it open, staring Aurora down like she’s about to rip her designs apart, though she knows Tayce would never, or really, wouldn’t have the reason to do so. It’s that serious look Tayce has, though Aurora knows it only shows up because she’s serious about Aurora’s designs. “And I’m here for some good fashion, love.” 

Aurora falls beside her on the couch, pulling her legs up on the seat and curling in against Tayce. She’s warm. It’s comforting. 

“So I’ve got this one, like the octopus tank. And it’s got this iridescent purple that just flows off of the pantsuit, like it flows right off of it,” Aurora explains, leaning in further, pointing out the details. “I’m thinking Bim for this one.” 

“I can definitely see that. Definitely. With all that movement, ugh.” Tayce runs a finger over the design, outlining where the fabric would trail off steaming behind the model, like the wind’s carrying it, like it’s suspended in mid-air.

“Okay flip,” Aurora instructs, pressing her cheek against Tayce’s arm. Aurora continues, answering questions about fabric, structures underneath the garnments, styling. Tayce slips the pencil out of Aurora’s hand at some point, jotting down answers as she rambles on and on, far too excited to manage writing it on her own. So Tayce scribbles down her directive to add wirey jewelry around the wrists, heels with lacings up the calf, everything looking like it’s floating just below the surface. At some point, the Xbox powers off, until all that’s lighting the room is the standby logo. 

Tayce reaches over the couch, turning the lamp on. 

“So, which one are you thinking of for me?” Tayce pokes at Aurora’s side, her voice trailing into a whine. 

Aurora takes back her book, flipping through the pages aimlessly. “Oh, you know, the first one. From this morning…” 

“You didn’t even have—”

“…Absolute nudity.” Aurora curls in closer, a devious smile forming. “Or maybe full vinyl?”

“I thought no more after last time?” Tayce begins flipping through the book. “I guess I’ll just have to find it on my own, now won’t I?”

“Gimmie that,” Aurora takes it from her hands and flips to the page easily, holding the design close against her chest. “And you look good in the vinyl, is all I’m saying.” 

She plops it down in Tayce’s lap. “You’re obviously getting the finale gown, moron.”

Tayce scans over the page, over and over, tracing along the outline with her finger, as though she can feel the slip of the iridescent blue chifon layered over black organza, how it gathers at one hip, falling down in crashing waves, with the other side draped cleanly, softly. 

“It’s supposed to be murky, like you’re coming out of the depths of the ocean where all the weird spindly things live, that have, like five eyes and spikes and stuff.” Aurora bristles for a moment. “At least that’s what I was thinking. But really, you could wear any of them if you wanted, it’s all inspired by you,” she says, soft, feather-light, like she’s letting the words float on down from the surface. 

They continue on in silence, Aurora watching as Tayce scans over the design, mouth agape. Tayce swallows and mutters, “lil ol’ me, the finale?” She turns to Aurora. “It’s just gorgeous. So, absolutely gorgeous.” 

And Aurora smiles, closing her eyes, breathing in the moment, the relief, the momentum of the collection. She places the folio on the coffee table and sets her sights on Tayce. 

“So, did I earn my kiss?” 

Tayce rolls her eyes playfully. “If you insist,” she says, not leaving Aurora much time to think before pulling her in closer, thumb stroking along her cheek. Their lips meet comfortably, knowingly, in a way that would seem commonplace if not for love. 

They break apart, Aurora resting in the crook of Tayce’s neck. 

“You did an amazing job, love,” Tayce says, quietly this time, as though the moment deserves quiet. And the two hold the silence, open palmed, soaking in the golden, still light of the lamp.   

*

“Oi, you!” Aurora taps on the glass, sure she’s the subject of a few wandering eyes, and the reason why the aquarium security tests the receiver of their walkie a few times. But she doesn’t care. She has some unfinished business, business that’s been keeping her up at night, making her toss and turn right into Tayce’s spread-out, sleeping form, ever since she began production on her collection. 

So she’s returned to Oliver the tiger shark. This time, she’s bearing gifts. 

Aurora points at the shark as it passes, hoping in vain it’ll stop for her, just as she’s stopped for him. She tries again, snapping at him as he passes by once more, before giving up, feeling lucky Tayce wasn’t around to mock her attempts. Aurora continues on regardless. 

“We’ve had our differences, but I must thank you for the inspiration…” Aurora trails off, spotting the shark stopped on the other side of the tank. She scurries over, hoping she can get a good view of him, maybe take a reprieve from looking like a lunatic, talking to nothing. 

“But thank you, Oliver the shark,” she says to him, before he swims off again, practically to the spot Aurora was just standing. 

She huffs and hauls herself back to the other side of the tank. 

“You’re a right dick, you are.” Aurora breathes in deeply before digging into her bag, pulling out her phone, pressing it against the tank, as though he’ll look at the picture and have any idea who she is. “It was really her, my girlfriend here who did the heavy lifting, and she got more than a thank you for it all.” 

Aurora bites at her lip a bit, locking her phone, muttering, “sex, obviously, but you don’t get it, you’re a dumb, heterosexual shark, so…” into her purse as she plops her phone in. 

“But I figured giving you some thanks would earn me back some ocean karma points—” The shark swims to the back of the tank, facing entirely away from Aurora, and she has to remind herself not to stomp like a petulant child. 

She settles for muttering a “fucks sake” under her breath. 

“Anyway,” she hikes up her purse. “Have a good one, Oliver the tiger shark.” 

She gives a half-hearted wave before walking away, dividing to give that funny, little, perpetually surprised fish a visit, hoping he’ll appreciate her company more. 

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #uk2 #phryne #just below the surface #tayce #a'whora #taywhora #lesbian au #aquarium au #shark fic #established relationship #fluff #concrit welcome #submission

[alecmagnuslwb]

I Wear Your Winter Coat (The One You Love To Wear)

Read on AO3

The moon is high in the sky bright and shining, hell you can even see a few more stars than usual in between the city lights. The air’s not too cold just a nice chill that her big black jacket covered in patches and a few old clothes pins keeps away. There are clouds in the distance, but they’re hours away from causing any trouble. She has no magic shows lined up and she and John have agreed to at least a week of fun, they’ve earned it after everything that’s been on their plate lately. It’s the perfect, easy kind of night to go out and do something. So of course, Nick wants absolutely nothing to do with it.

“Oh come on mate, we took out three whole rabid vampire nests the past week. Not to mention the shows Zee’s been putting on. We agreed to a week off,” Constantine says as Nick declines so much as a dinner before he heads back to the brownstone.

“You both agreed to that,” he says turning to look at the two of them. “I have some research I want to do.” Zatanna sighs and steps away from John’s side to lay a gentle hand on Nick’s shoulder. Research seems to be his only past time these days, a past time that more and more so lately he doesn’t seem to want to share with them and it’s starting to worry her.

“You know you’re allowed to have fun, right?” she says with an encouraging smile. He brushes her hand off and shrugs.

“I have plenty of fun, see you two later,” he says without even entertaining the possibility of staying already turning around to leave. Zatanna watches him go, trying hard not to let Nick’s concerning behavior ruin her high spirits. John steps up next to her tossing his arm across her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her hair and immediately she starts to feel at ease again. For all his brashness sometimes John Constantine can be incredibly soothing. For her at least, most others probably wouldn’t agree with that statement.

“How about you help me pick out a new jacket? Seeing as you’re the reason I don’t have one anymore,” John says with a smirk watching as Nick saunters off around the corner leaving them to it.

Zatanna slips out from under John’s arm to stand in front of him mood completely restored with a bright, innocent smile on her lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says tugging at the jacket that was once his. She stuffs her hands into the pockets shimmying her shoulders playfully.

“Of course you don’t,” he says rolling his eyes fondly as he reaches out a hand to fix the collar of the jacket.

“Not a clue,” she says leaning in to place a quick light kiss on his cheek his stubble a little rough, but grounding beneath her lips. He scrunches up his face at the action, but she knows he’s secretly pleased. They may have been flirting from day one, but this thing between them is still new. It’s sweet even if they’re moving at high speed most of the time.

John loops his arm through hers entangling their fingers together inside her pocket before pulling her along down the street as he chuckles at her playful denial.

An hour and a half later they’re practically buried in a pile of coats and jackets in a small shop with Zatanna forcing every single one of them, no matter how ridiculous, onto John.

They start off simple enough with a classic black leather jacket with a few unnecessary buckles here and there that he looks great in, but he complains about the buckles purposely flicking himself in the face with one. A simple black bomber jacket is next.

“You look like Shaun of the Dead,” Zatanna says scrutinizing the look. The loose red tie, the white shirt and black pants, add in the fact that there’s a high chance any given day of him ending up covered in blood spatter and he’ll be the living embodiment of the character.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says as he pulls the zipper all the way up to his neck.

“It is for me,” she says unzipping it immediately. No disrespect to Simon Pegg but she doesn’t need to hear movie quote quips while they’re out fighting for their lives on top of his usual snark.

John huffs but concedes moving on to the next jacket. A bit later she gets him in a long purple coat with the collar turned up.

“I look like Harry Potter,” he says scrunching up his nose.

Zatanna snorts, “I don’t think you know what Harry Potter looks like.”

Personally she thinks it looks good on him, even if it clashes with the tie, but she can tell from the displeased look on his face there’s no way he’s going to budge.

The yellow leather jacket he tries on next has extreme Freddie Mercury vibes, but this particular bisexual man isn’t pulling it off quite as well and the green fur one that comes after that, well Zatanna just wanted to laugh and point and call him Oscar the Grouch she didn’t actually think it would look good.

“If you get this one, it’ll definitely distract from your personality,” Zatanna jokes with a big smile looking at John in the mirror when they move on to the next possibility. He turns in the horrendously loud jacket and glares at her.

The coat lands at a bit below waist high, it’s technically black but there’s so many rhinestones, random neon numbers and a large patch of a gold and silver tiger on the back that any subtlety it could have flies right out the window instantly. It’s hilarious and tacky and it’s Zatanna’s favorite jacket she’s ever seen.

“I am a fucking delight,” he says a little loudly, catching the startled attention of the poor shop girl who’s been putting up with them. She’s seemingly not asked them to leave yet because she genuinely believes they intend to make a purchase. Which they will theoretically after Zatanna’s had her share of laughs that is.

Zatanna snorts which quickly turns into giggles as she continues facing on John’s glare in the mirror. He rips the jacket off tossing it into the chair Zatanna has been occupying for most of this fashion show and reaches into his pants pocket. He gets the cigarette barely halfway to his mouth before the shopgirl is rushing over and snatching it from his hand.

“No smoking in here, sir,” she says sternly handing the cigarette to Zatanna who it seems she has determined is the logical one between the two of them. Which is a great and accurate observation. “Also please do not throw the merchandise.”

She huffs and walks away from them grabbing the hideous jacket from the chair as she goes.

“Alright we gotta wrap this up before that girl kills us,” Zatanna says pocketing the cigarette and trying not to laugh some more.

“I just need something simple,” John says wandering over to the wall in the back that houses the shops normal everyday looking coats. “Something easy to clean and easy to replace, cause fuck knows I get dirty.” He says looking back and winking at Zatanna, she just rolls her eyes.

John shifts through a few more hangers before he makes a triumphant sound pulling a knee length tan jacket from the rack. It’s a trench coat of all things, he slips it on easily as he walks back over to the mirror.

“Whaddya think?” he asks flipping up the collar. Zatanna steps up behind him looking him over. He looks pretty good, definitely better than most men would look in one. She thinks he might be pulling it off in a completely non-creepy way which Zatanna has never seen a man do.

She walks around him a couple times surveying as he tugs at the wrists smoothing them out.

“I think,” she says as she stops behind him lifting up to rest her chin on his shoulder and meet his eyes in the mirror. “You are the first man in history to successfully not look like a creepy flasher in a trench coat.”

John meets her eyes in the mirror and gives her that flirtatious smirk she’s so used to.

“Thanks love,” he says twisting the price tag. “This one’s actually in my price range too.”

John turns around jostling her from her comfortable position on his shoulder and threads their fingers together walking over to the main counter. The shop girl looks beyond relieved when they check out happily taking John’s money and more or less stressing in her fake chipper goodbye that they never come back to this particular store.

Zatanna feels a little bad, she wishes stores had tip jars to at least pay the girl a bit extra for her troubles. They step outside finding that during their shopping not so spree the far away clouds from earlier have turned the pleasant weather into rain. John pushes the door open holding it for her. He steps out behind her ripping the tag from the coat and tossing it into a puddle.

They huddle together and move down a bit out of the eyeline of the shop girl while still staying dry under the awning.

“It’s a good thing I got the new coat,” he says reaching into Zatanna’s pocket and grabbing the cigarette she’d been handed by the shop girl. He holds out his hand to her. “Make a run for the pub?” he says gesturing in the general vicinity of where a pub they’ve taken to frequenting sits a few streets over.

“One second,” she says standing in front of him. She grips the lapels of his coat and closes her eyes.

“What’re you doing?” he asks the unlit cigarette muffling his words just a bit.

“Hush,” she says refocusing on the task at hand. She mumbles a few backwards words of protection and luck under her breath feeling the crackle of magic at her fingers as it seeps into the coat. She opens her eyes just as it glows for a second the magic settling in.

“It’s not bulletproofed or anything, but it should keep you a little safer, maybe even bring you a little more luck now,” she says with a smile looking up at him. John just shakes his head a little look of disbelief moving across his face. He pulls the cigarette from his lips and puts his hands on each side of her face gently.

“I’m already more bloody lucky than I deserve,” he says. He leans in kissing her soundly not giving her a chance to say anything in defense of himself. She gets lost in it, in him, like she does so often these days, not feeling a thing except for the warmth of his body against her and that constant taste of smoke that lingers on his lips that she’s grown to love. The moment is broken however when a large bang on the glass behind them tears them apart. The girl from the shop is on the other side her hand still pressed to the glass a frustrated look on her face.

John starts laughing putting the cigarette back between his lips and Zatanna follows suit not being able to hide her amusement. She grabs his hand and tugs him out into the rain. They rush down a bit before they find another awning to huddle under. It’s much smaller than the one in front of the shop the rain still whipping in and hitting them. John tugs his jacket off and lifts it over top of them as a makeshift umbrella fighting off the rain that’s sneaking in.

He tilts his head gesturing for Zatanna to move in closer and she does, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Want to see if we can wait it out?” she says speaking a little louder so he can hear her over the bouncing of rain on the awning above.

“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine right here,” he says putting his arm around her as best as he can while still holding up the jacket. He seems to remember the cigarette still between his teeth then looking down at it.

Zatanna snaps her fingers saying a quiet ‘erif’ under her breath. An orange flame comes to life at the tip of her index finger and she lifts it up lighting the cigarette for him, he smiles in thanks taking a deep inhale. She pulls it from his lips taking a rare drag of her own as well blowing it out into the rain.

“The jacket really does suit you,” she says looking up at the piece of clothing and putting the cigarette back between his lips. “I think you’ve found your signature look.”

“It’s no fishnet and corset, but I think I can make it work,” he says with a smirk forming around his cigarette looking her up and down hungrily.

Zatanna just huffs a bit snuggling in closer against him and under the trench coat watching the rain fall steady around them.

#my fic #john constantine #zatanna zatara #johnzee

[thehelldoodle]

One upon a time, I wrote this when I was stoned a month ago for @pbandcas and she said some of you heathens might enjoy it so, here it is

——

“Why did you invite us if you were just going to make us sit in the car?” Claire snapped.

She was wedged against the back door of the Impala, on the right hand side. She scowled at Dean who was glaring back from rear view mirror.

“I didn’t invite-“ he started to growl back but huffed and sat back in the drivers’ seat.

“This’ll only take a couple minutes anyway and then we’ll go buy you two some Happy Meals or something.” Dean continued in an attempt to change the subject and make amends.

Claire rolled her eyes. Castiel sat silently in the front passenger’s seat while Jack, in the back seat opposite of Claire, watched the exchange with a smile.

Miracle, the dog, sat between them. He was trying to sleep but the bickering kept waking him up.

“Just stay here.” Dean said sternly as he climbed out of the car.

“We’ll be right back.” Castiel added monotonously as he exited the other side.

Jack leaned out the window to look after them.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you? As back up?” He offered helpfully.

“No.”

“But-“

Dean grabbed Castiel’s phone from him and tossed it to Jack. Castiel looked to Dean in protest.

“Play games or watch YouTube or something,” Dean said.

“Why couldn’t he have your phone?” Cas asked.

“Shut up. Let’s get this over with.” Dean turned and strode across the parking lot.

The two walked into the small office building. It was quiet and there was no one waiting. At a desk behind a plexiglass window sat the legal clerk. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and her cheek rested on a closed fist as she clicked through what I’m sure was a very important legal document or program of sorts. It totally wasn’t solitaire.

