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pythagoreanwhump · 3 years

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Eyes Closed, By My Side

AO3 link

After helping Anastasia vivisect a rebel spy, Kai has to make sure they survive the resulting infection long enough to confess. They didn't want to think about any other reason they were being so gentle, not when their head was still cloudy with emotions they weren't ready to face yet.

Thank you to @sopwithwhump for helping me with the idea and making it happen!

CW: Aftermath of torture (vivisection, but not explicitly mentioned), intimate whumper, dissociation (again not explicitly mentioned), very very brief (like half a sentence) mention of compulsive handwashing and what could be read as denial of that

Kai wasn’t one to startle easily, something to be expected given the nature of their job, unless there was something on their mind that bothered them deeply. Today wasn’t the type of day where they would admit to themself what they were thinking about when the phone rang, though.

They were rarely phoned for anything important, most of their superiors opting to use a pager in case Anastasia had them out of the office, but it would be undisciplined for them to not answer the phone immediately. The voice on the other end was one that they have heard before, but not familiar enough to recognize over a call.

“Lieutenant Waykes?” They heard the voice ask. They must’ve mumbled something in affirmation, though they couldn’t quite realize what they said. The voice continued. “The prisoner needs surgery. We just need a confirmation that you want them alive.”

This time, they distinctly heard themself say yes, but they didn’t think they knew what it was supposed to be about. They found themself pacing to the door of their office, an open file still clutched in their hand, before they stopped themself from rushing out without even knowing where they wanted to go. They set the file down, pressing with their thumb and smoothing out the corner where their grip had left a crease, and anxiously adjusted the position of everything on their desk, and then their uniform, before heading toward the med wing.

The place was empty, a large room set aside for prisoners with a couple of cots along the back wall next to windows covered with grey curtains. A small desk sat in the corner with a locked shelf next to it, and inside sat a few bottles with their labels obscured with the thick plastic screens of the doors. Certainly, it would be better for a prisoner to be brought here for help than to be in the cells being tortured everyday, but the place was no less gloomy. Swallowing thickly, they tried the door that they knew connected this room to the main medical office. It didn’t budge, and it was clear from the uniformly dull copper knob that it hadn’t been touched in a long while, but there was a tint of dark red hidden behind it, and a splotch on the old yellow paint of the door that looked faintly orange, brown even.

They left through the front door again, pulling it shut behind them, and somehow it felt like the hallway had brightened up as they did. The outside of it was painted a shade of green only slightly lighter than the walls, and with a few more steps down the hall, it was easy to forget the room even existed. The next room had double doors, propped open with two battered pieces of triangular wood, and the sunlight spilled through the tall windows, but the lights were still on overhead, buzzing with their harsh white glow.

“Can I help you?” The nurse sitting by the door barely looked up only to glance at the small silver bar on their shoulder. Kai stared back, scanning over the table and the pile of papers, more organized than their own desk ever had been even on their first day, and the nurse’s neat uniform, an ironed crease down the middle of the red cross printed on a clean white armband sitting right below the sewn-on double chevrons of his rank.

“Hm?” Kai responded, hoping they hadn’t zoned out long enough for it to be weird. “Right. I’m looking for a prisoner I sent over there yesterday.” They gestured toward the other room, and there was a shelf where they remembered the door being. “There’s no one there.”

“They’re in surgery,” The nurse replied. “It’s all hands on deck over there. There’s not much staff assigned to prisoners in the first place. It’ll take a few hours.”

Kai thanked him with a nod, asking him to tell the others to give them a call when it was done, and walked out, making the trip back to their office. They hoped no one would stop them and assign them some other task, walking close to the walls with their eyes down, their finger skimming against the rough chalky paint as they moved, feeling the friction that soon turned from grounding into numbness.

They sat in front of their desk and picked up the same file as before, laying it in the center of their desk so the spine aligned with the knob on the drawer right in the middle. The crease from their grip before was still there, sharper on the left than the right, and they smoothed it out with the side of their left wrist while they picked up their pen with their right hand.

The same grey walls that they had usually felt secure within suddenly felt too close, too tight, and they knew they needed a change of scenery. They would never admit how often they felt like this in their officer after they came back from the cells, how the walls were painted the same color and how they could very well end up in the other type of room with a single misstep. They found themself thinking that they would prefer even the gloom of a storage room that had been converted to heal only to prolong suffering.

They tucked a stack of files under their arm and once again walked to the med wing, opening the door to find the room as empty as before. They found a chair by the window, setting their stuff down on it and reaching to draw open the curtains. They expected to find dust floating in the rays of light that spilled in, but there was nothing. They didn’t know if they should be glad that the place was at least clean or hate it for how dead it seemed. They spread their things out on the windowsill, trying to ignore now the peeling paint making crinkling noises as they wrote. Leaning against the side of the window and pushing their work into the sunlight to see better, they almost felt like a young student posing for an aesthetic photo of themself studying.

The thought occurred to them that they still had no idea where the operating rooms were when they heard a bed being wheeled down the hallway toward them. It can’t be far, but they never bothered to look for them. They had little time to wonder, anyway, the doctor seeing them in the room and directing the others to push the bed right to them, rolling the rebel, still unconscious, onto the closest cot.

“Here,” She tossed them a pair of cuffs, grabbing the rebel’s hand on her side and attaching it to the railing of the bed. “Get them cuffed up. They’ll be waking soon. And close the curtains. They always try to look out and plan to escape if they can see through the windows. Every one of them.”

“This one definitely would,” Kai looked down at the rebel who looked defiant even while unconscious. “I’m sorry for the trouble, ma’am. Captain Kolettis didn’t tell me it would be this bad.”

The doctor sighed, stepping aside to let a nurse put in a new IV. “You know, we don’t usually expend so many resources for prisoners. We had to pull staff from the normal care team today. I’m a doctor, and I will save their lives when I need to, but they don’t deserve to take up medicine and manpower that are meant for our own soldiers. This one lost their right to it when they decided to betray us. Next time you want someone alive, make some effort yourself instead of dumping all the work on us.”

“Captain Kolettis doesn’t care about what Captain Ridley would do if she killed the rebel, but I would prefer not to cross her after she made me promise I would get a confession from her prisoner.” Kai moved away from the bed, following the doctor to her desk. “I’ll get them out of your hair as soon as they’re good to go back to a cell.”

The doctor looked at them in silence, wariness showing on her face. “They’ll have to be here for a while. If you want a confession from them, you’re gonna have to wait. They’ll be too delirious to say anything for a day or two.”

Kai hummed, rushing back to the prisoner’s bedside when they heard the cuffs clanging against the railings of the bed as they started waking up. “Do you want me around or would I just get in your way?” It seemed like in the movies, people always tried to rip their IV out as they were half-aware, waking up in a hospital, but the rebel just struggled, the edge of the cuffs digging into their wrists.

“Sure,” She scribbled something at the bottom of a document that looked too messy to be a signature, even for a doctor’s handwriting. She pushed it under a clip and snapped it closed, looking around as if looking for something. “I’ll leave one nurse here, then, so it doesn’t get too crowded. Do whatever you want. I don’t care, as long as you don’t damage them up too much and then need me to fix it again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Kai muttered, not looking up at her as she left the room. They cupped the struggling rebel’s face, pressing them down into the bed and whispered against their forehead. “Hey. I know you can’t really understand me right now, but you know I don’t like so much struggling.” They weren’t able to tell before from the fleeting touches on their wrist, but now that they were close, they could feel how hot their skin burned. “I’ll have to punish you later if you keep struggling like this, okay?”

Kai didn’t know if it were the threat or the cool touch of their hand on the rebel’s forehead, although they doubted either would be really effective. They stilled, arms falling limp, but they jerked their head to the side, trying to escape Kai’s touch. They mumbled something, but Kai shushed them, thumb brushing over their lips as they leaned in to whisper another threat in their ear. “It’s okay, you’re alright,” Kai said when they’ve quieted again. “They just had to do surgery to clean you up so you wouldn’t die on me. Anastasia should’ve been more careful with you, you’re too beautiful to be killed like that.”

“No Kai please-” The word “surgery” seemed to have sent them into a frenzy. They arched off the bed, then collapsed down and tried to turn onto their side and curl up. Kai grabbed their shoulders and shoved the point of an elbow into their chest to force them down. Their eyes were open, but they were more feral than clear. “You can’t, please, don’t let them cut me open again, Kai.”

That seemed to take all the strength they had in them in their current state. Their eyes slipped closed and their shoulders trembled with quiet almost-sobs, but there was nothing left in them to struggle anymore. Kai ran their hand through their sweat-soaked hair, picking away the tangles. A whimper escaped their tightly pressed-together lips when Kai placed the back of their hand on their forehead, but soon their both hands were warm and the rebel was still burning hot.

“Private,” Kai waved at the nurse where he sat, probably just catching up on paperwork like everyone else. “Is there something I could use to cool them down a bit? I might as well while I’m here.”

“Yes sir. You probably should if you want them to recover fast so you can ask them questions.” They pointed to the sink. “Would you be alright grabbing it yourself? There’s rags in the top cabinet, and get one wet with cold water.”

“Thank you, private,” They nodded, and they didn’t remember themself getting up and walking over, just that the next moment they had the rough fabric in their hands, held under the running water. They stayed there for much longer than they had to, feeling their fingertips go numb under the cold water. They knew people maladapted to this job for whom washing their hands all the time was the only way to chase away the feeling of invisible blood forever sticking to their hands, but for them it was simply easier to let go of their thoughts while they felt the flowing water take it away from them. They glanced at the nurse again, but he paid them no mind, hopefully not nothing how long they stood by the sink.

They wrung out the cloth and used it to wipe their hands, folding it into a neat rectangle and laying it on the rebel’s forehead. They mumbled something incoherent and Kai hummed as if agreeing, taking hold of the rebel’s hand with their own, rubbing their cold fingers into their palm. “Does that feel better? Just relax and sleep now, you won’t be hurting so much when you wake up.”

“Promise?” Their eyelids cracked open a bit, but Kai doubted they could see the reassuring smile they flashed them. “I don’t… wanna hurt anymore…”

“Mhmm,” Kai nodded, squeezing their hand and feeling them squeeze back gently. They couldn’t promise them no more pain, but at least nothing would be as bad as what Anastasia had done. What they had helped to do. Flipping over the wet cloth, they muttered a quiet apology, but the rebel was already unconscious again. They bore witness to their suffering, and now they will stay by their side in their vulnerability. It wasn’t much, but at least they could convince themself they did what they could.

#whump writing #my writing #sickfic #caretaking #can't believe I'm doing this lmao #OC: Kai #fevers #infection #uh yeah idk go find my shitposting about it in the ao3 notes #it's actually a really nice one #Kai is not really having a good time but like #they're not the one getting vivisected so they can't really complain

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forlornmelody · 3 years

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Impulse Control--Why Startling Poison Ivy Is A Really Bad Idea

Rating: E (Smut with some plot, for flavor.)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Poison Ivy/Kate Kane

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: To find Harley, Ivy must make an uneasy alliance with one of the more notorious (and notoriously attractive) members of the Batfamily. A simple, easy in-and-out. But nothing is so simple or easy, is it?

Note: Commission for @rookie009. Dude, thank you so much for commissioning me again. And indulging this weirdness.

->->->

Pam-a-lamb,

I’m doing bad stuff but don’t worry ‘bout it.

--Harley xoxo

“It’s completely unlike her, right?”

Jason leans against the doorway, one boot braced against it and the other flat on the floor. He holds Harley’s unfolded note in his gloved hands, narrowing his eyes at it as if the answer lies in the creases. “You know her better. What’s your gut telling you?”

“She--” Ivy sighs, rubbing circles between her eyebrows--a futile gesture against her impending headache. “--She doesn’t leave notes. Harley just goes . Maybe she texts me while she’s out somewhere because the color of someone’s jacket made her think of me.” Waving her hand at the note, Ivy meets Jason’s eyes. “This…”

“...is planned.” Jason rotates the note, flipping it forward and back. “You sure it’s her handwriting?"

Honestly, Ivy doesn’t know what to think. “It...doesn’t look any different.” She coughs. “It smells like her.” Like buttered popcorn and Chinese food. Remembering cuts right into her sternum.

Jason puts a gloved hand over hers. He’s the only Robin who ever dared to touch her. “You’ll get her back. I know you will.”

She watches him step back towards the door. “Not we?”

“Sorry, Red. I can’t help you.” Jason shifts on his feet. To be honest, Ivy kind of expected this. She can still see the scar running down the side of his face, where a crowbar had bashed his head in, and where a coroner had sewn it back shut. Funny how the Lazarus Pit didn’t remove it when it brought him back. “The Outlaws and I have work in Markovia.” Ivy’s teeth grind together at the blatant lie, but before she can speak, he continues, “But if it’s a gun you need, I’m not the only one in the Batfamily who can handle them.”

“Who--?”

“Don’t worry. She’ll find you.”

He shuts the door behind him so softly Ivy almost doesn’t hear it. The gears in her mind clicking into place drown it out.

You better be joking, Kid.

-----

Jason was not kidding. Ivy enters her greenhouse lab, and finds Batwoman herself leaning against a drosera glanduligera . “I’d give Frankie some space if I were you. He finds unannounced guests quite delicious and full of nutrients.”

Batwoman quickly puts distance between them. Frankie’s tentacles sag with betrayal. “Red Hood told me you needed a favor?” Her crimson-stained lips wrinkle with distaste.

“Harley’s missing. Jason Todd told me you’d help.” It’s an exaggeration of his promise, but Ivy isn’t leaving anything to chance.