Dean strutted up and leaned on the desk. The clerk glanced up at them and raised an eyebrow. Dean wore his usual brown leather jacket and skinny jeans. Castiel stood awkwardly still behind him in an ill-fitted button down and a trench coat that looked in dire need of a wash.

“Can I help you?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “we need one of those- uh- license certificate things.”

The clerk stared at him, an exasperated expression coming across her face.

“Could you be more specific?”

—

Back in the car, Claire had climbed into the front passenger seat. She was creeped out by Jack‘s overly friendly and cheerful demeanor, though she’d never say so out loud. Instead, she was digging in the glove box, snooping. Then, her phone rang. She sat back and answered the call.

“Hey, Jodi.”

“How’s lunch with Dean and Cas?”

“We haven’t even eaten yet. I’m stuck in the car with-“ Claire paused and glanced at the back seat, “A three year old and a dog.”

The line went silent for a moment.

“Dean let a dog in the car?” Jodi asked in shock.

“His name is Miracle!” Jack chimed in.

“Jack, how are you doing!”

Claire turned the phone on speaker and set it on the center console while she continued to leaf through the fake passports and IDs.

“Where are Dean and Cas?” Jodi asked.

“They went inside,” Jack paused as he leaned out the window again to read the side of the building, “the county clerk’s office.”

“The what?!”

—

“What do you mean there’s a 3 day wait period?” Dean argued, “Why can’t you just give us the damn thing?”

“Listen, I don’t make the law, ok?” The clerk replied.

“Dean,” Castiel said, hoping to defuse the situation, “We can wait the three days.”

“But, why would we do that? We’re here now. Just give us the damn certificate!”

“I can’t do that.”

“Okay, that’s it!”

Dean’s hand went for his gun. Luckily, Castiel was quicker and caught Dean’s arm before he commit another felony.

“Thank you,” Castiel told the clerk as he took the marriage license from the little window in the plexiglass.

She just nodded awkwardly, staring at the two and wondering how the fuck they could be compatible enough for this.

Dean turned to Castiel, fully prepared to argue. He stopped though, frozen by Castiel’s expression. It was, for lack of a better word terrifying. He wasn’t angry or glowing, he was just...staring. It was the type of stare that reminded Dean, who had started to forget at times, that Castiel was an Angel of the Lord. His grip on Dean’s arm wasn’t rough. It was, however, deliberate and Dean knew that he should probably shut up for five minutes.

Castiel offered a smile to the clerk, who was already trying to trade away her shift for the afternoon three days from now. Then, Castiel and Dean walked out of the office.

Castiel released Dean’s arm and whirled around to face him.

“What the hell was that, Cas?!” Dean shouted, bewildered at what had just happened.

“You-“ Castiel paused as he processed his emotions, “You embarrassed me, Dean!”

Jack and Claire, who had since been gossiping and plotting on a conference call with Jodi, Ash, and Charlie, were now both leaning out of the car watching two grown men argue in the middle of a parking lot.

“I what?!” Dean replied, wholly offended.

“Hey, you can at least feed us like you promised!” Claire shouted, merely wanting to antagonize them for the fun of it.

Jack stared out the window and Miracle slowly crawled up under his chin to watch as well.

“You embarrassed me.” Castiel repeated himself as he walked back toward the Impala.

“Yeah,” Dean huffed, “I heard that. You embarrass me damn near every day, but-.”

“Oh my god, you’re not even married yet,” Claire groaned loudly, “Shuuut uuuup!”

“You shut up!” Dean fired back.

Claire snorted and got back into the car.

“Nice comeback,” she sneered as Dean got in.

Jack laughed.

#I’m high and this is fanfiction #I can’t believe I’m posting this for u Kris #supernatural #destiel #deancas #s16 #destiel wedding #deancas wedding

[rene-writes-or-tries-to-write]

How to Break John Winchester’s Nose: A fangirl’s guide

This was on my main, but I’m moving it here. 

                           - 7:36 PM, May 14, 2020, Pocatello, Idaho -

The road was empty. Nothing moved. Not even a breeze stirred the trees. As she watched, a speck rounded the corner. She narrowed her eyes. That was her mark. Time to go.

 The girl was tired, angry, and cold. She had been walking for hours, headed north toward Chubbuck. She had no true destination, just the need to get away. “Go for a walk,” they said. She’d been on more walks in the past couple of months than she had for the past year. She was bored of walks, and just wanted to go home. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t have a home, not really. She was so lost in thought that she did not notice the wind pick up. Dead leaves, grass, and dandelion fluff whipped around her. It was only when a stick hit her arm that she looked up to see the vortex forming around her.

 “What the fu-” her words were cut off by a high pitched noise. A second later she was gone, and there was no trace that she had ever been there.

                             - 9:52 PM, June 3, 1996, Pocatello, Idaho –

John Winchester was headed out of town, eager to return to Sioux Falls to retrieve his boys. The day had been a long one, and he hadn’t had much incentive to sticking around town. The dark of the night settled around his truck, and he relaxed slightly in the driver’s seat. Plenty of open road awaited him, and the drive would take a couple of days, allowing him a couple of stops at bars, and the possibility of some company for a night. He put on some music and allowed his mind to wander.

 A half hour or so later, the ferocity of the wind brought him back. The wind was going crazy, seemingly forming a vortex. Immediately, all traces of relaxation disappeared from John Winchester. He slammed the brakes to avoid the funnel, grabbed his gun, and reached for the door.

 The wind stopped. Leaves and sticks fell to the ground. In the center of it all stood a girl, looking to be somewhere around the age of fifteen. She was wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a t-shirt and scarf. She spun on her heel, absorbing her surroundings. She stopped when her eyes landed on the truck. John took this as his cue to exit said truck, gun hidden beneath his jacket.

 “Hey there,” he said, not wanting to startle her.

 “Hel-” she froze, getting her first good look at him. She sucked a breath in. John hesitated, weighing his next move. Before he came to a decision, a fist connected with his nose. He reeled back, cursing, and pressed a hand to his bleeding nose. Barely giving him a second to process the fact that the punch had been thrown with good technique and with a surprising amount of power, she followed it up with a sidekick. John dodged out of the way and fumbled for his gun. He had barely managed to pull it free when the side of the girl’s foot connected with it, sending the gun flying toward the side of the road. Her foot finished its arc, landing behind her in a fighting stance, only to spring off immediately to round kick him in the head. He blocked it and returned fire with a right hook, which she blocked. He followed the right hook with an uppercut, which she didn’t block. A rush of air left her. John didn’t give her time to recover, using the precious few seconds he had to grab the silver knife from his jacket and slash at her face. She responded quickly, but not quick enough, allowing the knife to slash across her arm. She grimaced at the cut, but didn’t display a worse reaction, which threw John for a loop. Given her mysterious appearance in the middle of the road, the way she had seemed to recognize him, and the immediate, well-coordinated attack, he had expected her to be, well, not human. Still, silver didn’t rule everything out.

 The girl, meanwhile, had retreated to John’s truck and was clutching her injured arm, hissing. She looked up at John warily, evidently expecting an attack. His next actions surprised both him and her. He strode over and held out his hand.

 “The name’s John Winchester. Can I get the name of the chick that just broke my nose?”

 The girl hesitated. She didn’t particularly trust John, but the mere fact that he existed… what harm could telling him her name do anyway?

 “Clara. I’d apologize for the broken nose but it’d be a lie.”

 “OK, Clara, you wanna let me take a look at that arm?”

 “You’re the one who cut it, why should I let you anywhere near it?”

 “I’ve got a med kit?”

 “….Fine.”

 John went around the truck to grab the med kit from the trunk, and also to avoid having the kid see the weapons in the back. A few minutes saw the kid’s arm cleaned and bandaged.

 “Well, I can’t leave you out here. Get in, I’ll take you home.”

 She snorted. “Home? Yeah, good luck with that.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “Best to just show you,” she said, climbing into the truck, leaving John to get to the driver’s seat.

 “Where to?”

 “Hmmm? Oh, right,” she paused. “Pocatello, Idaho.”

 John simply nodded and drove, leaving the questioning for later.

                            - 11:38 PM, June 3, 1996, Pocatello, Idaho –

Clara had spent the last hour or so having her entire world turned on its head. She had been kidnapped by a cyclone (of all the clichés!), found by John Winchester, cut by John Winchester, treated by John Winchester, and driven by John Winchester. She’d broken his (John Winchester’s!) nose. She couldn’t stop running his name through her head on repeat, a fair reaction given that an hour ago the man had been a fictional character. She had no regrets about her initial reaction, as she felt wholeheartedly that the man deserved a broken nose, hell, she thought he deserved worse. He was a shitty father, not that great of a husband, and a terrible person in general. She did have some lingering doubts about letting him drive her anywhere. In the end, she figured, she could explain some of the truth, seeing as she likely didn’t legally exist in this universe yet.

She played with the ends of her scarf, nervous about his reaction. A sudden thought hit her, and she immediately zipped up her jacket to hide the Supernatural t-shirt she had on underneath, and tried to subtly rearrange her scarf to hide the slightly modified anti-possession symbols on the ends and the large, all caps “WINCHESTER BROTHERS” on it. John took notice and cranked the heat up.

“Cold?”

“Not anymore. Could we get some tunes?”

John reached behind them and grabbed a cassette tape at random, sliding it in. Zep’s Immigrant Song hit them at full volume, and Clara smirked, thinking of Thor: Ragnorak. The smirk disappeared a second later, when she realized that the MCU had yet to be introduced, much less developed to the point of Ragnorak. She felt slightly faint.

“You okay there?” 

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Perfectly fine. A bit thirsty.”

John took the opportunity to hand her the holy water, a move she had anticipated. She took a sip.

“Tastes a bit odd. Is it from some well in the middle of nowhere?” She drank some more. 

John had been watching her reaction closely, and was a tad bit startled.

“N-No, just a motel.”

He handed her a generously salted sandwich. 

“Here, you must be hungry.”

She took a large bite of it, then paused.

“Thoo much thalt,” she stated, mouth full. Swallowing the mouthful, she continued, “not enough meat.”

 “You’re human,” John blurted, surprised.

 “Well yeah, what’d you expect, three rats in a trench?”

 John forced a laugh.

 “You never know. So, mind telling me why you broke my nose before you even finished sayin’ hello?”

 “Oh, that’s easy. I find myself on a lonely stretch of road in the dark, alone but for a large black truck and a big guy, who judging by his stance, is ex-military, Marine if I had to guess, who is tense, likely trigger happy, and armed, going off of the glint of metal from his belt and the lump in his jacket, so logically, I get him before he can get me. You wouldn’t have been the first guy to jump me, and I learned my lesson pretty quickly after the first two times.”

 John’s mouth was hanging open, something Clara found quite amusing. Her explanation, of course, wasn’t the truth. Well, not the whole truth anyhow. She had been jumped before, and it was distinctly not pleasant. She knew he was an ex-Marine, not from his stance, but from knowledge brought from a totally different universe, from what she could guess.

 “I-I wasn’t going to attack you!” he said defensively.

 “Sure. Better safe than sorry though.”

 As she said that, the black truck rumbled to a stop in front of a no-tell motel. John got out, then turned around and asked, “ya comin’ or what, kid?”

 Clara slid out of the truck, dropping to the ground.

 “Why, and I cannot emphasize this enough, the actual fuck is this thing so high up?”

 “To make you complain. Hurry up, it actually is cold out here.” With that, he turned on his heel and marched into the lobby.

 The poor kid at the desk was awoken by John Winchester’s fist pounding the desk. They got one room, two queens.

 The moment Clara’s head hit the pillows she was out. Or so John assumed. She watched through mostly shut eyes as he methodically checked and cleaned his gun, then salted above the door and the windows. He finally crashed an hour after she’d “gone to sleep”. She waited another half hour, then allowed the darkness to drag her away from the land of the living.

                            - 6:43 AM, June 4, 1996, Pocatello, Idaho –

John Winchester awoke to the smell of coffee and bagels, and the sounds of an unfamiliar person moving about his room. Keeping his eyes shut, he inched his hand under his pillow, reaching for the familiar weight of his gun.

 And found nothing.

 A voice cut through the slight panic in his mind.

 “Looking for this?”

 John opened his eyes to see a fifteen year old girl standing above him, holding his gun. The events of the previous night came rushing back. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, and sat up, reaching out a hand to take the gun back. She set it in his palm, reached behind herself, and presented a cup of coffee.

“No idea how you take it, but I figured you might need some if we were gonna get an early start.”

 “Two things: I take it with two creams, no sugar, and how’d you pay for this?”

 “Noted, and I borrowed some money from your wallet. Drink up, I got you a bagel, you can eat it on the way.”

 “…On the way to what exactly?”

 “To show you that I don’t exist yet, genius.”

 John had yet to drink the coffee, and thus did not really process her words or the fact that he was being bossed around by a teenaged girl.

 Twenty minutes saw John caffeinated, fed, and in the truck on the way to Clara’s high school to get at the student records. It was at this point that he remembered her nonsensical statement.

 “What the hell do you mean you don’t exist yet?”

 “Oh. Um. Right. So while I was out this morning, I grabbed the paper. The date’s the 4th of June, 1996.”

 “Yeah, and?”

 She sucked in a breath. “And I was born February 3, 2005.”

 Silence.

 “Come again?”

 “I was born Feb-”

 “No, I heard you. I just don’t see how that’s possible.”

 “Hey, I assume you saw that cyclone. It pulled me out of May 2020, on the road out of Pocatello.”

 “And you aren’t freaking out why, exactly?”

 “I watch a very weird tv show.”

 “So we’re going to your high school why?”

 “To show you I’m not on the records. But you’ll likely find Daddy Dearest on there.” The way she said “Daddy Dearest” was full of bitterness and loathing. John stored that away for later.

 “Right.”

 They spent the rest of the ride in silence. Upon arriving at the school, both of them slipped seamlessly into their roles. John, a tired single father, and Clara, his smart but shy daughter. The principal let them into her office, asking them a multitude of questions regarding their supposed move, Clara’s previous education, John’s job, their home situation, Clara’s fictional deceased mother. Fortunately for them, they both had plenty of experience lying on their toes. The moment the principal left to deal with a fight that Clara had set up on her way in by stealing one kid’s lunch and putting it in another kid’s bag, they were out of their seats, searching for the records. Clara started rifling through the drawers, while John seated himself in front of the computer. Four minutes later, John was clicking through student records and Clara was standing behind him.

 “No Claras in here.”

 “Probably because that’s a fake name. Try Rachel Fusson.”

 “No Rachels, but there are a whole slew of Fussons. Currently enrolled are Owen and Daniel.”

 “Owen’s the old man.”

 Footsteps told of the principal’s approach. John quickly exited the file and shut the computer down, while Clara scrambled to close all the cabinets. They both slid into their seats a moment before she opened the door and attempted to look innocent. The principal apologized for the interruption and continued her interrogation. It took them half an hour to escape her clutches.

                             - 8:36 AM, June 4, 1996, Pocatello, Idaho –

Clara had woken that morning drenched in a cold sweat. Upon realizing that there was no immediate danger, she had relaxed and turned to the clock. 4:22 AM. The fuck was she supposed to do at 4 AM? She glanced to her right and saw another occupied bed. John Winchester. Right. She was no longer in the middle of a global pandemic, nor was she anywhere close to her home universe. She wasn’t terribly upset about being pulled out of a world where she couldn’t hug her friends, or even really see them. She also wasn’t terribly upset about being yanked away from her relatives, seeing as they were fairly dedicated to beating her down in every way possible. They had belittled her, toyed with her emotions, and, depending on the “transgression”, beat her. She did, however, miss her friends, her pets, and her girlfriend. Fuck. What would they think had happened? A snore jolted her out of her thoughts.

 “Focus,” she hissed to herself.

 First order of business: coffee and food. She got up, putting 15 years of sneaking into use to grab John’s wallet, his gun, and her shoes. She slipped out the front door and went in search of a coffee shop. Half an hour of wandering brought her to a hole-in-the-wall run by a guy wearing more layers than a Winchester and sporting a mustache the size of Texas. She bought two cups of coffee, two bagels, and the paper. She grabbed a couple of cups cream and some sugar for John, and headed back to the motel. She’d downed half her coffee and most of her bagel (and made her bed) when he started inching his hand toward his pillow in search of his gun. She made her way over to him.

 Second order of business: get some food and coffee into John Winchester and then get him to the high school to show him the records and prove her case about being from 2020. She grinned at the panicked expression on the hunter’s face at finding no gun, holding up said gun and asking him if he was looking for it. Another half hour saw them safely arrived at the school, with John informed of her current predicament. Knowing they’d need a distraction, she put the shipper eyes to work, immediately spotting two boys with so much unresolved sexual tension between them that it’d turned to animosity from what she could see. She nabbed the taller one’s lunchbox, slipping it into the other one’s backpack. She hoped they’d get their heads out of their asses soon, but not soon enough to unravel her plan (everyone who said shipping was a waste of time and energy could suck it).

 After the principal left, Clara sprung for the drawers, having no idea how to work the old computer (John really wasn’t much better). She scanned through the files, seeing detention slips, complaints, and write-ups, but no records.

 “Hey.” John had found the records.

 Forty-five minutes later, they were back at the motel.

 ���Okay, so lemme get this straight-” started John.

 Clara snorted. “Good luck with that.”

 John squinted, not getting it. He continued, “you were born in 2005, you came from the year 2020, and you can fight better than a lot of the “professionals” I know. Who the fuck are you, Clara? Or should I call you Rachel?”

 “Let’s stick with Clara. I’m just a kid from Pocatello. I can fight, because, like I said, I’ve been jumped before. Once was enough, so I learned to fight so next time I wouldn’t be helpless. Why are you taking the time travel thing so well? You didn’t freak out, just questioned the hows and whys.”

 “I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit, kid.” With that, he stood up and started packing the few things he’d unpacked the night before.

 Clara sat and watched him, having nothing of her own to pack.

 “Let’s go,” said John, moving out the door.

Chapter two here: X

#spn #constructive critism welcome #please don't hate #supernatural #fic #supernatural fic #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #oc

[victorsandvanquishers]

Hey, it's me again, the anon who requested a pitou and kite fic! Sorry for responding so late! I was thinking prompt #47 '' This place is creepy." Preferably shippy, but I'll leave that up to you! Thank you so so much!

Since this one was more of a scary prompt than an angsty one, this fic is a mixture of romance and horror, and rate T+. Thank you for sending in the last request! I hope you like it! (~˘▾˘)~

--

“This place is creepy,” Kite groused, trying to wipe the black dust off his fingers and onto Neferpitou's navy jacket, “and disgusting.”

Neferpitou purred into the taller man's neck, hands cold as stone underneath Kite's sweater and pressed against his stomach. Kite drew in a long breath as Neferpitou's lips ghosted over his collarbone and up his jaw. When his lover met his eyes, he finally exhaled.

Any other place, and Kite would have drowned in the liquid gold of their eyes.

“Are you listening to me?” Kite deadpanned when a hand went over to his butt and pinched lightly. He barely flinched. “This place is nasty, Pitou; there's filth everywhere.”

Neferpitou gave him a coy smile and went to press their chests together, only to be met with a firm hand to their chest. Neferpitou blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

Kite picked up his dirty finger and showed Neferpitou the remnants of the black dust. “I'm not having relations with you in the basement of a condemned building,” he said pointedly.

Neferpitou bit their cheek before answering. “Why not?”

Kite forgot how dumb his lover was. For an esteemed surgeon, he was surprised the shorter of the two had survived the playground, much less the grueling trenches of medical school. Alas, what would he know? He was just another poor scientist living off scraps academia threw his way.

“... because it's disgusting,” Kite said finally.

Neferpitou seemed to consider his answer. “It's just dust-” they began, but Kite was looming over the shorter of the two before they could get out another word.

Kite huffed and turned to leave, while Neferpitou groaned dramatically. “We can't have sex in your office again; it's too small!”

“We'll just have to hold it together until the apartment is finished,” Kite mumbled back listlessly. Kite was still living with roommates, and Neferpitou still lived with their family, and their shared lovenest wouldn't be ready for their arrival for another month, and motels were out of the question because Kite was poor but prideful, and refused to get a single single room unless they were splitting the costs in half.

Neferpitou knew Kite didn't have half the money since he put most of it on the down payment for their new home, and so they'd found random little places to drag Kite into so they could canoodle for a little bit, and occasionally go at it like bunnies. The first place was Neferpitou's office, but that was an almost-tragedy when Neferpitou's nurses almost walked in. The second place was the attic of Ging Freecss' pawn shop, but once they'd come downstairs, Ging had threatened to kill them both. The third time was in Kite's office, but the space was so small and cramped, a bookshelf almost toppled over and took Neferpitou's life (and Kite's underneath theirs) in the middle of their passionate lovemaking session.

And now they were in a dilapidated building set to be demolished over the next few months, and apparently Neferpitou had found it while driving around town in their brand new Cadillac Kite refused to christen with them because it was new and butt sweat could and would ruin the leather. It wasn't even Kite's car, and he'd been furious for it when Neferpitou had first asked.

Water dripped somewhere in the darkness and Kite shivered. A single bulb was the only bit of illumination in the room, and it was well past closing hours for the local shops. The nearest convenience store was a good four blocks up the road, and Neferpitou had parked their Cadillac next to it. Water dripped again, and Kite grabbed his partner's hand and began dragging them up the stairs, because to hell with late-night canoodling in some abandoned building, they'd just have to suck it up and brave it like all the other touch-starved souls of the world. At least they had Skype calls and dinner every Friday night at the Chinese joint next to Kite's current hovel.

Something skittered close by and Kite willed his fear to stay silent. It was a bloody basement in a bloody building, and they were leaving damn it, karma shouldn't so cruel. They hadn't even gotten to the raunchy part!

“Stay quiet, move slowly,” Neferpitou whispered suddenly. Kite almost jumped, but Neferpitou had somehow gotten a grip around his waist, and steadied him before he could make anymore noise.

Water dripped, and that eerie, skittering noise seemed to come from somewhere much closer this time.

Kite was frozen, his mind blanking to the hellish three months he'd spent stranded on a lonely mountain, in a tiny country close to the arctic, all for the sake of his bloody fucking research, alive now only because Neferpitou had been trekking through that mountain on a leisure trip since they'd lived mere miles away, all the while Kite had believed he'd been transported to Hell after the blizzard had separated him from his research party, and left him stranded in the cold little mountain that felt so, so much like an island.

“Count to three,” Neferpitou whispered softly into his ear.

Kite blinked back tears, but counted to three in his head and then exhaled. He counted to three again, inhaled, counted to three, and exhaled. He repeated the exercise until the fog in his head lifted and he could hear the water dripping again. The skittering had since stopped, but now there was something else.

Kite noticed a pair of rheumy, red eyes watching from some yards away.

“Pitou,” he whispered gravely.

“Slowly,” they warned, releasing Kite's waist. “Get to the landing, and then run.”

Neferpitou didn't turn to face the eyes, but Kite could barely tear his gaze away. The door to the basement had long since broken down, so it was a matter of six or seven more steps until they reached the landing, and after the landing, there was only a couple of yards until they reached the street because the building had lost its front door too, and most of its windows, and it was supposed to be abandoned, but instead-

“Kite,” Neferpitou whispered deadly soft into his ear, “up.”

Kite's feet moved slowly up the stairs, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the eyes watching their every move. He counted to three and leveled his breaths, blinked a few times, and yet the eyes didn't disappear. He should have been hallucinating, but he wasn't, and so he moved, up, up, and up until he reached the landing.

When one foot was on the landing, something flew across the room. It was only after Neferpitou yelped in pain that Kite broke out of his haze and looked down at the thin, wiry fingers wrapped around Neferpitou's leg.

“Pitou!” Kite barked, and without thinking, he pulled Neferpitou up and dragged the creature's hand up the stairs with them.

Kite saw blue, emaciated fingers in the dim moonlight, too thin to be human. It almost looked like a certain hand he'd encountered on the lonely mountain, a hand belonging to a thin, wiry creature too tall to be considered human, and yet it had offered Kite its hand anyway, and Kite had almost taken it... Almost.

Just then, Neferpitou yanked their own foot straight, and stomped on the creature's hand with all their might.

A screech rang throughout the building, but the creature let go, and it only took those two fateful seconds for Kite to yank on Neferpitou's hand one more time before they reached the landing together, booked it across the abandoned first floor, and jumped out of the rectangular hole where the door used to be.

Its screams followed them well into the streets, and only after they were in the Cadillac and speeding away did Kite finally realize that the creature's eyes hadn't been red after all.

They'd been bleeding.

*

They'd cocooned themselves in Neferpitou's room at the royal estate of the esteemed House of Chimera, the oldest money in the city, and one Kite would have declined entering any other time, but not tonight.

Kite had wrapped a bandage over the red imprint left on Neferpitou's pale white skin. They'd pouted and held a pillow close to their chest while Kite had finished dressing the wound, but as soon as the first aid kit had been put away, Neferpitou had tossed the pillow aside and wrestled Kite into a comfortable spoon.

Kite held Neferpitou's hands to his chest while they grumbled about how they didn't give a damn if their mother walked in to see them canoodling their lover, they were thirty years old, damn it, they'd earned the right to canoodle. Kite could have grumbled along, but he found his thoughts drifting back to those bleeding red eyes and those wiry, thin hands, and the bone-chilling cold he'd felt when he'd thought Neferpitou was going to be snatched away.

“Kite,” Neferpitou whined. “I'm sorry. I'll keep my hands to myself until the apartment is ready,” said the person who was currently feeling up Kite's chest as if their hands were made solely for that reason.

Kite sighed in response, softly squeezing Neferpitou's hands. Then he closed his eyes and laid still.

Soon, Neferpitou's snores drifted through the room, but Kite dwelt. With his eyes closed, and his back to his lover's chest, he dwelt on the rheumy, bleeding eyes and the emaciated hand, and he thought, and he thought, and he thought – and he remembered.

Kite's eyes shot open when he heard a skittering sound move across the wooden floor of Neferpitou's room. He didn't even have to move because slowly, a pair of bleeding red eyes emerged from the shadows, and Kite could only scream while it reached out its hand.

“Rise and shine!”

Kite's eyes shot open. Bright rays of light filtered into the grand room while he took deep, loud breaths.

“... Kite?”

Neferpitou was already up and dressed. Kite blinked back the fatigue and picked himself up. Before he could trudge his way to the bathroom, Neferpitou pulled him into a hug.

They barely reached his chest, and yet, they'd saved him – over and over again.

“I'm fine,” he assured the shorter of the two, but Neferpitou didn't believe him, and merely grumbled into his chest.

“Pitou,” Kite said, “I promise.”

“I'm sorry,” they mumbled into Kite's chest.

Instead of repeating his words, he wrapped both arms around his beloved and hugged them back. The red eyes and wiry hand clawed at the back of his mind, but it didn't matter if they reminded him of the dead bodies he'd discovered lined against each other in the snow on that lonely, as if one day they'd all decided that enough was enough and let the mountain take them together. It didn't matter if those bodies looked alive, with their red eyes and blue hands, those frost-caked lips that looked almost as if they could still speak. It didn't matter if the creature they'd found in that basement was likely a wraith that refused to depart their world. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered – nothing, but Neferpitou.

“Let's make out,” Neferpitou tried, and instantly, Kite bonked the shorter of the two on the head and made his way to the shower while Neferpitou wailed about their broken skull.

And Kite smiled.

*

#Hunter x Hunter #hxh #neferpitou #pitokai #kite hunter x hunter #avafanfics

[aliciameade]

Room 1334

Title: Room 1334 Author: aliciameade Rating: *** E *** Pairing: Beca/Chloe Words: 8664 Summary: A prompt: Every time I hear ‘Do Not Disturb’ from Halestorm, I imagine your take in the PP universe but I can never figure out which pairing you would choose... and how incredible the ‘smut queen’ could flesh this scenario out 😉

Or: Beca meets Chloe in a bar while traveling for work and invites her back to her hotel room.

Also on AO3 and FFnet

“What are you drinking?”

Beca looks up from her nearly empty glass at the voice to her right. She tries not to let her reaction be too obvious because the woman who’s taken the stool next to her at the bar is devastatingly gorgeous: blue eyes, red hair, and a little black dress Beca would be as happy to strip off her to own it herself as she would be to see what it’s concealing. She could continue her plan for the night which is to lament her loneliness and drown it in booze before crawling back to her room in the hotel next door...or she could entertain this unexpected encounter.

“Whiskey,” she answers after a few seconds. She sits up from her slouch and watches as the newcomer orders another drink for her as well as one for herself.

“So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing drinking alone on a Friday night?”

Beca snorts at the compliment. “I need a reason?”

“There must be one.” The woman next to her turns on her seat to face her and Beca tries not to get lost in her unfairly blue eyes. “I can’t imagine someone would let you out of their sight for too long.”

“You make it sound like I’m someone’s property.”

“I don’t mean to,” she says quickly, eyes apologetic. “I just know that if we were together, you’d have something much better to be doing tonight.”

Beca lifts her eyebrows. The girl is bold. “And what would that be?” she asks as the bartender sets two glasses in front of them. They pick them up and Beca lifts hers in a quick cheers.

“Me,” the woman answers before drinking with Beca.

Beca nearly chokes as she swallows. “Anyone ever told you you’re incredibly forward?”

The girl shrugs. “Once or twice. I’m Chloe, by the way,” she says, extending her hand.

“Beca,” she replies, taking Chloe’s hand and bringing it up to kiss the back of it rather than shaking it.

“Ooh, suave,” Chloe says as she lets her kissed hand fall to rest quite obviously on Beca’s knee. “So, tell me about yourself, Beca. What do you do?”

Beca turns toward her slightly to not have to crane her neck so much and notes that the hand remains on her knee. “I work in music.”

Chloe’s eyes light up. “Really? Anything I’d know?”

“Probably.” Beca takes another sip of liquor and watches the excitement light up her guest’s face.

“Really? Are you famous?” She can see Chloe searching her memory. “The only Beca I’ve heard of in the music industry is the Beca Mitchell who produced Panic!’s new album. She’s featured on one of their singles, too.”

“At your service, ma’am,” Beca says as she reaches into the interior breast pocket of the leather jacket she’s wearing to toss a business card onto the bar between them. She had rejected the concept of having business cards a few years ago until she realized the power they could wield in moments such as this. Hers are simple but stately. A matte black soft-touch finish with a UV spot coat emboss of her name, phone number, and email address in a thin sans-serif font. Also black. It shines nicely in the dark rooms she’s often working in.

She watches Chloe pick up the card while she takes another drink.

“Shut up,” Chloe says in awe as she reads it and then stares at Beca. “I saw them on tour two weeks ago. Were you there?”

“I don’t travel with my artists.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” Chloe slides Beca’s business card into her handbag.

Beca’s intrigued. Or offended? “Good?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to find out I had the chance to meet you and failed.”

Beca thinks she might be blushing, or it might be the alcohol, but her face is definitely warm. “For what it’s worth, I’d be just as disappointed.”

She’s not always the smoothest of talkers but sometimes she can land a gem or two and that one seems to work as her uninvited drinking partner bites her lip and looks away like she’s suddenly bashful. Or maybe flattered. Beca can see her gathering herself and takes pride in the fact that she was able to rattle her a bit.

“Now I’m even more confused why you’re here alone,” Chloe says once she can meet Beca’s eyes again.

Beca smiles. “What do you mean?”

“You must have people lined up waiting to take you out.”

“Do I?” she laughs.

“Oh, don’t even,” Chloe says with an answering laugh as she lifts her hand from Beca’s knee to shove playfully at her shoulder. “There’s no way there aren’t people clamoring over one another just to spend a night with you.”

Beca smirks at that. “Think so?”

“I know so.”

Beca just raises her eyebrows again in question.

Chloe leans in to speak warmly in her ear, “Because I’m one of them,” as her hand lands on Beca’s leg again, this time much higher on her thigh.

Beca has to struggle not to shiver. “I’m getting on a plane in the morning.”

“And?”

“Pretty sure we’ll never see each other again.”

“Then I definitely think we should at least make out.” Chloe’s so close when she makes the suggestion that her lips are almost on Beca’s cheek. She’s not even sure if Chloe’s actually still sitting on her stool or if she’s standing because of how close they’ve become.

“I’m staying at the hotel next door.”

“Is that an invitation?” Chloe’s hand slides dangerously higher up her thigh and Beca has to try hard to not whimper from it.

Beca swallows and holds back from kissing her right there in the bar. “Top floor. Room 1334.”

“Perfect.” Lips graze her cheek before Chloe’s stepping away from her heading further into the bar. “I’ll see you soon.”

Beca watches, body humming, as Chloe disappears into the restroom at the back of the bar. She hurriedly pulls a $100 bill from her wallet to drop it on the counter and slides onto unsteady legs to make a beeline for the exit.

Her room is a disaster right now; there’s no reason to keep a hotel room tidy when she’s going to shove everything into her suitcases after a couple of nights and she wants to at least make it presentable. She rushes back to her hotel and to her top-floor penthouse to throw her jacket onto the couch and kick her combat boots into the closet before doing a clean sweep. She gathers scattered clothes and shoves them into drawers and then stacks suitcases into the closet on top of her boots followed by a clean-up of her bathroom. Toiletries get swept into drawers and she makes sure the fresh bar of hand soap from the afternoon’s housekeeping is unwrapped.

Silly, she knows, but she doesn’t want to seem like a heathen.

She’s finishing touching up her makeup when there’s a knock on her door. It makes her heart race; despite the stereotypes that exist in the music industry—the wild nights, the drug and alcohol benders, the sex—Beca rarely partakes in any of them. She likes quiet and doesn’t like most people.

But she does like to indulge from time to time.