It’s hard to tell with the cowl, but Ivy swears Batwoman’s eyes widen just a little before narrowing into slits. “That depends. Am I aiding you in a crime?”

Ivy turns around, pretending to ignore her as she prunes a mutated rosa gymnocarpa, one that will fire its thorns at will. She’s thinking of naming it Lucy. “Depends on what you consider a crime.” Before Batwoman can answer, Ivy continues. “Is hacking government systems a crime? Is kidnapping?”

Batwoman steps next to her, and nearly fingers the rose petals, but thinks better of it. “You think government agents took her somewhere?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. But I want to find her before someone worse does.”

Ivy’s desk seems like a safe enough place, and Batwoman perches there. “You’re not worried I’m going to turn you in?”

That gets a chuckle out of her. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”

The suggestion rolls off of her like rain on a window pane. “Oh, like Batman hasn’t turned you in several times before?”

Ivy licks her lips. “Only when I wanted him to.”

The vigilante rolls her eyes. “Look. I owe J--Red Hood a favor. So I’ll look into it and--”

“No. I’m coming with you.”

“Why?”

“I have to make sure you’re not giving me bad intel.” Before Batwoman can protest, Ivy continues. “You don’t want to disappoint Jason, do you?”

Is it Batwoman muffling her grumble, or is it her mask?

“This can’t be the Batcave.”

“It’s not. It’s a safehouse. One I will be relocating after this.”

Ivy snorts, eyeing a piece of ancient weaponry, a Roman shield by the looks of it. It seems neither of them trusts the other. She’s fine with that. Not once has Ivy ever appreciated having someone depend on her. Well. There’s always an exception, isn’t there? But that exception is off doing fuck-knows-what, and Ivy’s relying on a godamn hero to help find her. “Nice place,” she murmurs.

“Don’t touch anything.” Batwoman says quickly, sitting down at her desk, bracing her chin on her elbows in front of her keyboard. It’s so... candid of her that Ivy catches herself staring. Apparently even superheroes let their shoulders roll forward sometimes. Ivy wonders what Batwoman looks like when she finally removes her cowl for the night. The red hair most definitely is a wig--real hair would never hold curls like that. Her hair is short underneath--putting it up would take too much time when an old lady needs help crossing the street. But other than the fullness of her red lips--Ivy has no idea who the woman is underneath. It’s going to drive her crazy--just like it did with her male counterpart. “CIA says she’s been “acquired for a black ops mission out of Bell Reve. But anything beyond that we’ll have to access on si--Are you even listening?”

Ivy shakes it off, pretending to examine her nails. “And why can’t I touch anything if you’re moving?” She’s trying to remember why Bell Reve sounds so familiar.

“I would like to keep some of it. I like the way it looks. And I don’t want your pheromones on everything.”

Then it clicks. “ Beautiful View. Is that another prison?”

Batwoman presses her lips together, then nods. “Blacksite.”

Fire roils in Ivy’s veins. “Of fucking course it is.” No accountability. No oversight. Whoever kidnapped Harley can do fuck-all with her and get away with it. And Ivy (and Batwoman) have barely scratched the surface.

“Doctor Isley?” Batwoman says, her voice rising and tense.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? The vines in my spider plant look about ready to strangle me.”

Ivy glances over at the chlorophytum comosum, whose children are quickly inching towards Batwoman and her slender neck. “She says you’re smothering her and her babies with the constant watering. And she prefers the name Billie.” Waving her hand, Ivy watches as the spider plants retreat back towards their home, leaving their caretaker well alive, for now.

------

The “site” is a nondescript cubicle-laced hell in the basement of a social security office. Neither of them can go through the front door--well, Batwoman could if she’d take off her goddamn cowl, but that isn’t happening any time soon. So they pop open a basement window while the mailroom workers are on their lunch. They meander through the maze of modular walls and humming towers, dodging the occasional wayward paper crumble. “Our info should be in that corner office.”

It doesn’t look like much, just an otherwise empty desk with a computer that has dust gathering on its keyboard. The room lacks widows, and Ivy wrinkles her nose at the musty air. It could use a sathiphyullum or two to freshen up. Batwoman leans over the desk, firing up the computer and clacking at the keys. “Almost there….”

Ivy smells them before she hears them--donuts, coffee, and the musk of unwashed skin. Security. “Bats---”

Batwoman doesn’t even deign to look up. “Keep ‘em busy.”

“Poison Ivy?” The first guard fumbles to keep his walkie-talkie in his hands.

“Good afternoon,” she says neutrally. Batwoman gives her a steel look. “Work here often?”

His mouth hangs open, his thumb still glued to the talk button. He means to ask what she’s doing here, but all that comes out is: “Are you seeing anyone?”

Ivy snorts. “Maybe if you set that radio down, Casanova.”

As soon as he complies, the radio hisses with static. “Sending backup, over.”

“Ivy!” Bats hisses, glancing over at her.

She scoffs, listening for the tell-tale thunder of boots down the hall. “You know, this would be a lot easier if you weren’t hung up about property damage.”

“No one can know we’re here, Ivy.”

For the love of pete. Her heart already races out of control, and fuck if Ivy can slow it down now. Harley’s calming techniques be damned. “Well, you’re not going to like this either.”

“Like what?” Bats says flatly, in the middle of a download.

“You’ve only two other options, Batsy.”

“Enough with the nicknames, already.”

The backup pours into the room, and the room flashes white, and Ivy swears her eardrums explode with the noise. Her body reacts before her brain can, and the air’s filled with a dusty haze. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Sex or murder?” Ivy calls out over the coughing militarized guards. Who the fuck guards a building with a SWAT team? Harley, what have you got yourself into this time?

“What?” Batwoman yells back, coughing too.

“SEX OR MURDER???”

“...Sex, I guess?”

Ivy holds up her hands, seeing half a dozen sights aimed at her chest. “It’s gonna be sex with me. You okay with that?”

Batwoman doesn’t look up, but she does stop typing. “Is this hypothetical or…?”

“Not anymore it isn’t.”

“Are you going to kill me otherwise?”

Ivy pinches her nose. “ NO. For crying out loud. But we don’t have time to get arrested.”

“HANDS ON THE GROUND.” Ivy and Bats comply. What else are they going to do while they hash this out?

The vigilante rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“ Yes, Ivy. But only if it’s not around these idiots.”

“If you insist.” Ivy waves her hand as subtly as she can, letting the pheromones escape her skin like a fine mist.

“Uh, boss?” One of the sights drops to her hand. Shit.

Five more join the first. “Hey! None of that. ”Pigs never were known for their subtlety.

Ivy plasters on her most repentant expression. “Too late.” And she’s not lying. She can already see the green mist being pulled into the HVAC system. Which is another problem, but one she’s not going to worry about just yet.

“Plant Lady! Get that shit out of the air!”

One.

“No can do. Sorry.” Not sorry. Not one bit.

Two.

“I mean it, Lady. Or I’ll shoot!”

Three.

“ Lady, I swear I’ll--”

One piggy turns to the other. “Hey, Frankie?”

“Not now, Mitch.”

“There’s something I gotta tell you, Frankie.” Mitch takes his hand, fingering the clasps on the other man’s armor.

“Mitch? What hell-- mm. ”

Batwoman holds her flash drive in her hands, stunned by the site of an entire SWAT team playing tonsil hockey with one another. Ivy grabs her by the cape. “That’s our cue!” And she drags her to a cubicle by the stairs.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just left ?”

“‘Fraid not. Unless you packed an antidote to my new toxin with you.”

“Actually.” Batwoman fishes around in her utility belt. “Shit.” She turns on her, jabbing a finger in her face. “You were supposed to be on your best behavior.”

Ivy folds her arms, leaning against the cubicle wall. “Wasn’t expecting them to send the SWAT after us.”

Batwoman takes a deep breath. “So, how does this work, exactly?”

Licking her lips, Ivy answers. “There’s an antidote in my saliva, but it’s the most potent after I’ve had an orgasm.”

“Then why does it have to be sex?” Bat’s candor is refreshing, if not unexpected. “Why not jill yourself off and get it over with?”

“It’s not so simple,” Ivy chuckles. “My DNA is too dissimilar to yours--”

“But if you have my DNA, aka my saliva , with it--”

“An effective antidote.”

“An effective antidote that won’t cause you serious side effects.” She steps towards Bats, holding out her hand. “Any other questions before we start?”

Batwoman quirks her head at Ivy’s clinical tone. “Will Harley be okay with this?”

Ah. There’s the question of the day. Ivy closes her hand, examining her nails as she shrugs. “She’ll be alive . And free.”

Black gloved hands take her bare ones in their own, squeezing them gently. “You love her, don’t you.”

Ivy swallows, feeling as if the ground is moving beneath her boots. “I’d--” do anything for her , she means to say, and give Batwoman the vantage over her.

Batwoman seals her mouth over hers, muffling her reply. And to think this woman had the more ruthless reputation over her male counterpart. Her slips are soft and full, and the gloss slides between them and tastes like dark cherry. Intoxicating. Ivy dares to dart her tongue between them, and taste that poison just that much more.

Her pheromones work quickly as they enter Batwoman’s system. Her professional silence slips into wanton moans, and her hands work into the top of Ivy’s bust. She shivers, leaning into her touch, whispering encouragement. “Go ahead. Touch me everywhere you’d like.”

Nearby, an officer lets out a guttural cry, “Please, baby. Gimme more.”

That pulls Batwoman’s attention away, and Ivy drags it back with the drag of her nails across the material of her uniform. “Shh. Don’t mind them. They can’t even hear us over the sound of their own sex.”

Batwoman’s voice is husky as she pulls the top of Ivy’s corset down. “You sure?”

“Mmhm. Happens all the time.” Batwoman laughs at that, and moans as Ivy’s hands dally around her utility belt. “Now, aren’t these things booby trapped?”

Nodding, Batwoman whispers. “Security disengage: Code Sappho.” The utility belt snaps open falling into her hands.

Ivy laughs. “Oh my god .”

“Laugh all you want. I’m changing it as soon as this is over.”

Setting the belt aside, Ivy runs a finger down to Batwoman’s crotch. She drinks in the hiss from her lips, adding more pressure and more fingers, drawing heat between her legs and hopefully a little wetness. “You like that, don’t you.”

“Nn, fuck.” Batwoman leans into her touch. She’s a goner.

Ivy loves this part of the game, taking the most stubborn partner and watering their desire until it breaks them apart like tree roots in a sidewalk. It’s different from when she makes love to Harley. This is less like romance and more like chess. How many moves until she queens her king? “That’s it. Tell me what feels good.”

Batwoman’s knees go weak, and Ivy shoves her into a rolling chair. She presses the heel of her hand into her groin. “Oh g-- . Mm.” Gasping, Bats grabs Ivy's hand and shoves it into her own pants.

“Mm, demanding, aren’t you?” Ivy bites her ear lobe. “I like that.”

“Just get it o --oh. ” Bats leans into Ivy’s skillful touch, and she plays her like a violin, basking in the melody ringing from her lips. But Batwoman would never let a bad girl win, now would she?

Teeth graze Ivy’s neck, and the gasp slips from her mouth faster she can stop it.

“Oh fuck. Fuck yes. Right there.” It no longer registers which goon is saying what. They could all be chanting in unison for all Ivy knows. And she doesn’t care.

Batwoman licks the red line she’s created, and she squeezes Ivy’s breast through her uniform, just on the edge of too hard . She knows exactly what she’s doing. Check . Ivy catches her mouth, tasting her, drawing quick, tight circles around her clit. Just as Bats quakes in her arms, Ivy pulls back. “Oh come on, ” she groans.

“You get tied up a lot , don’t you?” Ivy glances at the zamioculus zamifolia, potted at the opposite desk corner. “You must enjoy it, then.” Batsy’s eyes widen as the vines stretch towards her. “Why else would you keep going to work?”

“It’s annoying as fuck--” The vines halt their progress, and shudder, and the Bat licks her lips. “--On the job.”

“That’s more like it.” The vines curl and twist around Bat’s wrists, binding her to the chair. Two more bind the chair, albeit loosely, to the desk. Let her move her hips, without letting her roll away. Once she’s in place, Ivy sways her hips, slowly undoing the zipper in her one piece suit. She lets it slide down her skin, and Ivy presses her bare breasts into Bat’s face, and just for a moment her mark closes her eyes, breathing her in.

Ivy frowns. This won’t do. This won’t do at all. She whisks the vines away, and Batwoman stares at her. Pulling back again, Ivy kicks her suit past her ankles, and tosses the keyboard aside. She sits on the desk with her legs spread wide. “I’m gonna need you to bed over, darling.”

“I’m not your darling.” Bats turns her chair around, leaning down, and breathing in Ivy’s musk. She barely remembers to tie her up again.

It occurs to Ivy that she hasn’t let anyone other than Harley get this close in a very long time. Usually Ivy leaves her marks to die after they get her pheromones in their system. There was that one time with Selina when one of their capers went sideways. While Ivy swore up and down, Catwoman pulled her goggles away from her eyes and kissed her full on the mouth. And things escalated from there. But that was before Harley.

Batwoman takes her sweet time tasting her, and Ivy finds herself gripping the desk with white knuckles. No. She won’t let her know how nice this feels-- oh. Oh God. “ Fuck.”

And then Batwoman pulls back. “Has Harley been gone that long?”....Did she say that last part out loud?

“Fuck you.”

Tilting her head to the side, Batwoman asks, “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

Oh, but Ivy wants to wipe that coy smile off that face and replace it with her pleas for mercy. “Almost. Do you prefer to be teased or penetrated?” Ivy leans forward with her breasts pressed together, her words clinical and her grin anything but.

Bats dares to look her over, drinking the sheen on her skin. Her mouth never quite closes. She licks her lips, almost panting as she asks. “Must I choose?”

Ivy takes Bat’s chin in her hands. “Greedy, aren’t you?”

Whatever Bat’s snarky reply is, it’s lost in Ivy’s mouth as she claims her once more. This time neither of them hold back, devouring each other sloppily and noisily. Ivy trails kisses down Bat’s neck, and she summons another vine. The tiniest, softest leaf brushes across Bat’s clit. Batwoman cries out sharply, straining against her bonds.

“Ready?” Ivy pulls the vine back, examining the wetness dripping down its stalk. Oh, she’s ready all right. But Ivy wants to hear her say it.

“Ivy .”

Digging her fingers into Bat’s chin, Ivy nearly growls. “ Beg for it. ” The vine teases her clit faster, not harder, never quite getting her where she wants it. No, needs it.

Goosebumps run down Batwoman’s arms. “ Please.”

How fortunate that one of the cubicle dwellers has taken to growing a ficus ginseng microcarpa as a bonsai tree. Ivy draws out one of the aerial roots, sculpting it into the right shape. She slides a condom on it, safety first, of course, and lets the plant do the rest. It enters Bats slowly, slowly filling her up. Her eyes bulge as it pulls back, and pushes back in. No sound spills from her mouth, but her hips shift, thrusting with the plant as it fucks her.

Fuck, but Ivy’s mouth is dry. Her thighs twitch, rubbing together hungrily as she watches. She wants to touch herself so bad but she won’t give Batwoman that satisfaction. She won’t. She...

Batwoman’s face twists, and her mouth pinches shut. Her back arches and the chair squeaks across the floor. The groan rasps out of her mouth as her jaw drops into the perfect Oh.

“Not bad.” Ivy picks some lint off of her arm, releasing Batwoman from her bonds. “The antidote should be working now. Thank you for the view --”

The vigilante charges forward, gripping Ivy’s arms and pressing her back into the desk. Ivy watches the monitor crash to the floor. “I’m not done yet.” Batwoman’s signature lipstick has smeared across her chin in a very un-Batlike fashion. Her gloved fingers poke at Ivy’s clit, and she hisses. “Still sensitive, aren’t we? Still unsatisfied?” Her voice drops low and teasing, and fuck, Ivy won’t tell her to fuck off now .

Those same fingers that cast batarangs and grip grappling hooks dig into her, twisting and pulling. A chorus of cries ring out in harmony with her own, as Ivy lifts her hips off the desk, thrusting into Batwoman’s touch. “Yes. Yes.” Bats grins into Ivy’s mouth, drawing out her moans. Harley would do the same thing, but Ivy doesn’t want to think about her right now. She doesn’t want to think about anything at this moment. She draws up a vine, letting it coat itself in its own juices. Nice and easy , she tells herself, pulling away from Batwoman so she can look her in the eyes.

The vine slithers between her butt cheeks, small end first. Batwoman raises her eyebrows, but she doesn’t stop her delicious torment. In fact, she licks her lips a little. “Ah, fuck. Fuck. ” Her hand works in tandem with Ivy’s vines, pushing and pulling her hips back and forth like a rubber band. She chuckles into Ivy’s mouth, claiming it again, tasting it again. Only chuckling louder as Ivy begs and begs for release. Batmwoman clenches Ivy’s hip with her free hand, digging in her fingers so she feels that much more used . And fuck her, Ivy loves it.

If the pigs nearby are still fucking, Ivy can’t hear them.

She doesn’t even hear herself moaning into Batwoman’s ear. She only hears the slick as she’s fucked from both sides. And oh , the fullness of both . Ivy grips Batwoman’s shoulders to keep from shaking apart, and she bites the skin of her neck as she explodes with the heat of the sun.

Ivy stretches as the vine and Batwoman pull back, and she hums with satisfaction. Batwoman watches her with molten eyes. “Should we go agai--”

Ding! The computer chimes nearby.

Ivy sits up quickly, shaking off the last vestiges of her afterglow, slinking her one piece on and zipping it up the back. The zipper gets stuck, and before she can weigh the pros and cons of asking , gloved fingers finish the job for her. “Transfer’s done.”

“Finally.” Ivy grabs her boots, marching to the office barefoot.

Batwoman clicks a few keys, and whistles . “Mission’s already done. She’s at Metropolis General.”

“She’s hurt !?” A branch snaps in a horrid crack behind them.

“She was, but she’s being discharged today. Better hurry.”

Batwoman doesn’t need to tell her twice.

Ivy pauses to don her boots in the hallway. Nearby she hears the sound of a half-a-dozen special response officers zipping up their flies. “Ah, fuck. I lost a button. Anyone see the button to my uniform?”

“Fuck off. At least you’re not missing a contact lens.”

“Hey! Who stole my gun?”

“Ah shit. Mine too.”

Leaving them behind, Ivy chuckles. The green always knows how to take good care of her. Soon she’ll return the favor.

------

Room 23. The hospital stretches on in an endless maze. Ivy forces herself not to run, to carry her empty clipboard like she’s a doctor making her rounds. Just act like she belongs there and no one will notice. So far so--

Ivy’s heart soars when she spots the room number.

“Harley!”

Harley shoots up in bed, swaying a little, but her shit eating grin tells Ivy everything will be okay. “Pretty girl!”

Ivy sits on the bed, planting a shy kiss on Harley’s lips. “I need to tell you something.” She explains the events of the past 24 hours, and Harley’s eyes go wide. Twisting her hands, Ivy waits an eternity for Harley to reply.

“Was she good? Do you think she’d be down for a threesome?”

“Harley!”

#dc comics #poison ivy #batwoman #jason todd #poison ivy x batwoman #finished this a few weeks ago #but was dealing with a breakup #sorry about the delay #melody writes #thank you asshat anon bot for reminding me to post more content you hate :P #lemon

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty-Five, “The Associate”

*NEW* Check out the new character survey I filled out from Becky’s POV here!

*NEW* Take a look at the new character survey I filled out from Harry’s POV here!

All chapters can be found here!

Inspo tag can be found here!

Spotify playlist *new* can be listened to here!

P.S. - Hi! Thanks so much for reading! I wanted to let you know I go back to work this week after months of being off due to COVID. I’m ahead on chapters right now by like 1-2, luckily, and I’ve been loooooving writing again for the last couple of months. I hope to find time after work and on weekends to still write. If I happen to not be able to post a chapter every week still, I’ll let you know and it may just be less frequent is all :-) Just an FYI. Also, this is my new favorite chapter of this story I’m SO excited for what’s happening!!!!!!

SNEAKYYYYYYYY PEEK

“Harry,” I mumble aloud, words and thoughts racing around in my head. They steal the words from my mouth, and the moisture from my throat. Exhaling slowly, my fingers wrap around the bigger box, a long rectangular shape. It’s heavy in my hands, and the paper is smooth, the flower shapes embossed into it. Brushing a tear away from the tip of my nose, I set it down on my lap, fingering the edge of paper on the side. I wonder if Harry wrapped these, and if he did, he didn’t do too shabby of a job, I wonder silently. A shock of dark purple catches my eye, and I see the card lying at the bottom of the box, but I ignore it for now. You’re last, because I know you’ll make me cry the most, I tell it. The paper rips quickly between my fingers, but keeps its secret hidden until I tear the paper again, in one long sweep.

Song Inspo: Be Kind by Halsey x Marshmello (click to listen)

PART 3: THE ASSOCIATE

“But if these years have taught me anything it is this: you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out, is in.”

— Junot Diaz

The floor to ceiling windows leave much to the imagination as I stroll past their clouded glass, sure of the fat snowflakes falling behind them. Bringing the mug to my lips, I’m warmed when the coffee passes them. My rings make clinking noises against the yellow ceramic as my shoes pound on the tiling. Looking up, I hurry past the shining doors that begin to close. Exhaling, I press a finger to the number of the floor I seek, adjusting the strap of the bag across my chest.

“Oh hey,” I mumble once my eyes scan the company I keep on the lift. They hardly nod their head at me as they scroll through pages on their phone. “So um . . I reckon she’s graduated by now, an’ has tha Bar exam comin’ up. Has she mentioned how it went if she’s taken it already?” I inquire excitedly, leaning against the railing and subsequently crossing my legs out in front of me.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Asher retorts, not even lifting his head to look at me.

“Ashe,-” I begin, but he doesn’t let me get any further with my sentence, finally forgetting his phone.

“I’m done being your little messenger bird, Harry. I was done with it months ago, I don’t know why you couldn’t take a hint when I stopped talking to you last summer,” he spits, malice laced amongst his words. I try to step into his sentence, much like he did to mine, but once again I don’t get the chance. “If you want to know how Becky’s doing, Harry, then bloody ask her yourself. But don’t fucking lead her on again and then just ditch her, she deserves better than that, and I think you know that too. Talk to her! You try and ask her how the Bar went, or if she graduated already. I don’t know what’s stopping you,” he finally finishes, muttering curses under his breath as he steps off the elevator hurriedly.

“Well fook me,” I mumble before taking a long pull from the rest of my coffee, suddenly wishing it was Irish.

My body bobs up and down after falling on the springy mattress. I’m reminded of those stick-on glow in the dark stars you’d place on your ceiling as a kid. Suddenly, I wish I had some on mine. Instead, I stare up at a plain ivory ceiling, a color I’m not sure how to feel about right now. I almost space out again after staring at the walls of the same color at my work all day long. When my eyes trail to the rest of my bedroom, they’re bombarded with shocks of color all around. From the posters hugging my walls, the blankets on my bed, the framed pictures, and the mess of my desk. With a yawn, I slide off my bed and walk over to it, booting up my laptop. Running a hand over my face, sleep beckons me back to my bed as my typing fills the search bar.

“Just one more look,” I mumble to myself, silently promising myself I’ll go to bed after this.

As the page loads, a smile sparks on my lips when I see the framed diploma on the lavender wall above me. It pulls me back to that day last month when I walked the line to receive it. He filled my thoughts then, calling me back to the assignments he helped me with, and how clinicals were more of a breeze due to working with him. The Fleetwood Mac albums I was gifted for Christmas from Robbie sit beside me, all thanks to his contagious taste in music. Somehow, he was there with me for everything, even if he really wasn’t. The first snowfall this winter, the first anniversary of my dad’s diagnosis, the day of my recent Bar Exam, and anytime I saw something that reminded me of him. That perhaps was the easiest way he appeared in my thoughts of all, coming forth from his home in the back of my head to make an appearance. Because for some reason, he keeps reminding me that I am where I am, all thanks to him.

“Skye?” I murmur, lightly knocking my fist against her door. She turns to me with an inquisitive look, brunette eyebrows raising.

“I need to tell you something, and you can’t be mad at me.”

“When you start a sentence like that, Ree, you’re pretty much guaranteeing that I’ll be mad,” she almost laughs, beckoning me over with a hand, pausing the video she watches on her phone with the other. “Come here, you look like a lost puppy.”

Exhaling slowly, the nerves tickle along my skin as I cross the room. Scooching over, Skye gives me some room to sit down beside her.

“So you know that I haven’t been able to find a new job since graduation, which was now a month ago,” I begin, eliciting a simple nod from her as she licks a spoon coated in peanut butter. “Well, I just applied for one.”

Her face morphs into one of happiness suddenly, a smile covering her features. “Ree, that’s great! Why would I be mad at you?” Skye beams, a melodic laugh flowing from her lips. Gently, the happiness dissolves from her face to be replaced with confusion. “Wait, why would I be mad at you again?” she asks firmly, cocking her head to the side. It takes her about ten seconds, but once that happens, there’s no going back. The realization unfolds on her face quickly, eyes widening and mouth settling into a firm line.

“Becky, you did not! You did not apply there! You bloody idiot!” she almost shouts, wagging the spoon of food at me.

“It was the only open position I’ve come across in months, Skye! You know that I started looking in November when my clinical was wrapping up at Turner and Jones. They didn’t even hire me, Skye, and that’s unheard of! Somehow every firm in London is full of lawyers, and isn’t hiring any new ones! I had to!” I confess, trying to explain myself. Her hard-set jaw tells me that I haven’t fooled her yet, or won her back to be in her good graces again.

“You didn’t have to, Ree! You’re not going to be happy there, you know that!”

“So what? It’ll be experience on my resume then!” I object, trying to knit together a reasoning for my decision.

“Who bloody cares about your resume, Ree?! You know what you’re doing walking in there, again! You can’t go back to work for him, you know that! Are you bloody stupid applying to work at Harry’s firm?” she explodes, face sewn together with anger and disgust. It almost breaks my heart, but lately it takes more than that to hurt me.

“No, don’t! Let me explain. I know I have a good shot at getting the job. One, I’ve worked there before and as long as it went well, most places will jump to hire somebody who’s familiar and they had before. Two, I know how stuff works there. Sure it may have changed in the last two years. But I know their filing system, their database, and I sat in on enough fricken consults to know how they work. So I know their process and how they run things with cases. I even know their bleeding copier, Skye. Three, I know that they pay their employees fucking good, and I need that now instead of what the admin job gives me. Four, my experience probably trumps any other candidate who is going in there fresh-faced from uni. I worked there already, and I work at the freaking courts! And five, I won’t let him get to me, Skye. I need this job more than I need him, I wouldn’t have already filled out the application if I couldn’t accept that. I’m over him.”