Particularly when a hot woman basically crawls into her lap at a bar.

She unbuttons the top three buttons of her crimson-colored sleeveless blouse as she walks to the door, making sure her cleavage peeks out just the right amount.

She takes one last moment for a deep breath before opening the door.

She thought she was prepared, that she knew what she’d find on the other side of the door and that her own smokey eyes, tousled hair, and open blouse would be enough armor.

But she was wrong.

So wrong.

“Are you still at my service?” Chloe asks as she drops the belt of the black trench coat she’s wearing and though she doesn’t actually open it, it parts enough on its own to show Beca that the only thing Chloe is wearing under it is a set of black lingerie: bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings.

Beca has to swallow in order to speak. “Depends on what you need from me,” she says as she steps back to allow Chloe to enter her suite. She grabs the Do Not Disturb sign from the door handle and hooks it on the hall-facing side before closing and deadbolting it.

“I’m pretty sure you have everything I need.”

When Beca turns around, Chloe’s coat and purse are on the couch with Beca’s and she’s walking backward slowly toward the unmade king-sized bed.

“Fuck,” Beca breathes because labeling Chloe as “sexy” is a genuine understatement. She’s hit the proverbial jackpot tonight and she knows it.

Chloe stops when she’s at the foot of Beca’s bed and there’s an absurd distance between them because Beca’s forgotten how to move. That is, until Chloe crooks her finger in her direction. “Come here.”

She gets her feet working and crosses the sitting room to get to her and as soon as she’s close enough, Chloe’s fingers curl into the open collar of Beca’s shirt and pull her in, but she doesn’t kiss her. “What?” Beca asks, heart pounding in her ears. She’s already so turned on and nothing’s happened yet.

“I forgot to tell you how much I love your voice. I listen to that song all the time.”

It’s not quite what Beca expected her to say. “Thank you?”

“Makes me want to know what you’ll sound like when you come.”

Beca thinks she might whimper or whine or make some kind of pathetic sound but she doesn’t have time to figure it out because Chloe finally kisses her.

Beca reaches for her, eager to get her hands on the skin that’s on display for her and grabs her waist to pull them close as they kiss. Chloe’s mouth is hot against hers, confident in the way she works to claim Beca, to assert a level of control Beca hadn’t been anticipating giving up tonight but is finding herself more than ready to surrender it.

She feels Chloe unbuttoning her shirt and slides her hands down to grasp the soft curves of Chloe’s ass. She can feel the lace and the garters and she moans when Chloe flips Beca’s shirt over her shoulders, though it can’t be removed unless Beca removes her hands, which she doesn’t.

Hands are on her waist and she feels a tug on the button on her black jeans. Things are moving much more quickly than she had expected, but then again, Chloe had shown up at her door already undressed for something they’d both agreed on. There was no need to be tentative. They were both here for a reason.

The things Chloe’s doing to her tongue with her own are making her dizzy. She needs a chance to catch her breath and she finally gets one when Chloe abruptly breaks away. She doesn’t have time to ask what’s happening because Chloe’s pulling her shirt off and then stepping behind Beca to push her forward, face-first onto the bed.

“Shit,” Beca says as she gets herself up onto her forearms as Chloe tugs Beca’s jeans down to her knees and then off. She’s not sure she’s ever been stripped so quickly before; it’s impressive, really.

She feels Chloe’s hands on her ass, palming it and Beca hates that she’s still wearing underwear. She wants to feel skin-on-skin, but she also knows it’s only a matter of time.

Chloe leans over her and she feels lips in the center of her back a moment later. Hands press into the bed on either side of her and Beca drops her head, content to let Chloe do as she likes, and what she likes is kissing a slow line along Beca’s spine until she’s pushing her hair aside to run her tongue up the side of Beca’s neck to tug on the shell of her ear. 

Beca’s hands fist in the bedding and her hips press into the mattress. She’s already getting desperate for relief and she has a feeling she’s in for a long night. She can feel Chloe over her, the warmth from her body against her back and the slight brush of lace where her breasts graze her as she leans over Beca to slowly drive her crazy. 

“God, what are you doing?” she whines and she no sooner says the words than she feels deft fingers unhook her bra. Hands quickly replace it, following the band around her ribs until they’re covering Beca’s breasts.

“What does it feel like?” Chloe whispers in her ear before teasing it with her tongue again. She has to fold herself over Beca and her pelvis pressing insistently against Beca’s ass is torturous. It’s worsened when her hips rock forward to push Beca’s against the bed.

“Teasing me,” she says with a gasping breath when fingers tug at her nipples.

Teeth press into Beca’s shoulder and she can’t stop the shiver that runs through her. “It’s called foreplay,” Chloe responds before she’s retreating. Her lips follow the same path they’d just followed but this time they’re traveling south, fingernails following in their wake to draw goosebumps to Beca’s skin. Her back arches more sharply the farther she goes until Chloe stops at the waistband of Beca’s underwear.

She hesitates so Beca tilts her hips to encourage her to do it.

She hears Chloe sigh as fingers slip under the elastic to slide them down Beca’s legs until she’s naked save for her bra that’s still on her arms but pushed askew by Chloe’s hands. She strips it off herself and tosses it aside, keeping her head down because not knowing what’s going to be done to her next is too tantalizing.

She gasps when teeth sink into the soft flesh of her ass. “Holy shit.” There’s a hand making its way up her leg from her ankle in a slow weaving pattern. Her legs part automatically when fingers start dragging up her inner thigh. She knows she’s panting and probably looks pitiful but she doesn’t care. Not when she can tell Chloe’s kneeling on the floor behind her. She can feel her body against her legs. Can feel her mouth moving over the curve of her ass until it’s kissing the back of her thigh.

“God, you’re so wet already.” Chloe’s voice is hot against her skin and all Beca can do is whimper. She knows she’s wet; she hasn’t been this turned on in a long time. There’s something so arousing about anonymous—or mostly anonymous—sex. There’s no shame. No worry of being judged for asking for something kinky or skipping the small talk.

She can feel Chloe behind her, feel her hands on her ass and the way her shoulders force her legs wider and she groans when Chloe’s tongue teases into her cunt.

Chloe moans, too. “You taste even better than I thought you would.” Her voice is low and Beca almost feels it more than she hears it, hot on her wet, throbbing flesh and her mouth is on Beca again as soon as she finishes speaking.

Beca tries not to move; all she wants to do is clench her thighs and thrust her hips into the bed but this angle isn’t right for it. She needs to stay open and still to let Chloe lick her from behind. She chokes out a, “Please,” but she’s not quite sure what she’s asking for. More. Harder. Faster. Don’t stop. Fuck me.

Chloe’s tongue is torturously slow. Beca imagines it must be what an ice cream cone feels like, melting and dripping in the hands of the person who’s unhurriedly eating it. Uncaring if she gets messy.  

She knows the angle’s not quite right. That her own positioning, still on her stomach where she landed when Chloe pushed her there, is hindering things. Her groan, though mostly one of pleasure, is laced with frustration.

And damn it, it makes Chloe stop. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not complaining,” she prefaces, “but can we do this the normal way?”

“What’s the normal way?” There’s amusement in Chloe’s voice and despite her position and general physical state, it makes Beca smile, too.

“You know: me on my back; your face between my legs.” She starts to crawl further up the bed and half-expects Chloe to grab her ankles to stop her, but she doesn’t. She makes it all the way up to the pillows to flop eagerly onto her back.

However, she has some immediate regrets. Namely, she wasn’t prepared for her eyes to land on Chloe in lingerie standing at the foot of the bed noticeably stepping out of her stilettos, nor was she ready to see the belt from Chloe’s coat swinging thoughtfully from Chloe’s hand. She doesn’t know how she even has it; Beca hadn’t noticed it with her but maybe it was wrapped around her arm. Beca was way more focused on all the other parts of Chloe.

“What are you doing?” she asks though it’s pretty clear what Chloe’s intentions are.

Chloe’s smile is so sexual should be illegal. “If I only get you tonight, I want to make the most of it.”

“And that involves tying me up?” Beca hopes the look she’s giving Chloe doesn’t betray how badly she wants just that to happen. She wants to at least try to not look like the desperate wanton woman she feels like tonight.

“If you want it to.”

“I mean…” Beca shrugs, desperately trying to be nonchalant until Chloe’s teeth bite her bottom lip as though Beca’s moment of coolness is tantalizing. “Not too tight.”

She watches with rapt attention as her answer washes over Chloe. A quiet exhale as though she’d been holding her breath. A setting of her jaw. 

And then she’s crawling. Up the bed on her hands and knees toward Beca until she’s moving over her. Until she’s leaning right down to bring their lips together in a slow, sensual kiss that has Beca sighing. 

Beca reaches for her; she’s had precious little opportunity to touch her with how Chloe’s chosen to take control of the evening. But the second her hands land on Chloe’s back they’re being pinned above her head and Chloe’s still kissing her.

“Shit,” she says with a nervous laugh between kisses. “You were serious.”

She feels Chloe’s hands loosen where they’ve seized her wrists. “Only if you want to.”

The consideration (or lack thereof) she gives the possibility of backing out is embarrassingly small. “I want to.”

Chloe pulls back at that and Beca has a moment of fear that she’s going to stop, which is dumb given the fact she literally showed up in lingerie at her hotel room door. She pulls back so she can see what she’s doing as she wraps the belt around Beca’s wrists, weaving it between them first before cinching it and tying the loose ends.

The headboard is nothing but a solid wall of padded fabric and since she can’t tie Beca to anything, she’s making extra sure she can’t untie herself.

The sound that leaves Beca at the sensation, at the loss of control, is embarrassing.

“You like this, hmm?” Chloe asks. It’s a rhetorical question, Beca knows, but she nods anyway. She doesn’t know what happens next but she does know her body is throbbing and that it’s borderline cruel that she’s already had Chloe’s tongue between her legs and now it’s almost like they’re back to first base.

Well, a first base that has her naked and tied up in bed and stockings and garter belts straddling her hips. 

“You’re so pretty,” Chloe says as she moves back. It almost makes Beca mad because she knows it means Chloe’s in no hurry. She sits back on her knees over Beca to look down at her as if admiring her handiwork. “I bet you hear that all the time.”

“Sometimes,” Beca answers after having to swallow. “Why are you still wearing clothes?”

Chloe’s hand moves to the left strap of her bra to lower it down her arm but does nothing further to undress. “This counts as clothing?” 

“You’re not naked.”

“That’s true,” Chloe says with a nod. “But you are.” She says it so pointedly Beca knows something’s going to happen and what happens is that Chloe’s fingernails drag up Beca’s sides until hands are covering her breasts.

It makes Beca’s eyes fall closed and arch her back to try to get more of herself into Chloe’s hands. It’s painfully quiet in the room and her own heavy breaths echo in her ears. She’s not used to doing this without music; sex for her is always associated with music. It happens in dressing rooms and in bathrooms of bars and in hotel rooms and her own home, and there’s always music throbbing, drowning out how needy she’s always reduced to sounding.

Not tonight, though; she was too busy getting ready to remember to put something on but it’s only a minor regret because now not only can she hear herself, she can hear the soft hush of Chloe’s stockings against the sheets when she shifts backward. She can hear Chloe’s breath in her ear before she hears—and feels —her tongue and lips on her neck and ear.

It makes her crane her neck to offer it to Chloe. She can tell Chloe isn’t leaving marks but part of her wants her to; the encounter from the moment it began has Beca feeling dirty, raunchy even and her inhibitions are melting away the longer Chloe’s mouth is on her neck.

“Please fuck me,” she says with a gasp after Chloe’s tongue flickers beneath her ear.

“I will,” Chloe answers simply. She sounds so unbothered and if Beca wasn’t so busy being painfully aroused she’d be mad about it. She seems to be in no rush but she does move back as she says it.

Her mouth travels lower, too, and Beca tries to brace herself as it draws nearer to her left breast. She can feel Chloe moving, and the sharp pinch of fingers against her nipple that Beca knows makes it even harder than it already is. Chloe’s tongue follows, warm and wet as the tip of it brushes the peak of her breast.

Beca whimpers and presses her face against her bicep. She knows she could drop her arms and they’d land on Chloe’s back. She could find Chloe’s head and tangle her bound hands in her hair. She could, but she doesn’t. It’s too good to let herself submit and be at Chloe’s mercy.

Chloe’s still in no hurry. She seems to settle against Beca like she’s getting comfortable, as though she intends to spend a good bit of time right where she is and Beca’s more than okay with that. The hand at her left breast is almost still as Chloe’s focus is on how she’s using her mouth on her right. Her tongue is light against it but sharp as it brushes back and forth across the tip. Just when Beca’s about to flinch from it being too much she uses her lips and Beca moans as Chloe sucks on it ever so lightly.

Beca’s not sure how much time passes. She knows her nipple is almost aching from attention and the relief that comes when Chloe lets up is short-lived because instead of moving down to touch Beca where she’s so desperately wanted, she shifts her attention to Beca’s other breast and starts the entire process over again.

“You’re going to kill me,” Beca grinds out when Chloe finally starts sucking again. 

Chloe just hums in response and sucks harder.

“Please.” Beca’s aware of how dire she sounds but she doesn’t care. The sheets beneath her are already wet from the way her body is responding to Chloe. Her inner thighs are slick and there’s no way Chloe can’t feel it with how she’s resting against Beca. Her position has made it impossible for Beca to rock her hips up and try to grind against her, and she can’t close her legs to seek relief that way, either, so all Beca can do is lie there and take it.

She wants to take it all.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?” Chloe’s voice sounds like honey and sex.

Beca’s body almost seizes at the words, like it’s considering orgasming then and there but it doesn’t. “God, yes,” she pants.

“Want me to fuck you with my fingers?” Chloe’s moving lower; Beca can feel it and the cool air that fills the empty space between them against her wet flesh.

“Yeah.” Beca knows she’ll say yes to literally anything right now.

“Or my tongue?” The words are hot breath against Beca’s clit and her hips jerk on reflex. She still hasn’t opened her eyes but she doesn’t need to to know that Chloe’s face is between her legs.

“Fuck, yes,” she groans. “Oh, my God, yes,” she adds when Chloe’s tongue touches her clit just as fingers press inside her.

“You’re so wet for me.” Chloe sounds proud and Beca knows she has every reason to be. She has three fingers inside Beca and it’s barely stretching her. Her tongue starts licking at Beca’s clit and it’s all Beca can do to stop from coming immediately. She groans and bites her own arm to stave it and after a few seconds of the sharp pain, it passes and she knows she can hold off for a while now.

She can hear Chloe’s fingers moving in and out of her; it’s a steady pace but not too fast, one that has Beca’s hips thrusting to meet her. She can hear Chloe’s irregular breaths as she licks her and how it pauses when her lips close around her clit to suck on it and make Beca want to leap off the bed. She can hear herself moaning, a nonstop desperate mess of noise that mixes with Chloe’s own sounds of pleasure that make Beca wonder if she’s touching herself or if she’s just enjoying what she’s doing that much. She can’t really work out where Chloe’s other hand is; the one inside her is way too distracting and she doesn’t care enough to think about it.

“What are you doing to me?” she whines. It’s a legitimate question because she’s sure she’s never before been pushed this high without coming and she’s had her share of amazing sex. She doesn’t expect an answer right now, or ever. She meant it as a compliment but for some reason, it makes Chloe pull back.

Beca gasps as Chloe pulls out and her mouth leaves her. That finally makes her eyes snap open. “Why did you stop?!”

It’s the first she’s laid eyes on Chloe since things turned serious and she’s no longer immaculate in appearance. Locks of her hair are dark and wet where they got in her mouth’s way between Beca’s legs. Her lipstick is smeared almost to nothing and Beca knows that it’s probably all over her neck and breasts. Chloe’s lips glisten, though, as does her chin, with Beca’s arousal.

Chloe’s looking up at her with dark eyes as she sits up until she’s on her hands and knees again and crawling steadily higher. She starts to lean down when they’re face to face and Beca readies herself to kiss her in a way sure to convey her frustration but instead, Chloe sits up and keeps moving higher until Beca realizes what’s happening.

“You said you’re at my service.” Chloe says it so plainly it’s almost as though she’s not telling Beca to lick her through what Beca’s just discovered are not your standard black panties.

They’re just for show, to sell the outfit when she’s standing but now that she’s straddling Beca’s face, there’s almost nothing to them. Nothing covering her.

“Fuck,” Beca breathes before lifting her head to service Chloe.

“Just like that, baby,” Chloe says through a sigh as her knees slide further apart and she settles astride Beca’s face.

Maybe Beca likes being dominated and praised. So? Maybe it’s a nice change of pace from being the boss every day. It’s one thing to be told ‘yes’ all day by the people who work for her but it’s quite another to hear it from a beautiful woman sitting on her tongue. She knows there’s no judgment from anyone tonight, not when one of Chloe’s hands moves down to actually part herself so Beca, her own hands useless, has even more access to the clit she can actually see throbbing after each lick she gives it.

She’s being watched, too. Chloe’s eyes are on her—her tongue—as Beca starts to move more quickly.

“Slow, baby. Nice and slow,” Chloe coos and Beca instantly slows down. Chloe’s hips begin to set the pace and it’s torturously measured, as though Chloe has all the time and patience in the world. Beca thinks they kind of do; they have all night to fuck each other. And the morning, until it’s time to throw everything into suitcases and catch a flight back to New York.

So she settles into the pace, crossing her own legs tightly to get a hint of relief as she works her tongue against Chloe at the pace Chloe dictates.

Beca doesn’t really have words for how Chloe looks like this: the black sheer stockings and garters and the peekaboo panties and the matching bra that leaves very little to the imagination. All of it above her riding Beca’s tongue slow and steady while Chloe watches, moaning every few breaths.

“I want you to make me come now, baby,” Chloe says and Beca can hear the strain in her voice in its effort to sound unaffected. It’s hot to know she’s trying and failing to hide just how Beca’s making her feel and Beca makes it a point to take an extra-long lick through her at the request, teasing her entrance before moving back to her clit. “Can you do that for me?”

Beca almost laughs. She considers a smart reply but it fizzles in her brain at the whine in Chloe’s voice. So instead, she nods and lifts her head to close her lips around her clit to pull until Chloe sits even heavier against her. Beca wants her clit in her mouth, not above it, and she hears Chloe’s broken moan as soon as she starts sucking on it.

“So good,” Chloe moans, still parting herself but she’s beginning to forget to watch. Her eyelashes flutter until Beca watches them close and she sags forward to hold on to the headboard.

Beca hums and Chloe gasps at the vibration. It makes Beca want to smile but if she smiles she can’t suckle on Chloe’s clit. So she doesn’t. Instead, she sucks harder and draws smooth lines up and down with her tongue and groans when Chloe starts grinding against her.

It’s a slow grind, just as her pace has been all night, but it’s a deep one and she finally removes her hand from herself to tangle her fingers into Beca’s hair to pull her up.

All Beca can do is moan and lick and suck and try not to come as she watches Chloe take what she wants from Beca.

“Yes, baby,” Chloe moans and her steady pace falters with a sudden jerk of her hips. “Fuck yes, baby, don’t stop.” She loses her rhythm completely when Beca sucks on her again and she slips into wild abandon instead of measured control.

It makes Beca groan because this woman is fucking her face as though her life depends on it and Beca’s never been so grateful to be of service to anyone.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna—” is all Chloe gets out before she’s coming, loud moans and shuddering and wetness that Beca feels dripping down her chin and neck.

Beca moans with her and nearly comes, too. She tries to keep Chloe in her mouth but she’s unpredictable in her movements and Beca finally gives up and just gives her the flat of her tongue instead to let her grind it out on.

“So good,” Chloe finally says with a sigh once she’s still. She sits back so she’s on Beca’s chest and seems to appreciate the mess she’s made of Beca as she moves her thumb across Beca’s lips and chin only to bring it to her own mouth to suck. “That was so good, baby, thank you.”

She’s not quite sure when they slipped into this BDSM-light situation—no, she knows it’s the second she agreed to Chloe tying her up—but Beca can’t help but smile. “You’re welcome.”

“What do you think: is it your turn now?” Chloe asks thoughtfully as she works her way backward.

“Not to be dramatic,” Beca says with a huff as she brings her arms down because her shoulders are beginning to ache and her hands are tingling, “but I hope to God the answer is ‘yes.’” She watches expectantly as Chloe moves down her once again and anticipates a kiss that doesn’t come.

Instead, Chloe sits atop her comfortably and even plays with Beca’s fingers. “Still okay?” she asks.

“I appreciate the check-in, but I seriously just need you to fuck me right now.”

Her comment lands with Chloe and Beca can see the surprise on her face that she quickly schools into seriousness. “I think that’s up to me.”

“Do I need to beg for mercy?” She smirks as she says it and watches the consideration and desire play out in Chloe’s eyes.

“You don’t need to, but you might want to.” Chloe moves off her without warning and Beca immediately misses her as she slides off the bed and, Beca watches in horror, leaves the room.

“Where are you going?” she half-shouts, trying not to sound too panicked. She’s still tied up and though she thinks she can free herself if she truly needed to, she’d rather not have to. There’s no response but also no door opening and closing so Chloe’s still in the hotel room, somewhere Beca can’t see from her vantage point. She starts to sit up, awkward with her wrists bound, when Chloe reappears.

“Just needed to fetch a little something,” Chloe says sweetly and it takes Beca a second to see what’s different.

What’s different is that amongst the black lace still adorning Chloe’s hips are now strips of black leather and an empty silver O-ring sitting against her pelvis. 

Not to mention the fact that she’s holding two dildos, a small blue one and a somewhat larger purple one. Not scary big but...sizeable.

Beca thinks her eyes probably widen comically if the pleased look Chloe gives her is anything to go by. “You brought that with you?”

“You kind of seemed like you really want someone to bend you over and fuck you.”

Beca just gapes.

“Did I read you wrong?”

She snaps her mouth closed with a jarring click of her teeth. She’d be ashamed and embarrassed that her apparent need to be absolutely railed was so obvious if the statement of fact was coming from anyone else.

“Didn’t think so,” Chloe says cooly. “So, what do we think: purple or blue?” She holds them up like she’s asking Beca to choose which new cute top she should pick. “I’m thinking purple,” Chloe answers without giving Beca a chance to string a sentence of even one word together. The rejected toy gets set aside on the nightstand and Beca watches, still half-sitting, as Chloe threads the other through the ring on the harness to fix it into place. “Well? Stand up.”

Beca’s legs don’t want to cooperate but Chloe doesn’t help her; she just watches as Beca twists and scoots until she’s off the bed and on her feet.

“Good girl.”

Beca tries not to react too pathetically at the praise and sets her jaw but a whimper escapes when the approval is accompanied by Chloe plucking a small translucent bottle out of her bra, which Beca hadn’t even noticed, fixated on everything happening below it, as it were. 

“I know, I know.” Chloe says it like she’s responding to a pet begging for food while the food is being prepared. “Soon, baby.” She makes Beca watch as slick, clear liquid dribbles along the length of the toy before the bottle’s tucked into her bra again. She looks at Beca pointedly, then at the toy between them. “Well?”

Beca must stare dumbly for too long, both unsure of what Chloe’s wanting and being unable to think hard enough to figure it out, because Chloe’s hand snares the belt around Beca’s wrists to yank her hands forward onto the dildo.

Oh.

Beca’s left hand wraps around it and slides, spreading the lube up its length and along the underside. She strokes it slowly and watches Chloe watching her hand, lip snared between her teeth until Chloe darts in to kiss her so suddenly that it makes Beca jump.

It’s an aggressive kiss and even though it’s definitely not necessary to do because Beca hasn’t forgotten, she knows Chloe’s re-asserting her dominance. She can feel Chloe moving her hips to fuck Beca’s hand and it’s agonizing that she’s being made to wait.

Not that Chloe makes her wait long.

“Turn around,” Chloe says after breaking their kiss abruptly. She doesn’t give Beca much of a chance to react before her hands are on Beca’s waist to make her turn more quickly. And she doesn’t even say anything when one hand seizes Beca’s hip and the other runs up her back until it’s between her shoulders to fold her—very willingly—in half.

She probably moans. Or gasps. Or both. She’s not entirely sure because she’s too busy catching herself before she faceplants against the bed again. It tweaks her right wrist but she doesn’t notice that very much, either. Instead, what she notices is the wet, smeared handprint she leaves on the sheet from excess lube.

“Spread your legs, baby,” Chloe says behind her; her voice sounds like honey.

Beca does as she’s told and then drops onto her forearms. There’s no way she can support herself with her hands bound; she’s not sure she’ll be able to support herself at all, soon, for that matter.

“You look so good like this,” Chloe purrs and her hand connects rather suddenly with Beca’s ass. It’s not quite a spank, but it could have been. Instead, it squeezes—not gently—like she’s trying to make sure she has a good grip. “Bent over for me.”

All Beca can do is drop her head and wait. 

The hand that pushed her down drags its nails down her back to make her shiver. It scratches past her waist and over the curve of her ass and the back of her thigh before it turns and, without nails, runs up along her inner thigh.

She feels Chloe’s finger catch her wetness and chokes back a moan. She doesn’t want to beg. She’s made it this long, and she knows the end is near.

“God, you’re literally dripping.” Beca feels Chloe’s hand inelegantly wipe itself on her ass before that hand grabs her, too. Chloe’s being rough and it’s not something Beca’s used to but it’s wrecking her and she knows it’s going to become something she asks for in future sexual encounters.

The cold slick of the toy slides against her heat without warning and she can’t help the moan that escapes her.

“Oh, you’re so ready for me, aren’t you,” Chloe says through a moan of her own. It’s rhetorical, but Beca can finally find a word in her vocabulary.

“Yeah.”

The toy retreats and Beca tries to chase it but Chloe’s grip is firm and limits her range of motion. Chloe, thankfully, doesn’t make her wait and it returns to slide against her again but this time, as it pulls back, Beca feels Chloe change its angle and with the next forward push of Chloe’s hips, it’s sliding into Beca with steady, firm pressure.

“Fuck,” Beca gasps. She has to hold her breath to survive it because her entire body kicks forward in a jolt of pleasure. It’s not an orgasm, but it’s close.

There is no moment of patience, a courtesy of allowing Beca to get used to the girth and she braces herself for the discomfort when Chloe immediately begins to withdraw and push forward again, only...there is no discomfort and— 

“Fuck, that feels amazing,” she says, groaning as she interlocks her fingers and rests her forehead on her fists. She thinks she probably looks a lot like she’s praying, if not for the goddess in black lace fucking her with a strap-on. She does say a quick one to whatever higher being that may or may not exist begging them to let her survive this if only to have the chance to survive it again.

Chloe hums in agreement and tightens her grip on Beca’s ass, and Beca knows she’s going to have bruises tomorrow as Chloe’s pace begins to pick up until it’s a steady 60 beats per minute. Beca hates that she can clock it, but it’s second-nature. It’s a pace that she knows won’t quite get her there; it’s just going to drive her to the edge and then drive her crazy with the need to come. It’s also a pace that she knows from her own experience in Chloe’s position can be kept up by the wearer for quite a while. 

There’s nothing Beca can do but wait until Chloe decides to take mercy on her and she’s suddenly reminded that Chloe said she might want to beg for it. Now Beca understands why. She’s powerless to reach down and touch herself to hurry it along. She’s powerless to move because Chloe won’t let her. She has no choice but to let Chloe fuck her however she wants.

“Faster,” she tries, sure it will go ignored.

And it is.

Instead, Chloe chooses harder.

“Oh, shit,” Beca says through a moan. The force pushes Chloe so deep that Beca feels it bottom out and it makes her vision blurry when she tries to open her eyes to look down her own body to see what’s happening between her legs so she gives up. Much like she’s given up every ounce of control she could possibly have tonight.

She’s losing control of her voice, too, and her attempt to not come across as desperate as she knows Chloe knows she is is beginning to fail as her moan echoes around them with every slow, hard thrust.

“You sound so good,” Chloe says. Her own voice is labored and something about that, that Chloe’s working hard to fuck her so well turns Beca on, somehow, even more.

“I sound better when I come.” She’s not sure how she put together an entire sentence of sass but she feels Chloe react to it with an extremely slow withdrawal that hesitates, just shy of slipping out of Beca completely. She remembers what Chloe had said when she’d arrived, that she wants to know what Beca will sound like when she comes, and Beca wants to show her that more than life.

Chloe seems to crack, to surrender the tiniest bit of control with a sound that’s somewhere between a moan, a cry, and a gasp and lets go of her grip on Beca’s ass to run her hands up her back and down to hold her waist. “Then let me hear you, baby.”

Her thrust back in is short and quick and she sets a brisk pace. Beca would thank her but she can’t, at least not right now, because the only thing her voice is good for now is moaning and the occasional, “Fuck!”

Her body’s being rocked forward again and again and her overly sensitive nipples are dragging back and forth over the smooth bed sheet and she can hear the way Chloe’s body connecting with her own just as much as she can feel it, a lewd, wet slapping that Beca could almost be ashamed of if it didn’t feel like heaven.

She can’t get words out but her voice still works and she’s loud as her orgasm nears its tipping point and it seems to encourage Chloe who pounds into her even faster.

It’s possible she screams.

She doesn’t know or care.

All she knows is the pleasure that rips through her with her orgasm and that Chloe doesn’t let up, even as Beca tightens hard around the toy and the brutal pace seems to make it last impossibly long. Her arms give out, as do her knees, and she all but collapses against the bed but even that doesn’t slow Chloe down.

She just keeps fucking Beca.

And now, with Beca’s hips being shoved into the bed with every hard, fast thrust, her clit which has been begging for attention drags over the firm edge of the mattress again and again and Beca’s sure she’s going to pass out. She can’t even tell if her first orgasm ended but she’s coming again.

She can feel Chloe leaning over her back. Can feel her breath fast and heavy on her neck.

“Yes, baby, give it to me,” she’s moaning in Beca’s ear. “You’re so hot you’re gonna make me come, too.”

Beca just whines.

She whines because her orgasm finally (tragically) ended and she already knows she’s going to come again whenever Chloe does. Her body’s been wound up like a spring for so long and there’s no stopping its powerful need for release.

She desperately tries to catch her breath but it’s impossible. Chloe’s fucking into her so hard and fast, chasing her own orgasm, that she simply can’t.

“I’m coming,” Chloe moans with a sharp thrust of her hips. “Oh God, I’m coming!”

She pins Beca’s hips to the bed and grinds into her and it grinds Beca’s clit right into the bed and Beca sees stars. 

When her wits return, she feels lips on her back kissing slowly along her shoulder blades and a still-heaving chest against her back.

She whimpers and it’s enough to get Chloe’s attention because she stretches up to kiss the shell of Beca’s ear before the comforting warmth and weight of her body is gone. Beca shudders when Chloe pulls out of her, slowly, until they’re no longer joined and she feels Chloe’s hand smoothing over her ass which is more than a little tender.

Beca works to haul herself onto the bed to roll onto her back so she can finally breathe and she feels Chloe slide up next to her a few seconds later, hands deftly untying the knot around Beca’s wrists to finally (tragically) set her free.

“Oh, my God,” Beca says through a heaved sigh. “That was fucking incredible.”

“Heck yeah, it was.”

Beca maneuvers herself onto her side with the last bit of energy she has and scoots closer to tuck herself into Chloe’s side. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby,” Chloe says with a kiss to the top of Beca’s head.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I definitely told you I was coming.”

Beca can hear the smirk in Chloe’s voice and she swats her thigh playfully. “I meant to LA.”

Chloe laughs and catches Beca’s hand to intertwine their fingers. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, mission accomplished. Strangers in a bar, though? Really?”

“Wanted a chance for a one-night-stand with my fiancée.” Chloe’s free hand tickles Beca’s back.

“One-night-stand? So I should kick you out for the night.”

“Don’t you dare,” Chloe says with a pout of a laugh.

“You used your real name this time.”

“I honestly forgot not to. I was too excited to see you.”

Beca chuckles and presses a kiss to Chloe’s neck. “You got so feisty. I’m going to be feeling that in the morning.”

“Is that a complaint I hear?”

“No,” Beca laughs. “You really committed, though. I can’t believe you brought the strap with you.”

“I flew across the country just to have dirty sex with you, Beca. Of course, I brought it.”

Beca just groans and pushes her face into Chloe’s neck to breathe her in. Chloe-after-sex is always her favorite scent; everything about Chloe’s essence is amplified and Beca’s senses are heightened and she never gets enough of it. “You tied me up,” she mumbles, starting to feel her post-coital bashfulness set in. It’s not that she’s shy; she’s still getting used to being 100% open with Chloe and working on overcoming the bouts of it. She shouldn’t be bashful about sex with Chloe; she’s marrying her, for crying out loud.

“Was it okay?”

Beca takes a minute to decide how to answer that doesn’t make her sound too much like a kinky pervert. “More than,” she lands on. “Can we do it again?”

“Now?” Chloe’s voice is incredulous. Understandably.

“No!” Beca answers quickly. “God, no. I’d die. Just, in the future.”

“Oh, totes.” She can hear the smile in Chloe’s voice so she unburrows herself to lift her head enough to find and capture Chloe’s lips with her own.

“‘Kay,” she says when they part, her body going into an involuntary and much-needed stretch that has her rolling away from Chloe.

“Is that your way of telling me it’s time for bed?”

Beca glances at Chloe who’s starting to sit up and as worn out as she looks, she’s still the most beautiful person Beca’s eyes have ever seen. She almost forgets to answer her. “Mm, yeah. Take that off, though,” she says, pointing at Chloe’s chest, still semi-covered by her black lace bra. “It’s scratchy.”

Chloe just laughs and strips it off to toss it aside and gesture at her lower half. “What about the rest?”