“Oh bloody hell, Ree, you already filled out the app,” Skye sighs, dropping her head into her hand. She runs her fingers through her blue and purple hair, a long groan leaving her lips. She lifts her head to look over at me with honesty painting her features. “And what if you walk back into his fucking firm, and suddenly, you’re not over him anymore?”

“I don’t know, I’ll figure it out once I get there. Or if I even get there, if I’m hired,” I confess, exasperated by her interrogation.

“Ree, for all we know he’s still dating that girl. You know that’s going to kill you having to see it firsthand, even more than with Amber,” she coos, reaching a hand out to massage my knee.

“I know, but I just- I have this feeling, Skye. Maybe it’ll work,” I whisper, dropping my eyes to play with the ring on my pointer finger.

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then I quit and find a different job. I’ve already quit a job there before, it can’t be too hard to do it again,” I divulge with a huff.

“I just don’t want you to put yourself through hell working for him again, Ree, you don’t need that a second time.”

“I know. Trust me, I know,” I agree with a spiteful laugh, trying to hide my emotions, but I’ve never been good at doing that with Skye. Or Harry, which makes me doubt this one hundred times more.

What the fuck am I doing?

Mindlessly, I watch as tornadoes form in the murky brown liquid after I remove the spoon with a clanking sound. With a random deep breath, they whirl around in the mug before my eyes, and collapse into nothingness.

“No luck yet?” somebody asks, stirring my attention. Looking up, I find Sophie shooting me a smile as she pours steaming water in a mug. “With the job prospects?”

“Um, no,” I answer automatically, my sure-fire answer as of recent. “Well, actually I applied for one last night, but I’m not sure how to feel about it.”

“How come?” she inquires, taking a seat at the oval table across from me, jigging a tea bag up and down in the scalding water.

“It’s at the firm I worked at before, which didn’t end too well on my side,” I reveal, avoiding her prying gaze as I bring the hot coffee to my lips.

“Oh,” she says suddenly, dropping the tea bag into the water, the string hanging limply over the side. “It’s been a few years, maybe it’ll be a new beginning for you. Don’t worry too much, love. I’ll give you the best bloody recommendation you’ll ever hear when they call,” she almost giggles, patting me on the back before leaving the room.

A smile sits atop my lips at her words, but I don’t let it sink in, because I’ve been conflicted about my decision ever since I made it. What happens if I get the job and Harry’s still with her? Can I handle watching him love another girl again? No, I know that I can’t.

“What the fuck?” I mutter under my breath, standing to my feet and soon dumping the caffeinated contents of my mug down the drain. Shaking my head with gritted teeth, I wash it out before setting it in the rack to dry.

Returning to my desk, I wake my desktop up as I try not to die of boredom from staring at the same four walls for the rest of my day.

“Are you still mad at me?” I ask promptly after disposing of my slushy boots, closing the apartment door behind me.

“Am I still mad at you for making a decision that you’re going to regret? Yes, I am,” she replies coldly, the fridge door closing behind her before she wanders to the sofa.

Groaning, I drop my purse on the kitchen island before waddling to the bathroom with a full bladder.

“Your phone is ringing!” she screams down the hall a second later as the toilet flushes below me. Swinging open the door, I dash down the hallway in my socks, almost losing my footing once I arrive in the kitchen. Yanking my phone from my open purse, I find an unfamiliar number staring back at me. But when I see that it’s from London, I don’t waste a second dragging my thumb across the touchscreen.

“Hello?” I answer, trying to compose myself as I escape to my bedroom, closing the door behind me quietly.

“Hi, is this Rebecca Holte?” a voice replies, sending my heart into my stomach. I don’t know whether it’s because of the fact that it’s not his voice, or that it’s one that I recognize. And one that I associate with him.

“Yes, this is she.”

“Hi, Becky, this is Myles from Styles and Lawson. It’s been a while since I spoke to you last, how are you doing these days?” the voice responds with a smile in his words, quickly bringing one to my lips.

“Myles, hi! I’ve been good thanks, I just finished up uni for my LLB. How have you been? I hope everything at the firm is going well.”

“I heard, that’s great. Good for you, Becky. I’ve been good, thanks for asking, I got engaged recently so that was pretty great. And the firm is doing rather well, thank you. We all miss you here, and I see you’ve applied for the open associate position. I’d love to have you in for an interview. When are you free a morning this week?” Myles says, sending jolts to my sensitive heart with his words. I almost lose it right then and there, but I compose myself and hurry over to my calendar above my desk.

“Congratulations, Myles, that’s so exciting! Yes, that would be great. Let’s see, I’m free on Thursday morning, I don’t have anything until ten,” I respond, floating over to my bed where I take a seat, jiggling my knee impatiently.

“Thank you, I’m excited. Alright, Thursday it is then. How does a nine am interview sound to you? You still know where to find us?”

“Yes, of course, and nine am sounds great. Is there anything you’d like me to bring for the interview just so I know?” I inquire, soon finding myself nibbling at my fingernail. Rolling my eyes at my nervous self, my hand falls to my lap.

“No, I don’t think so, I believe your application has everything, but thanks. I’ll see you in a few days then, Becky. I’m looking forward to it. Have a great rest of your evening,” he finishes, heartfelt honesty showing through in his words.

“Thanks, Myles. I’ll see you Thursday, and you as well.”

I fall back onto my bed with a squeal of excitement, thoughts whizzing through my head as a seemingly permanent grin covers my face. It only wavers a tad when his face pops into my thoughts, because I knew I couldn’t avoid it. I can’t avoid him, especially not now with my interview in a few days.

I’m not really sure what to think of that, or of any of this for that matter.

The next few days only made me grow more nervous and unearthed old memories of him I didn’t know I hid away. Inside jokes I forgot that we had sprang up, as well as the few times I beat him in cribbage, all the times he beat me in Scrabble, the casual hugs that we didn’t even think about, and what he said at my going away party. That memory hurt me the most, finding the irony in it and trying to figure out what it means now. He said that he wanted me to go back into law, because he knew I’d do great things, but what will he think when he sees me walk in that door for the interview? Will Harry be happy to see me?

When Thursday morning rolled around, I felt like I was going to throw up into my oatmeal, unsure if breakfast really is the most important meal of the day.

“Why are you staring at like it’s going to grow legs and walk away?” Skye questions, arriving on the other side of the island, leaning her crossed arms against the counter.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me, because you’re mad that I applied for a job at Harry’s firm,” I grumble, listening to the disgusting sound the oatmeal makes as I stir my spoon around in it.

“Well, I wasn’t talking to you because I was mad at you, but something changed.”

“What’s that?” I sigh, getting to my feet and walking around her. I pop open the trash bin’s lid by pressing on the pedal, and I shovel the oatmeal into the bin.

“This,” she announces gently, patting my arm until I turn to look at her. I only catch a glimpse of what sits on her phone’s screen, before closing my eyes.

“I don’t want to see his Instagram, Skye. What the fuck?” I exclaim, giving her a dirty look. Scoffing, I rinse out the bowl and set it in the dishwasher.

“You mean you haven’t looked at it in the last six months?” she questions in disbelief.

“No not that I’ll admit to. Why the fuck would I want to do that and see pictures of how happy he looks with his new girlfriend?” I retort, slamming down the handle to the tap, then drying off my hands.

“Because it’s safe to look now, Ree. He doesn’t have any pictures of her on there anymore.”

“What?” I blurt, spinning around fast and quickly cursing my slippery white booties.

“You heard me,” she smiles, holding out her phone for me, but I don’t bite. Not yet. “It looks like they broke up, who knows how long ago. There’s no evidence they even dated on his profile.”

If the oatmeal had made its way past my lips and to my stomach, I’m positive it would’ve came back up by now. A peculiar response to the jittery happiness coating my body in buckets. Hastily, I yank it from her hands and slide my thumb up the screen. Goddammit, she’s right, I realize as I search his feed, not a picture of her in sight.

“Oh my God, this is so mean of me to say, but this makes me so happy,” I squeal, pressing the back of my fist against my beaming lips.

“I thought it would, and I couldn’t think of a better pick me up before your interview today.”

The buzz of elation and disbelief coursing through my body takes precedence over the feeling of her arms coming around me from behind. She presses a loud smooch to my cheek, giggling as she watches me freak out while holding her phone.

“Well, are you going to say something more? Like a ‘thank you,’ ‘I’m going to jump his bones when I see him’, or ‘this is the best news ever’,” she chuckles, pulling away to come to stand across from me. “Ree,” she urges, pushing at my chest as I continue to stare at the screen in silent astonishment.

“Holy shit,” I whisper, dragging out the last syllable much like somebody I know. “I can’t believe it, and I wouldn’t if I heard it anywhere else, because there’s no way I was touching his Instagram, well when sober,” I chuckle, soon my words falling into a content sigh as I browse the pictures of him. His pictures.

“You can look later, missy, it’s almost quarter after eight. You better get going if you don’t want to be late.”

“Right right, I should go and finish getting ready,” I agree, nodding along to our words.

“Go kill ‘em, Ree, and show him what he’s been missing. You can look at the pics later, but you can go and ogle him all you want right now. Cheers, babe,” Skye grins, giving me the quickest hug in the world before leaving out the door with a wave.

“Oh boy, here we go,” I mumble, exhaling before turning down the hall to my bedroom. “See you in less than an hour, Harry.”

Even the lifts smell the same, like expensive carpeting and some cheap air freshener you hang in your car. Luckily, the familiarity relaxes me and keeps me on my feet when I get off onto 17. All of the nerves and worries buzzing inside of me are almost let loose when I scan the floor in surprise. Immediately, my heart plummets at the disappearance of my desk and the remodel. There’s a short hallway by the lifts still, but to my left there’s a lobby with a front desk where none other than Amelia sits. Large gold letters behind her spell out the firm’s name on the wall. Again, I’m surprised.

“Oh hi, Becky!” she almost shouts when I walk up to the dark coal granite desk, pulling her shock of red hair away from her desktop.

“Hi, Amelia. It’s great to see you again. How are you?” I answer, my fists probably growing white due to how hard I’m holding the straps of my most professional looking purse.

“I’m doing lovely, thanks. How are you? I hear you have an interview for the open job!”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m here for. I’m a few minutes early, but I’ve heard that doesn’t hurt,” I share, curling my toes within my black heels.

“No, you’ll be alright, love. It’s better to be early than late. If you just want to have a seat and I’ll let Myles know you’re here. Good luck, Becky!” she smiles, her golden heart necklace jiggling above her freckled cleavage.

“Thanks,” I respond, turning around to find the new addition of seating across from the desk.

Trying and failing to breathe deeply, I pick a chair at random. The brown cushion is lumpy and scratchy under the thin fabric of my black dress skirt. Setting my purse down, I take a look around. When it’s safe to, I adjust the berry red chiffon scoop neck blouse underneath, trying to pull it up further. I don’t get long to debate fastening the button of the matching black blazer over my waist, because I hear my name. Sitting up erect, I find Myles walking towards me.

“Hey, it’s great to see you, Becky,” he chirps, holding out a hand as I stand to my feet. “How are you, love?”

“Thanks for seeing me, Myles, it’s good to see you too. I’m fine, thanks, and how are you?” I respond cheerily, grabbing onto his hand and returning his firm handshake.

“Just fine, thank you. If you’ll follow me, we’ll take a walk back to my office, although I’m sure you remember how to get there.”

“Yes,” I confirm, nodding. Anxious breaths leave my lips as my heels click and clack as I follow behind him, down the hallway branching to the side. The hallway, the one I couldn’t forget if I ever tried. I look around, trying to act normal and curious, but the only thing I’m curious about is where he is. And why he’s not here. Did something happen? Is it only Myles interviewing me today? But that wouldn’t make sense, if they’re partners and own the firm together.

My questions are whisked under the rug when Myles opens the door for me, inviting me into his spacious office I barely recognize. It’s hard to remember what it looked like when I’d only stepped foot in it once or twice, but the area itself is much like Harry’s. More bookshelves and framed pictures occupy his office compared to Harry’s though, or what his office looked like two years ago. It’s close to Harry’s, if only turned to the left a touch, and instead the tall windows are to the right of his desk. Standing in his doorway, his long desk faces me.

“Have a seat, please. Make yourself comfortable, there’s nothing to be nervous about here,” he insists warmly, closing the frosted glass door without a sound. I wish that was easier said than done as I choose one of the seats in front of his glass desk. Swallowing, I gather my shoulder-length curls to fall over the front of my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I respond softly, habitually checking for the diamond on my silver necklace, finding it sitting below the hollow of my throat.

“I don’t think you were ever in my office much,” he says lightheartedly, sandy blonde eyebrows quirking into a question above his sky blue eyes.

“I was just thinking that, and I don’t think I have. Maybe on one or two occasions,” I think aloud, our soft laughs mixing together as he unbuttons the lone button on his gunmetal gray suit.

“Yeah, figures. So thoughts on the remodel?”

“Oh, I really like it. It looks very nice.”

“Thank you, it was long overdue. We did it last summer, took us a bit,” he answers, settling into his high-backed black chair, an iMac sitting to his right. My eyes crawl over his unfamiliar desk, and as if my heart wasn’t thrashing around in my chest as it is, it takes a leap. The sight of the second chair to his left is only just registering in my head when I hear rushed footsteps come to a stop in the hallway, and the door opens.

“‘m sorry ‘m late, tha copier was actin’ up. We really need t’ jus’ buy a new one,” a voice blurts out, closing the door behind them.

The knots coiling my insides together tighten at the sound of his voice, but a second later they relax after having waited so long to hear it. I knew it was coming. My eyes briefly lift to Myles to see him shake his head, carding a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, I don’t think either of us are surprised,” Myles snickers, dropping his hand to meet my eyes. In them, he holds a revealing look accented by a smile. Almost like he knows what I’m thinking. “Harry, I think you know our applicant.”

A deep breath hardly settles into my lungs as I turn my body to face the door. As if a smile wasn’t finding its way to my lips already, observing the one that paints his in seconds is contagious.

“Becks!” Harry exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air and almost dropping the stack of papers he holds in one ringed hand. “My’ why didn’t ya tell me she was interviewin’? C’mere, love, ‘s been so long,” he insists ardently, wrinkles forming in his glossy black blazer when he holds his arms out for me.

“Well, didn’t want you to be biased, now did we?” Myles jokes from behind me as I get to my feet.

“I wouldn’t have been biased,” Harry scoffs, his face falling into a look of disbelief.

“Hi, Harry,” I mumble, grinning as I walk into his arms.

“Hi, bug. Long time no see,” he hums softly in his molasses-like drawl. I feel the first moments of relief when his long arms surround me and draw me into his chest. Something I’ve waited ages for, if only seven months. “I so woulda been biased, we both know I was lyin’.”

“Oh, I know,” I giggle against his collarbone, trying not to lose myself in his layers of black clothes, and the smell of vanilla covering him. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, much betta now that yer here. Blimey, yer our nine o’clock interview. Me li’l lawyer Becks, look at you,” Harry coos, pulling away far too soon to my liking to look me in the eyes. I hope that mine look just ten percent as sparkly as his do, I think as his hands cup my shoulders. My knees soon feel wobbly at the sight in front of me, one I so dearly missed. The deep dimples. Crinkly eyes. Bubblegum lips. A light dusting of stubble along his cheeks. Glistening greens. Reddening cheeks. The longer curls that still only fall to his ears. That smile he has just for me.

“Yep, that’s me,” I suffice with a nervous laugh.

“And I’m Myles, so shall we get this interview rolling?” Myles pipes up sarcastically, the click of his pen finishing his words.

“So proud o’ you y’know, ya’ll do great,” Harry whispers to me and only me, squeezing my arm before leaving my side.

“Thanks so much,” I mumble in return, catching his wink of an eye at me.

“So now that my colleague is finally here,” Myles begins emphatically, earning a laugh from the three of us. Smoothing down the back of my skirt, I return to my seat, sure I could win a tomato look-alike contest right about now with my blushing cheeks. “Should we get started?”

Harry croons a reply as he falls into the chair beside Myles, adjusting his all-black attire. Suddenly, the pressure in the room has increased tenfold, and I find it hard to keep my hands still in my lap. I’m positive they can see my rapid pulse and galloping heart beneath my skin, but Myles is too occupied by Harry annoying him. I hold back a laugh as Myles gives Harry a dirty look, finally getting him to sit still. Myles soon returns his soft stare back to mine, and so does Harry who gives me a confused look, flitting between Myles and me with shrugging shoulders. It’s like he’s saying what did I do wrong?

“Well, I’ll start by saying we were very impressed with your application, Becky.”

“Thank you,” I reply, asserting my gaze to Myles. One, because he’s the person talking. Two, I know I couldn’t keep it together if I was looking at Harry. I already feel weak all over from seeing him, and from that hug. Goddammit, his hugs never fail to do that.

“I woulda been even mo’ impressed if ya hadn’t hid tha bloody name when we went ova it, My’,” Harry tsks with a shake of his head curly head, but Myles ignores him.

“I see you graduated recently with your LLB, and top of your class even,” Myles continues, flipping through my stapled application. It didn’t take me an hour to fill it out for nothing.

“Yes I did, the middle of last month, December,” I comment, failing to hold back a smile when I glance Harry mouthing ‘good job’ with his hand-shaped into the perfect sign.

“Congratulations, that’s very impressive, especially after returning to uni after a few years off,” Myles adds. “I even see that you did rather well on your Bar Exam here, and that’s not an easy exam to pass.”

“Yeah, it isn’t. I’m glad my studying paid off,” I explain, earning a nod from Myles as Harry reads over his shoulder. He soon lifts his head to wink at me, silently clapping his hands towards me. Oh, Harry.

It’s a wonder I don’t fudge up on any answers throughout the next twenty minutes with Harry over there teasing me. I only feel the hints of relief when I’m sitting in my car later, my head on the steering wheel. My thoughts are consumed by that hug and the smile he was wearing all for me. It stayed on his face all throughout Myles’ questions and his own for me, ones that were much less intimidating with those grinning lips. It even remained until the end when I shook their hands, feeling his linger for a few seconds, but then again so did mine. His words rang in my mind as I walked to the lift, thinking over my answers and my presence, but unable to think about much else besides the two men saying I’d hear from them in the next few days regardless.

Now, for the waiting game, the one I’m not very good at. I’m even worse at it when it has anything to do with Harry.

“My’, we hafta hire her,” I announce suddenly, seconds after I can no longer hear the noise of her departing heels. The sound does nothing for the adrenaline coursing through my veins, leaving my body simultaneously jittery and exhausted.

“We still have interviews for the rest of the day, Harry. Bloody eight of them,” Myles responds coldly, disagreeing with me as he writes something down on the printed copy of her application.

“Myles, y’know she’s gonna be tha best one. She knows how everythin’-.”

“No, I don’t know that until we interview the rest, Harry,” he retorts, returning to his writing with a perturbed frown. His name jumps from my lips in an argument, but he stops me there. “I know, Harry . . I know what you’re saying, but I can’t just tell these people to go home. We’re the only firm hiring in town from what I hear.”

“Y’know I won’t like ‘em one bit. I can’t afta Becks was jus’ here and tha bloody great job she did interviewin’,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest, trying not to think about how wonderful it felt to have her between them. How natural it left, like home. The surprise that took the breath from me at the sight of her sitting in that chair to be interviewed by us. Just how much I fucking missed her all these months. Lastly, the way she somehow looked even more beautiful after going without seeing her for seven months.

Fuck.

“I know, and I want to hire her too, but wrap it up, Harry. We have another one that’ll be here any minute.”

“Ya, whateva,” I reply curtly, swinging my chair around to look past him and peer down at London. I’m consumed by the question of which car is hers down there driving among the skyscrapers, or if she’s still in the lift. Once again, too far away for me.

Too far is just out of arm’s reach.

I don’t even get a chance to lose myself in my thoughts of how gorgeous she looked without even having to try, how her hair has grown longer with her adorable waves, the happiness that washed over her face when she turned to look at me, and the fountain of regrets that filled me at the sight of her.

Regrets I want to rectify, and ones I know that I should have a long time ago.

“Ya, really?” I rasp softly, brow touching the sky as my face widens in disbelief.

“Yeah, go do it then,” Myles agrees, shooing me away with his hand and a pleased grin.

“Are ya gonna say it?”

“No.”

“My’,” I tease with a giggle, backing up towards the door, feet itching to reach my office.

“Hare,” he says firmly, meeting my eyes. A laugh sings from my lips as I look at him, smiling. “Fine, you were right.”

“I told ya, ‘m always right. Y’know ya won’t regret this, ‘s gonna be great. She’s gonna be great,” I smirk, pointing a finger at him before turning around to saunter down the hallway.

“Hare?” he calls after me. I respond by twirling around to face him, clapping my hands together happily. “I reckon it goes without saying that she’ll be your mentee then?” he says, sending the question into the air, and somehow I only grow more excited at it. I wasn’t sure if that was possible.

“Well ya, dunno why yer askin’,” I smirk, rubbing my hands together dramatically while biting my smiling lips. I actually manage to get a laugh out of him, but it quickly fades as he toys with something on his desk.

“Are you gonna be able to handle being that close to her again?” he inquires softly, not meeting my eyes. “I know how you still feel about her, Harry,” with that confession he returns his eyes to mine, more words held in them.

“Ya . . I promised meself ‘m not gonna fook it up this time,” I announce softly, feeling the weight of the words on my tongue, and in my heart.

“Hare, you better not fuck this up again. You know the universe doesn’t throw second chances at people so obviously like this.”

“I know, My, and ‘m not gonna waste it,” I deliver to him and the air, feeling the promise bind together immediately. I just hope I can keep it, this time. I have to.

The buzzing in my pocket is incessant as I twist the key in the lock. It takes too long after I struggled with shaking hands to slide it in correctly. First, I had it upside down, and then I dropped my ring of keys. Groaning, after I turn on a light, I fling my phone onto the sofa. A determination drives me as my feet pound through the apartment, the last thing I’m able to do right now is to retell the story to Skye.

I can’t wait any longer. Flinging the door open to my bedroom, I step over forgotten dresses, trousers, and blouses scattering my floor. I toe off my heels to add to the mix, feeling the same taste of that sweet relief when my hand touches my closet door. Quick breaths flow out of me as I rip it open, eyes scanning the shelves and hangers full of clothes.

“Come on, come on, where are you?!” I mumble aloud, pushing sheets of clothes to the side.

Tossing papers, fallen shirts, old cards, and balls of yarn from my knitting phase aside, I happen upon a patch of brown. But when I free it from the confines of the junk that litters my closet, my heart sinks at its unfamiliar appearance. Huffing, I shove it back onto that shelf, peering at the shelf above it on my tippy toes. I can’t remember the last time I rearranged in here, and at that realization, figurative cement lines my gut quickly. I’m two seconds away from giving up as my hands brush along the top shelf, only feeling books and magazines, but then I feel something.

An other worldly sigh drops from my lips when I pull down the heavy box, it falling into my arms. A sneeze flies from my nose at the layer of dust coating the top of the cardboard that I brush away. The anticipation has replaced the unpleasant feeling in my gut, and now my heart beats even faster, and harder. I sink to the floor right there, folding my knees under myself as I still sit in the smooth tight clothes from my interview which became work clothes. Setting it down in front of me, the box slides from my hands. With trembling fingers, I pry apart the flaps of cardboard woven together. Slowly, the floral lavender wrapping paper appears before my eyes, and that’s when the tears arrive.

“Harry,” I mumble aloud, words and thoughts racing around in my head. They steal the words from my mouth, and the moisture from my throat.

Exhaling slowly, my fingers wrap around the bigger box, a long rectangular shape. It’s heavy in my hands, and the paper is smooth, the flower shapes embossed into it. Brushing a tear away from the tip of my nose, I set it down on my lap, fingering the edge of paper on the side. I wonder if Harry wrapped these, and if he did, he didn’t do too shabby of a job, I wonder silently. A shock of dark purple catches my eye, and I see the card lying at the bottom of the box, but I ignore it for now. You’re last, because I know you’ll make me cry the most, I tell it.

The paper rips quickly between my fingers, but keeps its secret hidden until I tear the paper again, in one long sweep. A shiny black box meets my eyes, but I’m guessing it’s the back as I find words and small pictures. Flipping it over, I peel back a shred of the wrapping paper, sad to destroy the beautiful flowers. The sadness is met with a bittersweet happiness when the image on the front of the box graces my eyes, sending my hand to my mouth as a sob leaves it.

“Oh, Harry,” I cry, pressing my lips into a line as the cry washes over my body. “You didn’t.”

But he did, and I can’t believe my eyes as the Yamaha PSSA50 37-Mini-Keyboard sits in my hands. A mini keyboard for the piano nerd that I am, and always have been. He remembered, of course he did. The tears only fall faster and my body shakes harder when I peel back the paper on the smallest present, a violet Moleskine journal with a purple gel pen clipped to the top. They come harder when I peel back the wrapping paper on the last little rectangular shaped gift, the first season of FRIENDS on DVD. Then they fall all over the card, once I convinced myself to stop holding the three presents to my chest, ugly cries leaving my lips.

With tears scattering the front of the already opened card, I finally open it and see his messy handwriting covering the inside.

June 12th

To my Becks,

Happy Birthday, bug!!!! I know we haven’t talked much lately and I apologize for that. Life has been crazy for the both of us, I think would be safe to say. Alright let me think of all of the insults to call you old that I can think of since you love to do it for me. 26 though I remember being that age. It was shortly before I met you I think. I reckon you’ll enjoy being 26 and truly I hope it’s everything you want it to be. It’s the year you become a lawyer woohoo! I can’t wait to hear all about it I’m so proud of you for going back to uni and finishing up. I already know you’ll be a fantastic lawyer. Really. I remember you said once that you and your brother spend your birthday together and you have some sort of tradition that I can’t recall. I hope you had fun together. Anyways I hope you enjoy the presents and that you use them. I don’t need to explain the keyboard I don’t think, but I hope you can get back into piano with it - just have fun with it. I can’t believe I found a purple one :) The journal I should explain - it’s for you to write songs in. Well the DVD set doesn’t need much of an explanation either but we’ll have to watch it together soon. I miss watching FRIENDS with you already, you make me love Phoebe even more with that sweet laugh of yours. I know 25 was a rough year for you with a new job, uni, and your dad’s cancer so I truly hope that 26 is far better. It’s meant a lot to me that we’ve reconnected over the last several months and I hope it has for you too. I’m really happy that your dad is okay now and the cancer is gone. When things get less crazy we’ll do that lunch I promised, and you know that I keep my promises. We need to catch up so you can tell me all about your plans for big 26! Like have you been assigned a site for your clinicals in the fall yet to dip your toes into the lawyer life? Have you scheduled your Bar exam? Where’s your dream job at? Are you having fun buying fancy lawyer outfits, like you know I do? I still need to figure out what your favorite episode of FRIENDS is... I caught on telly the beach house one the other night and it made me think of you. Oh have you seen that clip where Phoebe gets caught in a sweater she tries to put on? I had tears in my eyes crying from that one the other day, Becks! Anyways I’m running out of room here but I want you to know I’m thinking of you on your birthday and that I wish you a wonderful one. I hope 26 is the best year yet and we’ll have to celebrate with drinks soon. Text me when you’re free for drinks yeah? I’m excited to see you and hear how your first day of being 26 was. Happy Birthday, bug!