Beca’s eyes roam down over the garter belt and sneaky panties and stockings and the fact that none of the garters are still clipped to them because they couldn’t withstand all the activity and she bites her lip. She could stare at Chloe like that for hours and never get bored. But… “Yeah, all of it. I want to be close to you tonight and I don’t want to get tangled up in all that business.”

“Beca Mitchell wants to cuddle,” Chloe whispers across the bed conspiratorially and Beca rolls her eyes only for them to land on Chloe again to watch while she finishes undressing. “Okay, come on,” she says once she’s fetched the blanket that ended up on the floor in the chaos to pull over the both of them.

Beca scrambles, best she can, into Chloe’s arms under the warm blanket to settle against her for the night.

“What time’s our flight leaving tomorrow?” Chloe asks as she uses Beca’s app-connected phone to turn off the lights in the hotel room.

Beca grunts. She knows it’s sometime in the morning. “I don’t know. Check my calendar?”

Chloe sighs in mock irritation and Beca watches through one squinted eye as she pulls up Beca’s personal calendar to check when the privately chartered jet is scheduled to take her (and now Chloe) home. “10:30. That’s not bad.” Chloe sets an alarm and puts her phone on the nightstand next to the dildo that went unused tonight.

“Still too early,” Beca says with a squeeze of a hug to Chloe’s middle.

“But we have our cake tasting when we get back.”

On cue, her stomach rumbles. “Fuck, I’m hungry.”

“We’ll get room service in the morning. Go to sleep, baby,” Chloe laughs before twisting her neck to kiss Beca’s forehead. “I love you.” 

Beca huffs and then works her way closer, exhausted—and grateful—enough to overcome her stomach’s demands. “I love you, too. And I’m gonna get French toast.”

The end

#bechloe #bechloe fic #bechloe fanfic #fanfic #smuttttttttttt #is an understatement

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Lullaby

Keanu Reeves x Reader.  (Chapter Summary- Shedding a little light on Y/n’s ‘type’ is met with annoyed resistance and later, a steamy encounter may not be all that it seems.) Warnings- NSFW/SMUT

Chapter 2

“What was that anyway?” Jillian asked as she and Y/n strolled the almost empty house. It was just past two am and the guests had left, leaving behind the staff and anyone who lived there, well, except for Jillian. Since their close encounter on the patio and after she had hastily invited him to her house, Y/n hadn’t seen Keanu, thinking that he must have long left, hoping that he would actually show up the next day. 

“What was what?” Y/n feigned innocence, picking at her nails as they pushed open the doors to the family kitchen which was significantly smaller than the professional grade kitchen several doors down, where the staff prepared meals for special occasions. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shrugged, getting a bowl of grapes out of the fridge. 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Keanu Reeves was five seconds away from having his tongue down your throat,” Jillian giggled playfully before adding, “And them maybe his dick up you’re-”

“I get your point,” Y/n cut her off, popping a deep purple grape into her mouth, chewing slowly as she thought on the moment. “Look,” she sighed, “I don’t know what it was, but we talked for a while and he was......nice.”

Jillian scoffed in disbelief, “You were gonna give it to him because he’s nice?” Dramatically, she pushed a grape into her mouth, raising her brows in amused question, “Or is because he’s hot? We both know you like them.....a little grey.”

At her words, Y/n sucked in an audible breath, throwing the fruit in her hand at Jillian, scoffing, “That’s not true!” Her voice rose an octave or two, a tell tale sign that she was lying. She did in fact, like them a “little grey“. 

Jillian cackled on her side of the granite island, slapping her hand to the cool surface, “Yeah, sure Y/n/n. Because there’s another reason why you never bring your boyfriends around,” Jillian carried on sarcastically, “Come on hun, I saw who you left the bar with on your twenty-first, secret’s safe with me,” she winked

“You’re just.......ugh!” Y/n rolled her eyes, standing from her stool abruptly, returning the bowl the to the refrigerator, nearly slamming the door in annoyance. Even if her cousin was right, it wasn’t like Y/n wanted to admit that her taste in men tended to be a little.....refined to put it into better terms. “I’m going to get ready for bed,” she started walking off, in the direction of the stairs.

Keanu had gotten in late the night before, tired and just the slightest bit drunk but those things put together was enough to see him having a hurried shower, clumsily getting dressed and then falling face first into his empty bed. He hadn’t even thought about Y/n, or the suggestive invitation to her house. But from the minute he had awoken, way past eleven am, after the sun had long risen; it proved to be all he could think of. It played over and over in his head; a record on repeat, taunting him. It was a nice offer, and Y/n definitely looked like she knew how to have a good time, but there was so much more to consider. For one; they had been drinking, so she probably didn’t even remember their conversation. Then there was the fact that she was twenty-three; was he really that kind of man? She barely legal, five years to be exact. 

Was five years still considered ‘barely’?

It was.

Compared to his age, she was still a teenager. But then again, she had asked him, not the other way around. But what if she was just one of those people that said things but didn’t really mean them. What if it was just a joke, serving it’s intended purpose; confusion. 

Why was he thinking about it anyway?

Lust.

It was so unlike Keanu to get so submerged in thoughts of a woman that soon. They had collectively spent two hours together, talking, they hadn’t even flirted that much. Yet even as Keanu readied to leave his house, setting out to spend a couple hours at Arch and then the rest of the afternoon on the strip with a few riding buddies, Y/n still dominated his thoughts. It was so hard to not think of her; the way the warmth of her skin had seeped through the navy silk of her dress, how his height had offered him a welcoming view of the top of her cleavage, how smooth her skin felt when her bare arm brushed his hand. Y/n had been so close that if Keanu closed his eyes right then, his could still smell her floral perfume and the champagne on her breath. Everything about the moment had been so inviting, she was already in his arms and it would have so easy to let things get away from the moment.

Most of the day had passed and even when Keanu returned to his home, shutting out the orange tinted sky and dimmed surroundings with a button on his keys, letting the garage door down, Y/n had still lingered in his thoughts. He had long decided to not go to her place, having convinced himself that her invitation hadn’t been serious. As he entered though the garage door, Keanu began shrugging of his riding jacket after tossing his keys to the designated ceramic bowl. Carelessly draping his jacket as the on the back of the living room sofa, proceeding to journey to the kitchen. He was so preoccupied that Keanu hadn’t even noticed the tell tale signs that his housekeeper; Linda, had made her daily sweep. The fact that she had moved his suit coat, vest and tie from the night before, probably putting it with the rest of the laundry, she had also dealt with the dishes that he had left in the sink that afternoon and the house had even been tidied. He often thought that if it weren’t for her, his place would be a complete mess.

After collecting a beer from the fridge and leaving yet another glass for Linda to deal with the next morning, Keanu retired to the living room, slouching into the comfortable sofa after retrieving the conveniently placed television remote. Channel surfing proved to be a welcome distraction, though, when he had finally settled on an old western, the sounding of the doorbell and soft knocks disturbed the peace. Sinking further into the cushions, Keanu thought that maybe, just maybe, if he ignored it, the visitor might leave.

He really thought it would work. Up until it didn’t, and the doorbell went off again. Sighing heavily, Keanu discarded the bottle on the coffee table, lazily pushing off the comfort of the sofa, trudging towards the front door. At the last insistent ring of the automatic bell, he pulled the door open, taken aback when he saw who stood on his porch, “Y/n?” He breathed her name, his eyes widening, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Cocking a half smile, Y/n slipped her hands into the pockets of her khaki trench, “I like to finish what I start.” At no haste, she turned her head away, looking down the street, her eyes trained on, but not really taking in, the other impressive houses that lined the street. The lighting was low and Keanu had completely forgotten to turn on the porch lights, but it was easy to see that she was wearing less make-up than the night before; a light tint on her lips and her thick lashes fanning over her dark gaze. “You didn’t come,” Y/n mock pouted, “And I so badly wanted you to come,” her voice was drenched with the undertones of an innuendo and Keanu stood before her, bare feet rooted to the hardwood floor, completely in awe that she had found him. “Why didn’t you come Keanu?”

Licking his lips, Keanu had to hold the handle of the front door in a death grip to contain himself and suddenly the slow tapping of the toe of her nude colored pump almost drowned the silence, “Y/n,” he began to reason, flustered, “I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” her brows raised as she cut him off, “I get it, Mr. Movie Star has better things to do with his time. Better girls to fuck,” there was that ridiculous nick name again, if Y/n were someone else, it might have sounded plainly stupid, but there was something about her voice, the way she spoke, it made Keanu think that she could make anything sound sexy, even dumb nicknames. 

“I never said that,” he argued, a faint smile gracing his lips. Stepping back, he held the front door open a little wider, wordlessly inviting her in. Taking the invitation, Y/n took a few steps into Keanu’s house, turning abruptly when he shut the door, “What?”

“Nothing,” she smirked, closing the short distance between them so they were standing toe to toe. Their scents intermingled; Y/n was breathing his intoxicating smell of leather and cigarettes while from her, Keanu got notes of expensive perfume, that oddly enough, made something stir inside of him. Her hands rubbed up and down his torso, her manicured nails gently raking his dark t-shirt before gracing the column of his throat as they travelled to the back of his neck. Leaning into him even more, Y/n stood on the tips of her toes, greeting Keanu in a teasing kiss. As they carried on, he pulled her lower lip between his teeth and in retaliation, Y/n palmed his crotch, squeezing and rubbing until she could feel him begin to harden through his jeans. Giggling against his lips, Y/n single-handedly and effortlessly undid the button and zipper on Keanu’s jeans, invading his underwear, struggling to pump his shaft. Upon feeling her hand tighten around him, the metal of her rings cold, he hissed, his hands sliding down her back, going to grope her behind, kneading and squeezing the firm flesh. “You feel so big,” she sighed excitedly, going a little faster. 

When Y/n was satisfied with Keanu’s reaction to her ministrations and she could feel his erection pressing hard against her stomach through his open pants, she took her hand away and Keanu groaned in frustration, “That’s how felt when you never showed up,” she explained, taking a teasing step back.

“Come on baby,” he argued, taking a tentative step forward, growing a little more frustrated when she easily evaded him, “Aren’t you tired of waiting?”

“Maybe,” she smirked, bright eyes shining with the dark playfulness of skilled seduction. Dragging her kiss-swollen bottom lip between her teeth, Y/n’s fingers toyed with the top button of her trench, “But I brought you something. How are you gonna see it if we don’t wait?” Tilting her head, pausing again, she continued, “Besides, where’s the rush? We’ve got all night.”

At that, as if to prove that time wasn’t in any deficit, Y/n undid the belt of her coat at a tantalizingly unhurried pace, letting the clothing hang loosely off her slender shoulders. 

“Fuck,” the word left Keanu’s lips as a husky breath and his member twitched appreciatively at the sight before him. Who would have thought that his painfully boring day would have ended with a gorgeous woman, dressed only in a racy set of cream lingerie standing in this front hallway?

Her cleavage was accentuated by padded cups and a playful silk ribbon tied to the side with a bow, just under the line of her breasts. The lacy hem of the skirt that ended extremely high on her thighs, boasting her smooth legs, didn’t do much to hide the fact that underneath, she was only wearing a matching thong. 

She looked so.....alluring, just standing there, lace dancing along her soft skin, loosely curled hair framing her pretty face. Keanu knew that in an instant, he could have her shoved roughly against the wall, having his way with her, making her see a galaxy’s worth of stars right there, jammed between his larger body and the wall of his foyer. Yeah, he was that confident. But he was enjoying her game too much, he couldn’t even recall a time when foreplay had been hotter, and they had hardly touched each other.

“Like it?” The words were more of an observation on Y/n’s part, as opposed to a question. Pleased with his hungry, lustful, chocolate gaze, Y/n let her coat pool at her feet, swaying her hips as she waltzed into his ready arms. They went around her, lifting Y/n off the floor with barely any effort and when Keanu turned, pressing her against the front door, one of her legs hooked to his waist as he kissed her roughly; heated and demanding. One of his large hands skimmed her body making pit stops at her left breast and then at her hip before finally urging her other leg around him. Hoisting her up, Y/n hung onto him and her shoes fell off, hitting the hardwood with heavy thumps, “You’re so fucking sexy,” he complimented, between harsh, wanting kisses, “Like a sexy sin, coming to my place, just so I can fuck you.”

Her moans were like the devil’s music, whispered into Keanu’s ears and with long strides, he walked them over to his living room, the master bedroom far from his thoughts as he dumped her unceremoniously onto the sofa. Without a second to admire her wanton state, Keanu was hurriedly kicking off his pants, pulling his t-shirt over his head and going to hover over Y/n, planting his hands on either side of her head.  

Moving from her lips, Keanu trailed kisses from the warm skin behind her earlobe, travelling downwards until his face was buried in the valley of her breasts. Simultaneously, elsewhere, his fingers fiddled with the sides of her underwear, until the flimsy material gave out at the sides and two of his stocky digits slipping between her slick folds, rubbing her clit until it was swollen from simulation. 

Y/n’s back arched as her body begged for more of Keanu, “God,” she sighed, her hands tangling in his hair, nails scraping his scalp.

Invading her tightness, Keanu raised off Y/n a little to survey her wide-eyed expression as his fingers pumped slowly, “You’re so tight,” he commented, his arousal growing in its near painful containment, “You’ll feel so good around my cock. Do you want me cock Y/n?”

“Yes,” she breathed pleadingly, “I want you to fuck me, so fucking bad.”

“Yeah?” Keanu cocked an arrogant smile, picking up the pace just a bit, his fingers curving slightly to really hit her sweet spot while the fingers of his other hand fondled her left breast. It hadn’t been his intention to have Y/n orgasm all over his fingers, but at the first inkling of the idea, Keanu thought it might have just made things even better, “Are you sure your tight little cunt can take me?” And Y/n nodded, her eyes shut tightly.

There was a heat in her center, almost ready to bubble over, her core throbbing, oozing with the makings of her first orgasm. His thumb grazed her nub of sensitivty as his index and middle continued moving inside her, “Keanu,” her voice shook, “I’m gonna....”

“Come for me baby,” he commanded and in seconds, her breathing grew ragged and heavy as her jaw slackened. His name was the only, though barely coherent word off her lips as Keanu felt warmth spill onto his fingers. Had he been an inexperienced, juvenile lover, Keanu might have cum right there, still in his underwear, at just the sight and feel of Y/n’s release. But he didn’t, he wouldn’t until he was buried deep inside her.

Finally ridding himself of his boxers, Keanu lined himself up with Y/n just as she came down from her high. Before her body could settle, he was easing into her and Y/n gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin while she moaned loudly at the sensation. Her center was still sensitive, so when Keanu picked up a slow, rough pace, Y/n felt everything, and everything felt good. His thrusts were controlled and rough; Keanu exited her fully before slamming back in, admiring how each time, Y/n would be driven into the cushions as a sinful yelp escaped her slightly parted lips. Gathering her in his arms, their sweaty chests pressed together, Keanu rolled his hips a little faster, grunting lowly, “God Y/n, you feel so good.”

She buried her face in his neck, trying to keep up with his movements, already feeling her second orgasm building. Her breaths grew short again and her lips went to the crease, where his shoulder and his neck met, biting down, trying to hold herself back until Keanu was ready.

Time passed and the heat around the pair seemed to build, like a hot bubble of desire containing them. He felt so good inside her; Y/n swore that she could feel every vein as Keanu moved in and out of her, the pleasure from the friction unmatched. Eventually, with his cheek pressed to the side of Y/n’s head, breathing the fruity scent of her shampoo, Keanu groaned, “I’m almost there baby, you first. Come around my cock.” 

For the second time that night, Y/n gasped and nearly screamed, Keanu’s name, that time along a slew of mumbled obscenities as she coated their thighs, her sex clenching around him. Soon enough, his pace grew sloppy as Keanu chanted her name, his heart thumping in his chest.

But something was wrong. Very, very wrong. 

Before he could finish, the moment started to fade and Keanu seemed to be caught in a state of desperate confusion, frustrated as the moment slipped further and further away. “Y/n?” He called after her as she disappeared, fading quickly from his grasp. No longer could he feel her body against his; the warmth of her silky skin contrasting with his roughness gone. Before he was completely ripped away, before the ordeal was over, Keanu felt like he was sinking, invisible water filling his lungs, stealing his breath, darkness clouding his once clear vision.

What was happening?

Out of the darkness, came burst of light stinging his sight. Gasping, Keanu shot up from his slouched position on the sofa, trying to piece together what had happened. Or rather, what had not happened. 

A dream.

A fucking dream?

With his chest heaving, his t-shirt soaked through with sweat, Keanu ran his hands through his wet hair. His gazed was fixed on the television, which had stayed on during his slumber, and two hours later, the western had switched to a film noir. In the lonely, dead of night silence, the volume seemed alarmingly loud and he scrambled to mute the television. That was when he noticed it; the straining of his erection against the harsh material of his faded blue jeans.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, undoing them for a little relief. Trying to slow his breathing, Keanu thanked the stars that it had just been him, at home, alone as he put his hand over his persistent hard on. His mind ran wild with thoughts of the dream, which proved to be no help. 