Harry xxxxx

As if my heart doesn’t already feel like it’s going to burst from my chest, it receives a scare when I hear my phone ringing from the living room. I start to ignore it as the guilt and happiness form a cocktail in my heart, but when I listen closer, I realize it’s not the ringtone I have for Skye. Groaning, the card drops from my hands as I dash down the hall until I locate my phone in the pile of blankets. The weakness in my legs returns when I see who’s calling.

Harry (work)

“Hello?” I answer, feeling short of breath for so many ungodly reasons. Clearing my throat, I hope that my voice doesn’t sound weird to him. By weird, I mean that I had just been crying.

“Hey, Becks. ‘s Harry. How’re ya doin’, love?” he croons, pulling my lips into a smile that was hiding there. I feel it cover my face as his voice fills my insides.

“I’m doing well, thanks. I just got home from work.”

“Ah, quite tha busy day fer you, how was it?” his question trickles into my ears as I sink to the floor again, pulling the lavender keyboard onto my lap.

“It was good. How was your day, Harry?” I reply, pressing the ‘on’ button and adjusting the volume to a low setting.

“Long,” he chuckles with a dreary sigh. “Interviews all day long, some yesterday and tha day befo’, they’re not very much fun.”

“I can imagine. I don’t think they are for anybody,” I agree aloud, shouldering my phone and settling both hands on the keys. If I could, I’d blame it on being a girl, but the emotions bubbling up inside of me bring tears to my eyes as I play a quiet song. Instead, I blame it on him - his alive voice in my ear, and all of the words that his gift of this piano says, and the others. All of the words that I doubted and tried to hate him for not saying, when all along he did. All along, he still cared. I don’t know now how I could have ever doubted him.

“Ya okay, love? Frog in yer throat?”

“Yeah, something like that. I’m just playing my keyboard you got me, I love it so much,” I reply, willing the tears from my voice, but leaving the emotions there to seep through.

“Ah, ya don’ know how happy I am t’ hear that, Becks. ‘m so happy yer playin’ again. I hope maybe I can hear sumthin’ on it one o’ these days.”

“Me too, and yes I’ll have to play you something sometime,” I echo him, running my fingers over all of the buttons for different sounds, recording, beats, etc. “I uh wanted to thank you again for it, and the other birthday presents. They were so thoughtful and sweet of you, they were perfect.”

“Aw, yer sweet, love. Yer welcome, ‘m really happy t’ hear yer still enjoyin’ em,” he responds, the molasses in his voice intensifying, followed by a pause. “Sorry, I should get t’ why I rang,” he titters from my shoulder and my laugh follows his.

“It’s okay, it’s nice to talk to you like this.”

“Thanks, but ya might get sick o’ me soon, coz I wanted t’ let y’know that ya got tha associate position, bug,” he coos in my ear, the smile leaking from his voice, letting me know it’s there without seeing it.

“What?! No way!” I exclaim excitedly, losing my fingers in my hair in disbelief. “Harry, t-thank you so much!” I continue, setting the keyboard down to get to my feet. With wide eyes and a smile plastered across my face, it trickles to the rest of my body where I pump my fist in the air. I almost feel like dancing.

“Yes, really, love. Ya got tha job- I mean ‘m not gonna lie, ya had it from tha second ya walked in tha door. Couldn’t find a betta candidate than you, Becks,” Harry hums, causing the feeling in my legs to liquify, suddenly making me feel like Jello all over. “And um, you’ll be my mentee then, and ‘ll be yer mentor fer prolly tha first few years, I reckon. Sumtimes if ‘m outta town fer a case far way, or t’ change it up if there’s a good case sumwhere else, ya may work with Myles or Rose. Ya can learn loads from ‘em. Otherwise, you’ll be with me e’ry day workin’ with me on me cases and learnin’ from me. I mean, as long as yer alright bein’ with me,” Harry murmurs as I pace around my bedroom, soon falling to sit on my bed, because at the sound of his voice I can’t stand anymore. Not after those words can I stay standing. My head falls into my hands where I can feel the smile against my palms, my legs jiggling excitedly under my arms.

This can’t be real, can it? I got the job, and I get to work with him!

And he’s single again, remember that!

Yes, demon, I know. But wait, you’re actually right this time. You’re right?! Yes, he is single and I got the job, shadowing under him! Holy shit! Holy shit!

Time to jump his bones, Becky.

You may be right again.

Don’t fuck it up again, girl. Get him alr-

“‘s that okay, Becks, you workin’ with me?”

“Yeah,” I begin with warm cheeks as the giddiness overcomes me. “Hmmm, I don’t know, I think I might like working with Myles better,” I tease, keeping my voice even.

“Oh, um that’s okay too, I guess,” Harry sighs, the happiness in his voice going from eighty to ten real quickly. “I can ask My’, ‘m sure he wouldn’t-.”

“Harry, I’m just giving you a hard time. I’d love to work under you, i-it’d be a dream,” I respond adamantly.

Yeah, I’m sure there’s a lot of things you’d like to do that involve being under him, Becky.

Oh my god, shut up! I can’t deal with you right now. I can’t mess this up!

“Fook, Becks, ya gave me a fright there. Ya almost broke me li’l heart,” Harry whines but soon his dramatics end with his song-like laugh. It’s still as contagious as ever, bringing one to my lips. “Ya’d love t’ work with me, and it’d be a dream? Wow, I betta watch me ego, yer not helpin’ it.”

I savor hearing his melodic laugh in my ears, unsure of the last time I heard it, and so certain of how it easily starts to knit together all of the broken pieces inside of me. One by one. I feel a pang when I remember back to June and the nightmare I went through after seeing his picture, but I try to push it away. I try to not remember how it made me feel, and sometimes how I couldn’t get out of bed, or look at a picture of him without crying.

Okay, this is the angel speaking. Stop beating yourself up and thinking about that time. Because things are getting so good right now, I can’t even believe it myself!

I mean, she’s right, the demon says.

“Yeah, a dream,” I decide to say, interrupting my nostalgia from hell.

“Seems we have that in common. Always wanted t’ teach ya more ‘bout law when ya were me P.A. and ‘m glad now that I get t’. ‘s kinda hard t’ believe yer a full grown lawyer now, my li’l Becks,” Harry coos, his voice taking on the pitch of one you’d use when talking to children, but I enjoy it. I melt at the sound of it.

“Yep, I’m all grown up and ready to hit the courts!”

“Right, ya are. Um, I was hopin’ t’ start sum orientation with ya soon. I reckon yer still workin’ at tha courts on tha west side o’ town. I was hopin’ t’ do a full day, but we can divvy it up between a few if that works betta. Jus’ lemme know what ya can do and I can make it work. Lemme grab sumthin’ t’ write on here,” he explains, humming a tune as I hear noises from his side like drawers opening and clattering of pens.

“Yeah, of course and thanks for being so flexible. Let me look at my work schedule,” I reply, getting to my feet and crossing the room to my desk. Taking a seat, I also grab a pad of paper and a pen to have ready. Lifting my head, I narrow my eyes at the schedule I have hanging above my desk. “Okay, so I’ll let my boss Sophie know in the morning that my last day will be in two weeks. I am five days a week there, but I could do like eight to ten for a few days in the morning? I’m sorry, that’s kind of all I have right now for the next two weeks, but I can talk to my boss. Does that work for you, Harry?”

“Thanks, Becks, but I don’ wanna stretch ya too thin with two jobs goin’ on. We can always wait until . . what’s two week from monday? Mmmm, I see ‘s tha twenty-eighth, we can wait ‘til then, I don’t mind. I was jus’ wonderin’, ‘m sorry I shouldn’t have asked fer ya t’ come in any earlier,” he responds gently, eager embarrassment coating his words.

“No, it’s okay, Harry. I’ll see if my boss has any ideas when I see her tomorrow and I’ll get back to you, okay?”

“Ya, that sounds great. No rush, tho’. Everything will be fine if we wait ‘til tha twenty-eighth. It may not even take as long since ya know loads o’ tha protocols here already. But yeah, please don’t worry ‘bout it, Becks. We can wait two weeks,” he assures me, and I swear the happy buzzing inside of me only grows louder and impatient.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, ‘m sure, Becks.”

“Thank you. Is there anything you need me to do or like send in in the meantime?” I wonder aloud, jotting down a few things on the to-do list notepad I grabbed. These include telling Sophie about the new job, and starting at the firm on the 28th. I can hardly believe the words I’m writing.

“Erm, I think I jus’ need a copy o’ yer driver’s license fer identification, and uh a copy o’ yer LLB and law license. But ya can jus’ email me scans o’ those. Otherwise, everythin’ else was in yer application, I think. I guess if ya don’ have enuff suits ya could buy sum o’ those in tha next two weeks,” he replies with a giggle.

“Sounds good. Thanks, Harry. I’ll get right on those.”

“Yer welcome, Becks. ‘ll uh let ya go then. ‘m gonna head out anyways, go and have a bloody drink afta t’day, ugh,” he sighs. “So, I have it down as you startin’ on tha twenty-eighth. But we have eachotha’s numbas so if sumthin’ changes or ya have any questions jus’ lemme know. Do ya have any right now, love?”

“No, you answered them or covered them already, but thank you,” I respond, dropping the pen and scratching at the back of my neck. My cheeks are starting to hurt from all of this smiling, but I don’t think I ever want it to stop. Or for his voice to stop. “Wait, I have a little question. How about after my orientation, we get those drinks and lunch- well dinner we forgot about this summer?”

“Ya, ‘d love that, Becks. ‘s about time we did it, and now we can celebrate yer new associate job at tha firm! No betta reason t’, I reckon. Well, ‘ll let ya go, yer prolly starvin’ too,” he says, a laugh adorning his words, and finding its way into my heart. Again. “‘m lookin’ forward t’ havin’ ya back here with us, Becks. I really am. And ‘m excited t’ have ya workin’ with me ‘gain, I hope ya won’t get too sick o’ me. Don’ worry, it’ll be betta this time, I promise.”

Shaking my head, I try to steady my breaths with a deep inhale. It does little to calm the dancing of my heart and the jitters coursing through my body. I swear my mantra is and always will be that he doesn’t know what he does to me, he truly doesn’t.

“I’m really excited to come back to the firm to work with you again too, Harry. Thank you so much for the opportunity, and please tell Myles that as well. I have high hopes for round 2.”

“Me too, bug, it’ll be fun t’ have ya there as a colleague this time ‘round. ‘m excited t’ be yer mentor. Have a good night and take care, Becks. ‘ll talk t’ ya soon,” Harry finishes, that smile in his voice again. I just know it.

“Bye, Harry.”

I’ll see you soon, but two weeks isn’t soon enough. No, it’s not. I hope it can be sooner, oh God, please.

21 notes · View notes

boymeetsweevil · 5 years

Text

Breathe you in

Grouping: Popstar!Reader x Non-Idol!Taehyung

Word Count: ~7.8k

Warnings/Themes: Shotgunning (so thats recreational drug use), Rough face fucking, face-sitting (fm receiving), some background angst, not too scary lol

Summary: Can I pls request an ex lovers trope with taehyung where you broke up with him , but he shows you he loves you and was never over you and wants to be together again? Thanks!

A/N: This is part of the BTS Smut Club Anniversary fic exchange! Thanks for the prompt!

It’s nearing 10pm when the town car arrives in front of your apartment complex. The driver pulls up in the back entrance used primarily for allowing the higher profile residents to discreetly enter the building when needed. Normally the back entrance is littered with snapping cameras or fans who are trying their hand at stalking. Tonight none of those people are there for you because your mini-tour ended a day early, allowing you to return from Amsterdam a day before what’s scheduled on your website.

“Don’t forget,” your publicist sits across from you on the opposite leather upholstered bench of the car, “You’re close to reaching another follower milestone, so you need to do one last Instagram live before bed.” You release a deep sigh that sounds like it came from your bones.

“Shit. Bee, I’m really tired.”

“Language,” Bee admonishes while scrolling one iPhone in one hand before switching to the one in her other hand.

“Can’t it fucking wait,” you hiss, petty from exhaustion.

She pins you with a look that tells you she’s not playing this game with you and continues typing away. “You’ll sleep soon enough once we go through the checklist for today and tomorrow.”

Bee’s phone pings and you watch the set of her mouth grow infinitely more tense before her eyes dart to you. Rarely does hesitation temper her gaze like it does in this moment. You let out a sigh. She’s about to mention your ex.

“Also, Oh! News wants to bring you in some time this week to address statements Nick made about the breakup.”

“Of course they do,” you sigh again.

“I’ve been trying to push the date back but they’re not taking no for an answer. Plus, it might be better to go out and put an end to it so it can become old news.”

You massage your temples. “Yeah, no, I’ll do it. I’ll do it.”

Bee watches the gears in your head turn as you think about the whirlwind that was the breakup. With your departure to Europe only a few days after the PG-13 video of him with another actress blew up, there was naturally a lot of speculation. Most of it hateful and directed at you, surprisingly enough. Having just starred in a movie aimed at 12-17 year olds, Nick seemingly had all of the world’s young girl population locked and loaded at you. Your relative silence while on tour for two months in the Netherlands only fueled the outrage.

“Alright, alright,” she opens the door on your side and pushes your purse into your limp arms. “I had them take your luggage up before you. Do what I told you and then...go get some sleep, Sweets.”

“Thanks, Bee.”

Your penthouse apartment is as pristine as you left it when you push open the door, your luggage waiting neatly by your shoe closet. While you unpack your bags in your bedroom, you take note of the outfit laid out for your on your bed. It’s a pair of leggings that have sequins sewn up the sides and a matching off the shoulder top that will definitely require you to keep your bra on. It’s for the Instagram broadcast, so you won’t have to wear it long. But you want to crawl out of your skin and finally be able to turn off your public figure voice more than anything else. You suppose you can handle waiting a little while longer, though.

When you’re dressed and have your hair out of your face, you take your phone with you to the bathroom before waking up your speaker to play some mood music. A little tripod setup waits for you on the sleek countertop. Once your phone is plugged in and you’ve pulled up Instagram, you begin your livestream and your camera smile is on.

“Hey, everybody,” you greet the viewers already watching.

There’s a little more than 800,000 people are currently watching, more than normal this early in a live video. You attribute it to the tweet Bee sent from your Twitter a few minutes prior that broke your 2 month long internet silence.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long,” you talk a little louder over the music you have playing. “I was so busy in Amsterdam and when I did have some down time, I wanted to really unplug. So I didn’t use social media while I was there. I’ll definitely be uploading the pictures I took, though. I saw some really amazing stuff.”

You begin pumping an oil cleanser into the palms of your hands while stopping to read the comments as they come up on the screen. Some of them you ignore because they’re comments from Nick’s fan accounts. Others welcome you back and some are fans of the artist you were touring with.

“How was touring with Nana,” you echo the fan’s question while rubbing your makeup off. “She was so wonderful, oh my god. I think she’s got such a beautiful point of view when it comes to her lyrics about getting older and dealing with the pressures of being a woman in the spotlight. Also her fashion sense is incredible.”

A few more questions about the products you’re using and what you did on your off time come up. Some people ask if you’re working on a new album yourself and you talk about that as much as you can without breaking any promises, keeping the essentials a secret. Another person asks you to sing a few bars from your verse on the song you did with Nana and you do. By the time you’re tapping moisturizer onto your face, you’ve almost made it through the broadcast unscathed. But then you see a comment that has you breaking character for a second, your muscles freezing.

douknowbt$: OMG Nick is watching the live.

Hopefully no one notices your 2 seconds of panic, but you can’t be sure until someone else blogs about it. You dismiss the comment and finish up with a few pumps of hand cream, rubbing your hands a bit manically as the comments about Nick begin to grow in number. In that moment, you sign off and quickly move to end the live. But with your haste and slippery fingers, you don’t realize you missed the button and the recording was still going.

A few of the viewers try to send messages letting you know that the live hasn’t ended, but you don’t check your phone again after throwing it onto your covers and climbing into bed. With the camera facing up, you’re seen pulling up your laptop and putting on some classical music using the surround sound speakers in your bedroom. From the screen, all the viewers can see you sitting stiffly on your bed, eyes closed for a few minutes in what looks like meditation as the adagio that’s playing washed over you. After a few deep breaths, you open your eyes and reach for your phone.

“Oh sh—,” you keep yourself from cursing at the last second when you discover the livestream didn’t end. “I’m sorry, guys. I was so tired I guess I didn’t realize I forgot to end the video. I’m signing off for real now. Yes, yes, I’m okay. Just tired. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

You triple check to make sure the video is off before throwing your phone across the bed. The day didn’t seem like it could get worse after your long flight and even longer wait at the airport when it seemed like your luggage was lost. Not to mention that you were bone tired and hungry but couldn’t have any of the foods you were craving because of a stupid photo shoot coming up in a few weeks. In that moment, the intercom rings, signaling that the front desk is trying to reach you, but you remain in bed and hope that it’ll stop. It does, for a moment, before starting up again. You groan before getting up and heading to the front door.

“Yes?”

“Hello Miss,” says the cheerful older man who runs the front desk during nights. “I trust you’re having a delightful evening.”

“Hello, Sir.”

“We just wanted to alert you that the delivery person with your order is currently on the 15th floor and should be at your suite shortly. Please anticipate your food’s arrival in the next few minutes and have a pleasant rest of the evening.” The call ends just like that, not leaving you any room to protest and say that you didn’t order food.

You figure it’s just that Bee saw what a huge shitshow your livestream was and she wants to send you something to make you feel better. And no doubt if it was something that came with a delivery person, it was good food. If she came herself, she would definitely have brought something like a salad bowl or a sushi plate. If you eat another vegetarian sushi plate, you're certain you'll die. Not from Mercury poisoning—like your mother always warns you about—but from sadness.

A tentative knock on the door sounds and you open it with a plasticky smile. Sometimes they send people who get a little star struck. Most times you’re amenable to just being subdued but friendly so that they just ask for a selfie or a quick autograph on a take out napkin and don't try to linger or say you were a bitch later on.

Tonight you're not really in the mood for too much friendliness tonight, though. In the drawer next to the door, you dig around for the wad of cash you keep hidden there and pull an obscene tip out.

“Hi, thank you,” you keep your head down and blindly reach for the white paper bag in the person's hand. “Have a good—excuse me, asshole!”

“That’s not my name.”

The hand yanks the bag out of your reach at the last second, lifting high above your head. You’re not at all in the mood for dealing with a pissy delivery boy who wants to knock you down a few pegs. Putting your hands on your hips, you’re about to give him the verbal lashing he deserves, PR consequences be damned, when you a good look at his face stops you.

“Taehyung?”

“In the flesh,” he shoots back at you.

The man in front of you gives you a muted, smug smile before shouldering his way past you and into your apartment. He stands tall in the foyer of your apartment like he belongs there and has been there a thousand times. You can’t help but drink in the image of your ex-boyfriend from half a decade ago despite the fact that he’s technically intruding. There’s still a whisper of the boy you started dating when you were in your last year of high school, but much of that is overpowered by the man he is now. He’s broader in the jaw and the shoulders than he was before, and there must have been some growth spurts since you last saw him.

“This is real nice,” he lets out a low whistle as he takes in the large open floor-plan of your apartment. You follow closely behind as he starts walking around, head cocked forward with purpose.

“What are you looking for?”

“The kitchen,” he says casually.

“It’s that way,” you gesture before realizing that you need to get your priorities straight. “What are you doing in my house?”

“I came to bring you food.”

The bag he raises gives off a pleasant savory smell and you clench your fist to keep yourself from excusing his sudden appearance.

“I didn’t ask for food. And I certainly didn’t ask you for food.”

“Touchy,” he turns back to pin you with an amused grin. “But you didn’t have to ask. I knew you needed it.”

“You knew I needed it?” You raise an incredulous eyebrow, eager to hear his explanation. “How did you know I needed it?”

He places the bag on the countertop in your kitchen, standing on the opposite side of the counter.

“Because,” he sighs, “I saw your Instagram live and you were playing Elgar. You never play Elgar unless something’s really wrong.”

“I—that’s,” he pushes the bag toward you while you try to come up with a reason while he’s wrong, when he’s not.

You’ve had a habit of playing classical music when you were near your breaking point. It’s been a habit that you’ve had since you were 10, but concealed long before you started your time in the spotlight. While you were dating Taehyung, you were a depressed teenager and he was present for some of the worst times of your life. Several times he’d found you in your room or your parents’ car blasting tragic symphonies as accompaniment for bawling your eyes out. But that was years ago.

“You can eat it. I’m not hungry,” you finally say. He looks at you like he can tell you’re lying, but plays along and shrugs.

“Fine.” He opens the bag and pulls out some smaller plastic containers of food and a spoon.

“I didn’t mean here!”

He chuckles at your outburst, mumbling something about fame not changing you, before ambling out of the kitchen and through the rooms until he arrives at your bedroom. You find him about to sit on your bed and rush over.

“If you took the subway here, don’t even think about sitting on that bed.”

“What? Suddenly my subway clothes are too dirty for your bed?”

“Yes,” you huff. “The sheets alone cost me more than half a grand.”

“What the hell,” he jumps up like he’s been shocked. “Why would you spend that much on sheets?”

“They’re highly rated,” you admit with a small voice. “And they’re used by many foreign diplomats.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re so prissy.”

“We can’t all be members of a practical startup.” When his eyes widen in surprise, you curse yourself for letting him know you still keep tabs on him. “Besides. You used to like prissy.”

“Still do,” he gives you with a molten look that has you moving away from him and fluffing pillows to hide your flustered state.

“Why are you still here?”

“Because you’re hurting.”

“Maybe,” you throw your hands up. “But that’s not your job anymore.”

He runs a hand through his dark hair, parting the shiny waves carelessly. He’s not sure how to admit that he’s been making sure fame doesn’t eat you alive ever since you broke up with him to pursue your singing career. The memory of that day rings clear in his head even after five years of being split up.

Cliche as it sounds, it was a rainy night. You were at a meeting with Bee a few days before the entertainment label you were flirting with was going to give you the final version of your contract to sign.

Bee was never a huge fan of his, so Taehyung waited outside her office instead of interrupting the meeting to let you know he was there. But with the office door cracked, he could still hear the sounds of your conversation and the soft sounds of your sobs.

His blood grew cold when he heard what Bee was telling you. She told you starting this career with a relationship would hurt your numbers by making it impossible for your male fanbase to project their fantasies onto you because of the presence of another guy in your life. She told you if you were going to make it, you’d need to play up the role of sexy girlfriend to the audience members for the first album at least and that wouldn’t be possible if they got wind of Taehyung.

He covered his own mouth, barely fighting tears from welling up, listening as you tried to plead with Bee. Your voice was watery as you tried to convince her that you could make it without the girlfriend role. That you had enough work ethic and talent to do it. And when she didn’t budge, you said that you loved him and threatened to walk out right then if you had to break up with him. He listened to Bee tell you that you were being naive and that you’d be stupid to throw away all your opportunities for a boy.

And Bee was right.

So when you came outside minutes later with puffy eyes and a white knuckled grip on the sleeves of your sweater, he’d accepted his fate. He’d even accepted the lie you told him about having another guy on the side. Though you couldn’t produce a name when he asked who it was. Though you looked up at him like you wanted to take it all back. Though you leaned your forehead on his chest like you were in the greatest amount of pain. He accepted it all and walked away.

That is, if walking away meant that he created fake social media accounts so he could comment positive things on your first few interview videos and bought tickets to as many concerts he could when you were in the area. He never tried to make his presence known, just stood there and drank in how vibrant you looked when you were on stage and singing your heart out. It took a while for the jealousy to stop rearing its ugly head whenever he looked at how other people would show their adoration for you. By the time Nick came around, he was convinced he was content with how things were. But after seeing the way Nick’s cheating affected you, he had a hard time sitting still.

“Well, I’m not leaving until you feel better. So, you better start talking.”

“What is there to even say?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

You sigh and ignore him in favor of walking over to the large sofa in the corner of your room and collapsing on the large sofa face first. A dip in the cushions near you tells you he’s followed you and sat down. When you finally reveal your face, he’s peering down at you with a sad look in his eyes. The sad, sympathetic look that would always get you spilling your guts when you were still together. So you tell him everything.

It's almost embarrassing to tell him that you thought you loved Nick. At their best, things with Nick were comfortable and sometimes passionate, but it wasn’t anything close to love. Nothing close to what you had with Taehyung. And how could it have been when the reason you got together in the first place was because Bee thought you could ‘scratch each other’s backs’? Nick was not only handsome with the clean image Bee wanted for you, but you were writing and singing the theme song for the blockbuster movie he was to star in. It all seemed to work at first.

It only took one tabloid story suggesting that he was seeing some other younger and bustier actress behind your back to make you see that nothing you had with him was substantial. You brought the story up as a joke, thinking you could laugh about the way tabloids would do anything for story—even lie. As soon as you mentioned it to him, he denied it hastily and made a snide comment about not believing everything you see just because it’s technically press. After that, it was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly you couldn’t be in the same room together for more than 10 minutes without going at each other’s throats. The cheating rumors kept flaring up until they reached a peak a little more than 2 months ago, when someone anonymously submitted a video of him groping and kissing the same actress outside of a bakery in your hometown in broad daylight.

After watching the video about 15 times on the plane to Amsterdam, you concluded that even though he had long since established himself as a grade-A asshole in your mind, he was in mushy-love with this girl. You could tell from the sweet way he cradled her face while kissing her and how he took the extra step to block any potential cameras before giving her impressive rack a squeeze. Lucky for you, the video didn’t really evoke any messy emotions like jealousy. Instead there was just some satisfaction at having your suspicions confirmed and knowing he’d have to clean up this mess. You felt bad for the other actress, though. She was just starting out with mainly B movie roles and there was no telling whether the public would fillet her or ignore her altogether.

Taehyung has to sit on his hands to keep from rubbing your back you as you pour out all the things that had been stressing you out. What startles him is how stoic you are the whole time. When he first met you, you cried at the drop of a hat. It was endearing back then, but there’s no trace of it now. You sniffle a little when you talk about some of the vicious hate mail you received while in Amsterdam, but besides the shining eyes, that’s it. He clenches his jaw and wonders what you must have gone through in the last five years to have lost that quality.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles when the lull in the conversation is longer than he expected.