How did his subconscious even manage that? After one interaction and they hadn’t even kissed. Keanu wasn’t fifteen and Y/n wasn’t some chick on the page of a magazine. 

Huffing, he pushed off the sofa, dragging himself towards the bathroom, already deciding that without remedy, he might be sporting a cotton tent for a while. In the shower, just for about half hour, he pushed the reprimanding voice in his head away, trying with closed eyes to recall the Sandman’s gift, his back pressed against the cold, black and white mosaic tiles as the hot spray rained down on him. Keanu’s long hair curtained his face as he worked himself with his hands, not caring that he looked the part of a horny teenager; that ship had sailed the moment he realized that he was still capable of having dreams like that. 

Through clenched teeth, he exercised her name as images of her clouded his eyelids, “Fuck! Y/n!” Keanu finally groaned, reopening his eyes just in time to see the product of his deed washing down the drain. It wasn’t exactly the sweet release that he had been looking for, but little did Keanu know; he would have to make it do........or submit to a dark desire.

*******

Tagging- @baphometwolf

#Keanu Reeves #Keanu reeves x reader #Keanu reeves x you #lullaby #Keanu reeves fanfiction #john wick x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #john wick x you #chapter two #Keanu reeves fanfic

[timeaftertime-chriscornellfanfic]

Chapter 20 - Golden Words In A Broken Voice

L'Amours Brooklyn New York, March 17 1990

(Chris is 25, Andi is 20)

CHRIS: I drop the mic on the stage and everyone in the crowd cheers. I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing everyone get their aggression out as we play as loud as we fucking can.

"Where's Andi?" I ask Susan as I pass her, one of the roadies tossing me a towel from all the water that Mike Patton had thrown all over me, the band and the audience.

"She said she had to use the washroom," She says as she follows behind me making our way down the fluorescent lit hallway. I make my way into the dressing room and in no time Kim and Matt follow in behind us.

"I uh, gotta head back to the hotel, I've got an early flight to catch back home for some meetings. I'll uh... see you guys back in Seattle?" Susan asks.

"You bet," Matt says cracking open a beer.

"Oh and Andi... has something to tell you Chris when she gets back from the washroom... I think you might like it," She smiles raising her eyebrow at me. I shift my eyes between Kim and Matt, then back at Susan and take a sip of my beer.

"Ok," I say and she says her goodbyes once more, then heads out of the dressing room.

"What is she talking about?" I ask. Matt shrugs at me and Kim takes a sip of his beer.

"Susan offered her a job... I think finances and marketing or something for us," Kim says.

"Oh... ok... did she say she would take it?" I ask.

"Don't know... my guess is as good as yours," Kim shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. Then I realize Andi seems to be taking a while in the washroom, and I hope she didn't slip again. After a few minutes I set my beer down and run out of the dressing room to make sure Andi's alright. I hear Kim and Matt follow behind me and I'm suddenly stopped by one of our roadies.

"Cornell! It's Wood... it's really bad,"

"What? What happened?" I ask.

"Xana found him earlier today... he's in the hospital,"

I could feel the earth suddenly drop out from under me. As Kim begins to ask more questions, it was like I wasn't inside my body anymore... something about an overdose of heroin... in the bathroom... Xana finding him completely unconscious... and I slowly turn and walk towards the bathroom, completely numb. Like everything was suddenly in slow motion. I open the doors, the faint conversations between Kim and Matt trying to figure out just how to get back, and I see Andi's clothes in a pile on the bathroom tile floor.

*****

Seattle Washington, March 16 1990

(Andi is 20)

ANDI: I take in a deep breath and find myself standing in what looked like a park, behind a large oak tree completely nude, trying to figure out exactly when I am and why I slipped again. I peak out around the tree and see that the park was bare so at least for the moment, no one can see me without clothes.

Ok Andrea... where can you find some clothes?

I wait a few minutes and see an older woman in a long grey trench coat walking her dog, and I wonder just what I could say to get her to help me without calling for help. I look around me and see that there was a small creek just a few feet away from me and the bottom of a little drop off and wonder if I could somehow make my way back home using the creek so no one could see me.

"Miss? oh my god, miss are you alright?" I hear the woman stop with her dog, the golden retriever barking at me.

"Hi, um... yea I'm ok... I just... um..."

Think, think, think...

"Oh dear... what happened to your clothes?" she asks.

"I uh... wanted to try and take a little swim in the creek and some teenage boys came along and stole my clothes," I say with a small laugh.

"Oh honey... here take my coat, you must be freezing," She says and hands me over her coat and her dog stops barking and begins to whine.

"Thank you," I say and quickly slip the coat on, tying it around me to make sure I'm covered enough.

"I hope you don't live far from here," She says.

"No, I don't think so, I'm just over on Spruce and Main,"

"Oh that's not far at all. If you want, I can come with you, make sure - "

"No! No..." I start but I can see she's startled by my reaction.

"I'll uh... I quickly run home and grab a change of clothes and I promise I will be back," I say in my most convincing voice I can do. She raises her eyebrow at me and I look around trying to think of how I can get out of this.

"I'll tell you what... If I'm not back in 30 minutes, by all means, come by my apartment on Spruce and Main, and you'll have your coat back... ok?"

"Ok honey... go ahead," She says, still sounding skeptical but sincere that she's alright with waiting for me. I thank her and quickly make my way out of the park, out on to the sidewalk and recognizing immediately where I am. I'm only just a couple of blocks from here thank god. I hurriedly make my way back to the apartment and just as I was walking up the side walk to our home, I see an ambulance parked in front. I slow down a few steps as I become wracked with worry, suddenly seeing 2 Paramedics carrying out a stretcher with Xana following behind, crying and sobbing like crazy. I stop as I see them lift the stretcher with Andy buckled in and not moving at all. My heart suddenly started to pound profusely and what felt like the wind being knocked out of me as I run towards the ambulance.

"No,... no...no, no.... No!" I cry with tears now streaming down my cheeks and once again, I'm back on the cold tile floor of the bathroom trying to catch my breath.

*****

L'Amours  Brooklyn New York, March 17 1990

(Andi is 20, Chris is 25)

ANDI: "Baby... holy shit," I hear Chris's voice as I gasp for air, lifting myself up into a seated position.

"Chris..." I cough as he crouches down beside me, cupping my face in his hands, brushing a few of my matted curls off my forehead.

"It's ok baby I'm here," He says and I could hear the sadness in his voice.

"Chris, oh god, Chris..." I try to speak but I can't stop coughing.

"Shhh... we have to head home, It's Andy..." He says sadly and I'm finally able to catch my breath.

"What?" I ask.

"We, have... to go home, Andy's in the hospital. We have to get home," Chris says and he touches his damp forehead to mine, closing his eyes, trying to get himself together.

"Ok...ok... lets go home," I say, knowing that I should tell him where I was but getting home is more important right now.

****

Seattle Washington, March 19 1990

(Andi is 20, Chris is 25)

ANDI: We arrive back home as fast as we were able to. Chris and I hadn't said much to each other given the circumstances. I'm just as worried as he is. I don't even know what to say to him. All I know is that we need to see Andy as soon as we can. I still haven't even told Chris when I was when I slipped and I don't know if I can.

Once we drop our stuff off in the apartment, we immediately leave for the hospital. Susan had found out what happened pretty much as soon as Chris and the guys did and she told us that Xana was keeping him on life support until we get there. That's when I knew it was bad. That's when I started to feel this strange numb feeling, like I was about to slip, but it was different.

"... can I help you?" The nurse says behind the counter as Chris leads me up, holding my hand tightly.

"Um, we're looking for Andrew Wood's room?" Chris says. The nurse looks down and flips through a couple of pages on a clip board and then looks back at us.

"He's in ICU... it's down the hall to your right, just let the nurse know you're here to see him," She says. Chris thanks her and we head down the hall, Chris still holding my hand with his fingers laced through and I feel like I'm practically jogging beside him to keep up. I glance up at him for a moment, holding his bicep with my other hand an I can see the look of worry on his face that he desperately is trying to hide, clenching his jaw, his brow firm.

We make it into the ICU and ask the nurse at the front desk. She then takes us over to his room and we see him laying in a bed, looking like he was just sleeping but he was hooked up to so many different machines, all beeping and making noises. One was even breathing for him. You could see how every time the rubber thingy inside the breathing machine deflated, Andy's chest would go up and then back down once the thing returned to it's position. He was incredibly pale and not moving other than when the machine breathed for him.

Xana was sitting beside him as close as she could get, holding his hand and stroking away his matted blonde locks from his forehead. They both looked so small, especially Andy. She sees us standing in the doorway and she wipes away a tear.

"Hey girl," She says groggily and at that point I couldn't hold it in any longer. I started to cry, tears finding their way down my cheeks and I couldn't stop it.

"Xana," I barely manage to get out as I give Chris's hand a squeeze, then let go to quickly move to embrace her. She warps her arms around me as i try to maintain my crying because I don't want to get her going again. It looks like she has been crying for days.

"Has everyone already seen him?" I ask once I'm able to get a handle on myself.

"Yea... everyone's already, you know... said what they needed to. His um, parents just stepped out for a bit. They wanted to um... cut... yesterday but I convinced them to wait until you guys were able to get here. I know he would want you here and I know you would want to have the chance to... um... say goodbye," Xana says holding back her tears and I grab a hold of her once again wrapping my arms around her. After a few minutes, we let go of each other and I glance back over at Chris who still was near the doorway.

He was looking at Andy with a look on his face like I had never seen. It was expressionless, almost numb, like the way he was feeling inside. Then he glances back in my direction and looks at Xana and I could see his eyes becoming glossy with tears that he desperately tried to hold back.

"Chrissy," Xana says and Chris just stands there for a moment, looks away clearing his throat, then moves over to Xana as she is swallowed up by him and his leather jacket as his arms wrap around her. She buries her face in his shoulder as she starts to cry again and he holds her, gently stroking her back through her black fuzzy sweater.

I turn and move over to Andy, and though I am so afraid to, I gently touch his hand just to see if anything would happen. Just to see if he would just wake up and this was all a stupid crazy nightmare. But he just lays there, his chest moving up and down with the machine, his eyes closed like he was sleeping. I like to think he is dreaming of something wonderful, something happy, something he has always longed for but could never seem to have. I start to think about when I slipped. Not just the one that happened yesterday but the first one that Xana witnessed. The one where I saw Andy passed out on the floor and I was actually in the apartment and saw him laying there. Why couldn't I do anything? Why did I slip to the time that was too late?

"Um, I need to um..." I say with my voice shaking.

"You ok?" Xana asks as she wipes her eyes again. I turn and look at Xana and i couldn't help but feel incredible guilt that I couldn't fucking do anything. This fucking curse that I have couldn't even be used for something good. I could only just watch everything unfold after the fact.

"I'm so sorry," I begin to cry and Xana wraps her arms around me again.

*****

Watching Chris say his last words to Andy while he sat in the chair that Xana had been in was the most gut wrenching thing I could ever witness. How Chris was reminiscing with him like he was just sleeping but deep down know that he's not going to wake up. Seeing Chris break down like that was a lot to handle. All I could do was hold him as he cried into me. There are no words to describe the pain of losing someone. It's like the worst heartbreak you have ever gone through but 10 trillion times worse.

"I need to get the fuck outta here," Chris sniffs wiping his nose with his palm, once he lifts his head away from my stomach. He stands up and without saying a word, he steps passed me and Xana and heads out of the room and Xana looks at me as I watch him walk away.

"It's ok, you can go after him..." She says to me.

"Are you gonna be ok? Well... I know you wont be but... you know what I mean," i say and she gives me a half smile.

"Yea, I'm just gonna stay here for a little while, 'til his parents come back anyways... and then well..."She trails off and I knew what she was going to say but I told her she didn't have to.

This sucks. This really, really sucks.

I give Xana one last hug and make my way out of the room to find Chris.

*****************************************************************************************

#time travel #Time After Time #alternate universe #also on ao3 #also on wattpad #chris cornell #chris cornell fanfiction #soundgarden #soundgarden fanfiction #mother love bone #Andrew Wood #My Story #grunge fanfiction #fantasy

[yes-kassiopeia]

A little dive into Ashton’s pinterest

I’m not sure if anyone is going to be interested in this long long loooooooong rant ... but if ever.. !

Well if it’s really Ashton’s.... Cause I can’t be 100% sure, but if it’s not him let just say it’s a very good imitation. In case it’s actually his I won’t give the link, but i don’t think it’s too hard to find anyway... (i wasn’t even really looking for it....)

Aesthetic Board Analysis

All of the Pins below are directly from a the Board called “//SOUL OF ASH//”. There is much more, and i just picked a few that sparkled my very own interest, so i wouldn’t say it’s necessarily representative, but the whole aesthetic theme is there.

The description of this Board goes as : “A misunderstood mind with the catastrophe that was his mentality, formed by stardust and in love with the galaxy. | Black and Red. Some pictures belong to me. Aesthetic board for myself. Skulls, crowns, kings, wolves, Lana Del Rey, leather jackets, spray paint, feathers, birds(ravens, sparrows, doves), cameras, royalty, polaroids, black and white photos, green eyes, motorcycles, books, glasses, pianos, roses, strong coffee and coffee shops, cafes in cities, rings, strong alcohol, crosses, occasional trench coats/blazers, chess, smoke/fog, dark hotel rooms, unfinished handwritten letters, science, sarcasm, lighters, neon”

A lot of the pins are directly uploaded by the user and a large part of the rest comes from tumblr (and Ashton said he had a private tumblr and that we would never find it, so maybe it’s actually him?), the others comes from random website or are re-pinned.

First things first, I was a bit surprised by the amount of “daddy” pins. I mean we joke about him being “daddy” all the time and all the sexual connotation behind it too, but I wasn’t expecting him to be so blunt about it and so ... into it? (Once again, if it’s really him, that is...)

Another theme that is largely present in his pins, is this tormented love. Kinda trapped between ardent desire and unrequited feelings. Although the pronoun ‘her’ is present a couple of time, i notice some “he/him” as well, but i don’t know if he’s referring to himself or someone else.

There are quite a lot of dark messages spread around this board too. like “I laugh with many but don’t trust any” or “Pain is fuel”, “Endure & survive”, “LOST”, “I’ve been having a bad day for the past several years”, “we grow from the worst”, etc. Which sounds like him quite a lot, in his dark hours, and this board is pretty dark.

A few Pins also acknowledge his fear of being or becoming addict to alcohol, but also a pessimist state of mind like ‘fuck this i’d rather been drunk’ and present aesthetic pictures of strong alcohols...

A couple of coffee related Pins as well, because hey, it’s definitely not Ashton if there’s no mention of coffee somewhere.

You also get he wants to be a good man, but don’t want his kindness to be taken for granted or abused. So it’s like a battle in himself between being good and being strong.

‘Ashton’ (once again not 100% sure) refer to himself as a wolf and a lone wolf a lot in his Board. And there not a lot of people in it. There are aesthetic picture of him in black and white (that have been seen elsewhere, so it’s no proof). But there’s only two pictures of him with other people. One at a party with Ivy Levan and Zakk Cervini. And the other... Is this famous Lashton one :

I grouped it with a couple of other pins that made me think about Luke or Lashton. And we know since Nikki’s (lashtondaydream) fanart that Ashton does like this picture a lot. Plus, while all the other pins have no caption at all, this one does. and say “// my brother //”. And that’s why i think it might actually be Ashton’s account. And i’m really glad that he pined this!

Last, but not least !

He has another board which is called “// dances with tears in his eyes //”, that remind me of Luke a lot. The aesthetic is pretty different from the rest, it’s GOLD. I’m pretty sure i’m not the only one who associates Luke with gold... The Board is very small, only 6 pins, but there’s a lot.

A YSL golden logo on black background.

A white and gold angel wing

Golden neon saying “GOLD IS THE NEW BLACK” on black background

A hand-lettering of “Heart of Gold” in gold on black background

Two red roses (btw this pin don’t match the aesthetic at all...)

A white message on black background “some night you dance with tear in your eyes”

So the title directly come this latter pin, but he changed the ‘your’ into ‘his’ which accentuates my believes that it’s about Luke. And I think it’s really cute that he has like “capsule of luke” on his board. (and of course, he doesn’t have one for anyone else) and that it features two red roses...! just saying

There are other board with other topic, one about “geeky stuff” like comic and tv shows, another one about fashion and style, one with only cute animals! etc. but it doesn’t serve my speech here so i won’t comment it. There’s a board with quotes from books that can be pretty interesting, but it’s also very cryptic.

This is already too long. I don’t know if anyone has read it up to here ^^’ i’m sorry. I had quite a lot of fun digging into this account and i wanted to share it with you. Tell me what you think about it? Do you think it’s his account? Let’s talk ! :)

#lashton #ashton irwin #ashton 5sos #5sos #ashton fletcher irwin #lashton analysis #lashton theory #digging #ashton pinterest #luke and ashton #ashton and luke #lashton is real #lashton is alive

[latrespada]

Bite Me!!! - Chapter 1

Pairing: Kakashi & Yamato

Wordcount: 1,690

Setting: Naruto Vampire/Modern AU

Summary: Tenzo, an amnesiac vampire hunter, is now under the care of a vampire cult. Kakashi, the vampire who convinced his father Sakumo into sparing Tenzo's life is slowly becoming sick. When the organization that Tenzo was a part of discovers he's with the cult, they take action and eliminate whichever vampire comes in their way. Vampires from other cults are losing their own members and are after Tenzo as well. Little by little Tenzo is gaining his memory and is trying to escape all this, however, there's a favor he has to return.

Such fluorescence and strength couldn't take cover behind the crawling dark mists. The moon shone intimidatingly on the land underneath it like that of the eye of the villain; straight into the spirit of the damned.

Tenzo woke with a start, unsure of why. There was a crushing pain just on one side of his head that came and went in a pattern. He touched his forehead, and as he looked at his fingers, they were painted by thick blood. What had happened for him to get this injury? He sits himself up slowly and gently, the world spun, and he fell back again. Laying flat on his back, he looked up at the night sky. A few trees blocked his view but he still was able to make contact with the moon. He rested for a couple more minutes before sitting up once again, this time to remain sitting up. He looked around, in search for any buildings he can take shelter in, unfortunately, there was no luck.

He finally pushed himself up onto his feet, though his balance was off, he managed to keep himself standing. On the floor was a Bowie knife, the steel was clean and the handle made from wood. Approaching it, the leaves from the trees began to rustle. There was no wind being blown and an animal would have been easy to catch. Tenzo becomes alert and stands still and slowly squats down reaching his arm out for the knife. From behind a tree, two red glowing lights shine and get closer. The mist begins to fade allowing the moonlight to slip through the leaves of the trees. As the red lights begin to get closer, a man steps out from the shadows and into the moonlight. The red was from his eyes and they seemed to have gotten a bit dimmer now. Silver, sleek hair neatly coiffed to reveal a strong, inscrutable face. His red round eyes set wickedly within their sockets. He opened his mouth releasing a visible cold breath. “You there! What are you doing here in the middle of nowhere? May I ask for a name?” The silver-haired man stepped completely into the light, revealing his glowing pale skin, a linear scar across his left eye, and a tiny mole that laid below on his left cheek. Tenzo stared admirably, never has he seen a man look almost unbelievably flawless. Unfortunately, he didn’t respond. “Not much of a talker, are ya?” Still nothing but silence.

“Are you mute?” The silver-haired fellow approaches Tenzo and places his hand under his chin; slowly pushing his fingers up to lift his head up a bit to gently massage his throat. Tenzo moistens up his mouth and finally spits out words. “I actually don’t know what I’m doing here?” Jumping back startled, the other man stares amazed at Tenzo. “Ah! You do speak! That’s fortunate!” Placing a hand on his waist, he tilts his head a bit and smiles. “Well can you tell me your name at least?” Tenzo stood there blank. Nothing was popping into his mind, worrying him on who he was. “I don’t know actually.”

The silver-haired man notices the Bowie knife on the ground and carefully picks it up. Examining it he notices something engraved on the guard. TENZO YAMATO. “Do you think this might be your name?”. He hands him the knife and with the first touch Tenzo comes in contact with it, images pop into his mind until he finally hears someone yell out for his name. “Oh yes! Yes, it is!” An unsure smile curved across his face “Call me Yamato if you’d like. “

“Tenzo!” The silver-haired man yells. “I’ll call you Tenzo! I like the sound of it!”

Tenzo stood there puzzled but it seemed to put the other man in a good mood.

“Kakashi.” the man sticks his hand out for a handshake. Tenzo grabs it and shakes it. “Kakashi is what they call me.” Kakashi notices the blood, which is now starting to dry up, on Tenzo’s forehead. “Seems you’ve been hit there. What happened?” Tenzo shrugs, he doesn’t seem to remember anything prior from waking up. “That’s no good. How will you get—” A deeper voice calls out for Kakashi in the distance.

“Kakashi! Son where have you gone to now!” says the anonymous voice.

“Over here!” Kakashi responds.

When the man arrives he looks at Tenzo angrily. He sprints towards him faster than a blink of an eye, gaining a grip on his neck and lifting him off his feet. “What the hell do you think you’re doing to my son! You people don’t get it, do you!” Tenzo gasps for air, not being able to speak nor defend himself. “Father! What’s going on?” Kakashi stands there, eyes wide open, not understanding a single detail on why his father just grabbed this stranger he had just met. “Don’t you get understand son! This here is a hunter! His uniform says it all!” Kakashi examines the clothing on Tenzo. He wore a hooded coat long jacket, which almost looked like a trench coat. The coat was unzipped, so around his waist, he had a belt, on it, a pouch meant for the Bowie knife to be kept in place. His shirt seemed to be made out of leather and the same for his pants. Kakashi noticed one thing about him that was different from other hunters he had encountered. Tenzo looked inexperienced. “What if he’s a rookie!? It seemed like he can’t remember much, so I’d make an educated guess that this was his first night on the hunt and ended being attacked! Probably lost his memory too! He didn’t seem to want to attack me.”

“Kakashi we have to take precautions! This can all be an act, he’ll follow us after!”

“Father trust me on this.” Kakashi’s voice was relaxed, and his father listened to him. He released Tenzo for his grip, knocking him to the floor. Gasping for air, he looked at Kakashi. “What the hell is a hunter? And what do y’all have against them?” His vision began to blur as the wound on his forehead began to bleed more after the impact he gained from falling on the ground. Slowly his eyes shut causing his surroundings to disappear and become quiet.

The sound of footsteps and yelling is what wakes Tenzo up. Upon waking, Tenzo burrowed himself into the warm, soft sheets. He rubbed the remainders of sleep from his eyes and gazed out at the horizon; its vivid light extended across a rosy sky. He lifted himself up, and the blanket fell wrinkly onto his lap. Looking around, he was in an exotic room. The walls were painted a porcelain shade and they were covered with indistinguishable paintings. The bed, made of cherry wood, and the window were covered with curtains. The curtains were a thick red velvet that hung in generous folds around the mullioned windows and were lined with thick cotton of deepest plum. However, the room was lit by candles. The small flickering flames were his only source of light, it grew dimmer every moment as the wax melted down to its last.

“For fuck sakes, I’ll go check on him now!” There was a voice outside the room, and Tenzo was confident enough to assume it was Kakashi’s. The door flew opened and Kakashi slowly walked in. He stared at Tenzo and smiled, he tried covering the irritable look he had before he had walked in. “You’re awake!” He walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. Tenzo carefully moved his leg, giving some space for him. “We patched you up, no need to thank us. Actually, thank a girl named Rin. She’ll appreciate it.” Tenzo touches his head and realizes it’s wrapped in bandages.

The candles all finally burn out. “Well, it looks like you slept for quite a long time.”

“How long?” Tenzo asks.

“Almost two days.”

“Two days!”

“Almost.” Kakashi gets closer and touches the bandages from Tenzo’s head. “I think these are squeezing your head a bit, you don’t seem to listen well.”

Tenzo pushes his hand away and pouts. He’s being treated as a child by a man who looks younger than him. “Say, Kakashi is it? How old are you?” Kakashi raises an eyebrow and places his hand to his face into a thinking position. “Well if you’re asking my actual age then I’m beyond four hundred but if you’re asking when I stopped growing, then my mid-twenties. Probably late twenties.”

“Four hundred!”

“Beyond four hundred. You don’t listen do ya?”

“No no, that’s not what I meant. How can you be four hundred yet look so young? And how did I get here? Where are we exactly? Before I blacked out, that man you called father mentioned me being a hunter? What’s that?”

“Calm down there. That’s why I’m here. We’re gonna take you to the others for we can question you and see what you can remember.”

“Remember? Are you saying I lost my memory?”

“Perhaps. You didn’t seem to have remembered your name when I asked you.”

Tenzo falls back onto the pillow causing pain to his head. “Careful!” Kakashi quickly crawls on top making sure Tenzo didn’t hurt himself. “Rin would be so mad if she knew her time and work went to waste.”

Grabbing his arm, Kakashi pulls Tenzo back up. He gets off the bed and heads towards a door which happens to be a closet. “Pick anything from here, and I’ll meet you outside. But please don’t take too long, I don’t need another scolding from father.” He leaves a key on the dresser by the door and before he heads out, he turns and looks at Tenzo. “Also, you later will be needed to pay me back. I won’t tell you exactly what but just keep in mind if it wasn't for me and your amnesia, you would have been mine and my father’s dinner.” He leaves with a smirk and shuts the door behind him. He leaves Tenzo in question, not knowing what he meant by dinner.

#hoetakke-fics #hoeatkke #kakashi #yamato #kakayama #kkyam #kkym #kakashihatake #tenzoyamato #tenzo #yamatotenzo #vampireau #vampire au #vampire hunter #sakumo hatake #modern au #naruto #naruto shippuden #bite me!!! #naruto fic #hatakekakashi #kakashi and yamato

[awed-frog]

"why are angels in suits and archangels in ratty jeans" do you think maybe archangels have something that resembles free will, something regular angels have to struggle a lot to discover within themselves? (yes I read all your tags)

I’m not sure the two things are linked, though? Or linked in that exact way, ie free will automatically leads to freedom to customize your accessories?

Like, if we’re talking clothes, the most striking examples are Michael and Lucifer and how their fashion sense seems to evolve with their vessel.

There could be many reasons for this. Most likely, it’s just a narrative way of showing a clear difference between Dean (or Sam) and their possessed versions, because the fact is, both Lucifer and AU!Michael used to dress in a very similar way to real!Dean and real!Sam, so without the change in clothes, both actors and viewers would have a much harder time telling them apart.

(The interesting exception, of course, is Cas. See below for more speculation.)

As for in-story logic, there are a couple of fashion-related points we can make.

First of all, both in Supernatural and IRL, suits embody a kind of willing submission to your role in society, and what your superiors think and want. While most lines of work have compulsory or traditional ‘uniforms’, suits are not dictated by practical or safety reasons. They simply signal you don’t work with your hands and you get (or hope to get) something of a decent salary. What’s particularly striking about suits is that, on the whole, they’re not really a good choice as ‘standard wear’ for tertiary jobs? Like - for one, most suits just don’t fit the wearer’s body very well. You walk around and you see a lot of people (basically all the women because boobs and curves, but also many men) who just look awkward and cheap. There’s a reason why ‘getting a bespoke suit’, complete with standing on ridiculous tiny podium with four Italian tailors shaking their hands at you is such a popular movie trope and generally shorthand for ‘you’ve made it’, and it’s because off-the-rack suits tend to suck - they fall weirdly on your body, might pull at your joints, and generally look really bad. If you’re Benedict Cumberbatch, you could probably find someting suitable even in Asda, but then again, if you’re Benedict Cumberbatch you’d look good in a sandwich wrapper, so that’s a moot point. And another thing is that suits are incredibly high-maintenance, even if Supernatural pretends otherwise? 

(And that’s another of those ‘black spaces’ we all watch with such rapt attention, by the way, because the boys wearing suits so often implies someone - *coughs* Dean *coughs* - spends a sizable portion of his time buying and looking after those clothes, and probably has a whole room in the Bunker full of fluffy fabric and costumes.)

Anyway - you need to fold them neatly and iron the shit out of them (and ironing shirts, that’s fun) and depending on the fabric every time you fucking move they fucking crease? And finally (I mean, I could go on because I hate them, but you know), finally they’re generally the reflection of an entitled, arrogant society which doesn’t take into account nature or weather. Like, people in suits may look all cool and unruffled inside their fancy AC-ed banks, but try wearing your bespoke woolen monstrosity on the tube, or outside on a summer afternoon, and you’re not likely to come out alive. So where manual workers are mostly forced to wear the same thing year-round to protect themselves from injury (or because their clothes need to be boiled when washed), and other professionals (like teachers) will adapt their wardrobe to seasons and mood, people who’re forced to wear suits truly represent the end of individuality, personality, and choice. 

(Our national bank and our biggest insurance will police everything down to your bra, nail polish and make-up, so while there are people who genuinely enjoy wearing suits - I guess - I’d say for most it’s not really a choice.)

And the sad thing is, we’ve all accepted this as a good & worthy thing: buying your first suit is a sign you’re all grown up, and even if you’re not a corporate slave, you’ll be expected to wear suits at important meetings, weddings and funerals (hell, I know I’ve got a couple in my closet, so I’m not claiming any moral high ground here). What’s even more perverse, and also chimes in with the Supernatural universe, is that true wealth doesn’t give a rat’s ass about suits. As with other stuff, from dead languages to meditation to how well you treat your inferiors, there’s a wide gap between those who think they’re the upper class and the real upper class. This is a detail that often goes unnoticed, both IRL and in fiction, but a show like Billions, for instance, explored it to perfection: most characters will be in suits all the time, because the background is the financial world, but not Axe, our main character, who’ll choose jeans and leather jackets (which probably cost more than your house, and okay, but still: the key is comfort and non-conformity).

(See also: Chuck in his second-hand jacket vs. his archangels preening up and buying stupid stuff as soon as they fall in line.

Or: Chuck wearing whatever the hell he likes while his theoretically more powerful sister is stuffed into luxurious and revealing clothes, complete with pastel nail polish.)

Coming back to Supernatural, this is something of a pattern: normal angels are (almost) always in suits. Cas has a shabby suit hidden by his trademark trench coat - a fashion choice which has many reasons (chief among them, that John Constatine thing) but ends up representing the character’s dilemma and his push towards free will and a different kind of belonging. Both Michael and Lucifer dress shabbily when they’re not following Heaven’s plan, and suit up as soon as they manage to fulfill their expected roles. Raphael, the only archangel to be 100% loyal to the task he was assigned, is always shown in a suit.

(Gabriel, who never fit in, lived and died (twice) in his own personalized wardrobe.)

Something else that’s a headcanon of mine is that angels, generally speaking, don’t give a damn about human stuff because they’re not equipped to understand it. Like, Crowley is susceptible to the joys of a well-cut suit, and also painfully aware of its meaning (as an illiterate, illegimate child of a socially rejected mother, belonging and riches is what he dreamed about, and it’s not a surprise he chose to be apprenticed to a tailor); then again, he’s a demon, not an angel, which means he’s got a deep layer of tortured humanity informing his thoughts and his decisions. On the other hand, what does a suit mean to someone like Lucifer, who’s older than balls, considers humans to be a mistake and the scum of the Earth and is used to see their fashion sense change dramatically every few seconds (to an immortal, fifty years must look like one or two minutes)? No - to Lucifer, and Michael, and possibly Gabriel, the main problem is that they’re not in their rightful vessels; and, as we’ve seen very clearly in Lucifer’s case, the consequences can be irritating and very, very dramatic. So it makes sense, in a way, that they’d focus on keeping their vessels’ skin in one piece without bothering with anything else? Like, Nick!Lucifer changing into a nice Armani would be like a guy being rushed to the ER for organ failure insisting on silver cufflinks on his hospital gown.

(That’s also why, I think, Lucifer never bothered to change anything about Cas’ appearance when he was possessing Cas? It was a way of 1) cutting down his workload, 2) annoying the hell out of Sam and Dean and tricking them for as long as possible and 3) refusing to claim ownership of a vessel Lucifer probably considered dirty and beneath him.)

As a final thought, I always had a problem with that whole ‘angels have no free will’ thing, because the show & tell on that one never matched all that well. I mean: the only angel whose journey we truly witnessed was Cas, and even with Cas, it’s stated outright he always had plenty of free will and a boatload of feelings and opinions - to the point where he had to be reprogrammed several times. Mostly other low-level angel we’ve seen, though, have displayed a remarkable sense of self and very disinct preferences: from Balthazar who did his own thing to hippy!angels who wanted to camp by a river, to Ishim who went against orders to get laid, to Gadreel who took an awful lot of independent decisions, to his subtextual husband/textual parabatai who’d chosen a suburban human life, all the way to Naomi (the highest in hierarchy) and to that cute angel in glasses (the lowest of the low, and rip). So while the ‘tell’ part of this story was always more or less consistent (‘angels can’t understand emotions, can’t make their own choices, Cas is the lone exception’), the ‘show’ part mostly fell short of that message: with the exception of the suit as shorthand for brainlessness and obedience, angels never acted like the brainwashed robots they were supposed to be. In fact, you could even argue that the only two angels who’re pig-headedly determined to follow the path Chuck traced for them are, ironically enough, Michael and Lucifer.

#ask #spn meta #spn angels #archangels #spn and class #michael and lucifer #thanks for reading my tags! #i tend to have a lot of fun with them :)