“It’s fine, I just,” you sniff again, wipe your eyes carefully. “I was really hoping that once the dating clause in my contract expired, things wouldn’t blow up in my face like this. And now I can’t go anywhere without people shoving mentions of Nick in my face. I just—it sucks. I just want to do what I want and I thought I’d earned that right but I guess not.”

“I don’t know. I think you’ve earned it. You’re grammy nominated this year, and you visited 13 countries this year alone.”

“What are you? President of my fan club?”

“Do I look like a 14 year old girl to you?”

You squint like you’re giving it some thought and he squawks.

“I’m just kidding,” you duck your head. “You’re, what, 226?” He laughs at the extra two centuries you’ve tacked on.

“You remember my birthday,” he smiles widely.

“Of course I do.” The way he looks at you makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up so you change the subject. “Alright. I’ve done enough talking. Where’s my compensation?”

“You literally haven’t changed at all,” he says while fishing in the pockets of his dark wash denim jacket. It takes a few seconds and he has to pull a few balled up receipts and earphones out of the pockets but he eventually pulls out a fat blunt and brandishes it like a huge check.

Nose wrinkling, you push his hand out of your face. “Weed?”

“Yeah! You said you wanted a pick-me-up, right? And I just got this yesterday from a dispensary. This is the good, strong shit. Probably could compete with the stuff they have in Amsterdam.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be able to tell.”

“Huh,” he furrows his brow while hunting for a lighter.

“I’ve never smoked so I wouldn’t know.”

“You mean you were in Amsterdam and you didn’t even try to smoke?”

“It’s bad for my voice,” you whine at his judgmental glare.

“Bullshit.”

“It smells like armpit,” you try again.

“There’s the prissy princess. Well, you should know that the only stuff that smells like that is the shit broke evil dealers peddle to broke college students.”

You roll your eyes, but sit up on your heels so you can pay closer attention. Taehyung flicks his lighter to life and lights up the end of the blunt. He takes a deep inhale before letting out a thick cloud of smoke. He gestures for you to take it, but you shake your head nervously.

“What’s the matter now?”

“I don’t know how to do it. What if I burn my lips?”

He squints at you, wondering how you can be such a baby. “The cherry’s not even on the side you put your mouth on.”

“Whatever! I’m still scared.”

“Do you want to try it, though?”

You gnaw at your lip thoughtfully and decide that you need to take your mind off everything for a while. “Y-yeah, I guess. I don’t have a studio session tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He scoots forward on the couch until your knees are just barely brushing. “I’ll shotgun it to you.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll see.”

He takes another drag, this time a little smaller, and holds the smoke in his mouth. Turning to you, he leans in until you can feel his bangs brush your forehead as he tilts his head to get the angle right. There’s about an inch of space between your mouths when he starts to let the smoke billow out of his mouth. You get the gist and try to inhale it as best as possible, but you’re new to it and he’s too far away for you to get the smoke.

“I’m not getting any,” your tone is petulant as the smoke floats up around your face.

Taehyung, on the other hand, is already feeling the effects of the strong blend he bought. He scoots forward once more and then turns to the side so he can take another drag. This next time, he grabs your jaw and brings you forward to meet him. Thumbing at your bottom lip, he coaxes your mouth open and slack before slotting his lips over yours. You feel the brush of the supple skin of his lips and it distracts you a bit, but this time you do manage to inhale most of the fumes. Your eyes drop closed as you hold the smoke in for as long as possible before letting your breath out.

“How was that,” Taehyung asks lowly. His lids have drooped to match his relaxed state. With the high slowly creeping over him, he ogles you unabashedly.

“It was okay. Do it again.”

He nods and quickly burns through the rest of the blunt, giving you the larger hits when he shotguns to you and taking slightly smaller drags for himself. To keep you nearby, his hand comes to rest heavily on the small of your back. You, still on your haunches, somehow end up straddling one of his thighs to stay close. Near the end of the blunt, you’re feeling a bit floaty and like the heat from the blunt transferred to your belly. Taehyung’s gaze feels tangible on you, like a firm-handed caress across all parts of you as he looks you over. Like smoke on your skin. You recognize the feeling as one you haven’t felt in a while and move to sit more properly in his lap.

“I want the last one,” you whisper while tugging on the collar of his jacket. The ends of his long hair tickle your fingers.

He nods and moves slowly to suck the roach dry. Once he’s close enough, you wait patiently. His nose grazes your cheek for a few long seconds before he finally turns to pass the smoke to you. You take it obediently and exhale but then grab him by the lapels to press your lips to his. His hands come up immediately to cup your face and pull you closer. You work your lips over his, drawing low groans from him as your tongue teases his.

“You smell good,” he says groggily between kisses.

“Thanks,” you roll your eyes.

His eyes flutter shut when you begin to press kisses to the column of his throat, your hands moving to unbutton the dress shirt he’s wearing underneath. He tries his best to keep up with you, but he gets slow when he’s high. So he settles for you being in charge, but does let his hands roam over your body.

A lot has changed since he last felt you like this. The strict gym regimen you employ to compliment choreography for songs has given you an amazing ass that he thought could only gaze at in pictures. And he had done quite a lot of that. Though he’s not sure how you would feel if he confessed to jerking off to some of your sexier music videos. He marvels at the feel of you and you’re pleasantly surprised when his hands come down heavy on your hips to grind you down onto his lap. A pleased hum leaves you and you reward him with kisses migrating lower, across the path of his now exposed torso. You leave the couch to sit between his spread knees on the floor. The button of his jeans is your last major obstacle and you still your hands over the waistband patiently.

“You get where I’m going with this, right?”

He nods his head, tongue coming out unconsciously to wet his lips at he takes in the sight of you on your knees in front of him.

“Do want you want me to...” you trail off, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed at asking your ex if you could blow him.

“Do you? Want to?” His hand reaches out to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over you cheekbone.

“Yeah?”

“Then, yeah.”

You move quickly to unbutton his pants and slide them down his thighs once he lifts his butt to assist you. He’s wearing boxers, which is a relief because you don’t want his bare ass on your very expensive couch, and the crotch opening provides easy access. With one hand, you smooth the wrinkles in his boxers over, noting the tent in the fabric and the dark stain where his head must be dribbling pre-cum. Your mouth is watering as you pull him out and test his girth and weight in your hand. Just the sight of his dick in your hand makes you want to swallow him down.

Before he can say anything else, you’re wetting his shaft with broad licks from root to tip. He grits his teeth and lets out a satisfied grunt at the way it feels when you tongue at his slit. You take him in until you just barely wrap your lips around the head, and he lets out a low moan at finally being enveloped in the wet, silken heat of your mouth.

“Can you do me a favor,” he manages to ask you despite the fact that stars are forming in the corner of his vision when you take him against the inside of your cheek.

“Hmm,” you hum around him, causing his hips to jolt up the tiniest amount.

“Can you spit on it?”

You smile in a way that can only be described as predatory and pull him out of your mouth. You spit like he asks, letting some drool pool on him as well, while he moans again and his hand comes out to smooth over your hairline. He’s more vocal than you remember and it gets you wet quickly. Before you stain anything, you kick off your stupid bedazzled leggings so you can return them to Bee in the morning.

“Shit,” he hisses when you start bobbing your head to a fast and unforgiving rhythm. You’re playing with him, you want to wring an orgasm out of him, and he can sense this. “Why don’t we take this s-slow?”

You pull off briefly. “Tae, I want you to fuck my face. That’s not well-suited to slow.”

“Isn’t that bad for your voice,” he mimics your tone from earlier.

You give him a pinch on his thigh before taking him into your mouth again and resuming your ministrations. Since you’re so focused on getting what you want, he decides to try and level the playing field and keeps his hip movements to a minimum and opts to talk through the head instead. He’s determined to get some clarity with you

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes deeply through the feeling of your saliva starting to trickle over him. The slide is getting slicker as you continue, making him lose his train of thought briefly. “So much.”

Instead of replying back with words, you just give a little acknowledging noise that’s too neutral to be a dissenting or affirming noise. He takes it in stride and continues.

“I still think about you all the time. And I—fuck—I’ve tried to date other people, but it’s just never felt quite the same way. You were the only one who understood me so well and who didn’t try to change me.”

His words wash over you and a wave of fondness hits you in a way that has you almost shy. You haven’t been shy in a long while because you couldn’t afford to be in your line of work. People were always trying to capture parts of you, and a great deal of them were trying to capture the uglier sides. There was no room to actually fear that for the last five years of your life because it was inevitable to a certain degree. But as you work over Taehyung, his words make you feel stripped down. You feel bare and small despite the fact that his words have nothing but good in them really.

“If I’m being honest,” he says and you slow your rhythm to stare at him, wondering what he could have to confess. “You might be even further out of my league than when we first met.” You sigh and pull off of him.

“Tae, come on. Give yourself some slack.”

“No, I mean it,” he sits up slowly, tongue heavy with earnestness as he tries to talk through the high. “It seems like you’ve only become more comfortable with yourself since you started singing and the way you move—it’s like you’re from another planet.”

“Oh my god,” your cheeks heat up when he looks at you like you have a halo and wings. “Stop, you’re being so unnecessary right now.”

“I still love you,” he says. The words fall from his mouth like he’s been dying to say them. “And I know you didn’t cheat on me when we were younger.”

Your mouth drops open in shock. To this day you still regretted lying to him like that. But deep down you knew that there was something off about his reaction. He didn’t seem shocked or nearly disappointed as you thought someone might be when they hear they’re being left for another person. Instead, he had just nodded and insisted on driving you home until Bee had to come out and promise him that she’d do it herself. The fact that he didn’t block you on social media or try to drag your name through the mud immediately after your debut made you wonder if he saw through your lie.

“How did you know?”

“I came early to pick you up that day. And I heard Bee tell you what to say to me. How to break up with me.”

“Tae, I’m so—”

He shushes you with a tender kiss to the cheek that’s so soft you’re rendered momentarily speechless.

“I know. It’s not your fault, they didn’t give you a choice.”

“I would have picked you if I could,” you mumble into the space between you. His hands feel like anchors on either side of your face and you cling to them in the hopes that you won’t cry. “I really would have. You don’t know how much I missed you.”

“I feel the same way. It killed me to see you with that Nick asshole.”

You smirk a little at the mention of Nick. “Aw. Were you jealous, Tae?”

He looks down at you for a second, reading your face carefully, before dropping one hand down from your cheeks to the nape of your neck. The weight of it reads as possessive on your skin and you lean forward unconsciously until you’re able to smell the faintly sweet smell of smoke on his clothes.

“You’d like it if I was, right?” His gaze hardens, setting your heartbeat into a rabbit-quick pace. “Hmm? You like me being jealous of him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Answer me.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I do,” you nuzzle into his neck to hide the excited smile splitting your lips.

“I knew it. It’s pretty on-brand for you.”

He nudges your bare thigh to signal you need to get up and so you do. You’re about to ask him what the hell ‘on brand’ means for you when he bends down to throw you over his shoulder with a low grunt.

“Tae, what the hell!”

Your raised voice gets you a harsh tweak to the perky globe of your ass and immediately quiets you down. He walks with you to the bed before throwing you down. Not rough enough to hurt but just rough enough to surprise you and give a doe-eyed look to your face. When you look up at him, his charade has fallen a bit, eyes returning to their original sleepy softness.

“Is this how you want it,” he asks you.

His voice is deep and gentle, and it evokes a different but equally visceral reaction. You nod and then shuffle over to the edge of the bed and sit at the edge of the mattress, waiting to see where he’ll take the situation. He smiles darkly at you once more before placing a hand on the back of your head to lead to his crotch.

His erection stands taller than it did before on the couch and he digs his fingers into your hair when you plant sweet kisses on the juncture where his thigh meets groin. You look sweet like this—playful, even—as you mouth along his length with kitten licks interspersed. When you’re about to take him into your mouth once more, he fists your hair and pulls you off him. With your head angled up to look into his eyes, you see a new emotion in them.

“Look,” he sighs. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do the whole thing.”

“What, like sex?”

“No, I mean you and me. I want to be with you. I’ve made my peace with what happened between us, but I know I still love you. So, I’m asking you to decide if you’re willing to do that, to be with me. Because I can’t—”

“Yes.”

“What?” His eyes grow wider and take on an awestruck quality. Like he’s not sure he wants to believe what he heard from you. “Really?”

“I want to try again,” you curl your hands around his hips. Bringing him forward into a hug around his pelvis, you lean your chin on his lower abdomen and try to infuse as much reassurance as you can into your smile.

“You won’t get in trouble with your agency?”

You shake your head and curl your arms around his hips, bringing him into an awkward hug as you lean your chin on his lower abdomen and look up at him. “Nick was an exception because he and I were arranged by our respective agencies, but my dating clause expired last year. I can date who I want. Within reason.”

He throws his head back with the realization that he’ll get a second chance with you. The hand he has on the back of your head softly caresses the skin of your neck.

“God, I love you,” he breathes with eyes drifting closed in contentedness.

“Good. Now can we get back to this? You were being fun earlier.”

“Yeah?” His tone turns gravelly and coy as he coaxes you back towards his dick. “Are you ready to choke?”

You can only nod as you take him in gradually, only for him to wait until you get halfway and push your head further down. You gag around him at the sudden pressure at the back of your throat, but shift your breathing through your nose to get a better handle on it. He pulls you by the hair until you’re at the tip again before slamming you back down, your nose nearly brushing the skin of his abdomen. You gag and the sound causes him to thicken in your mouth and a rush of arousal to trickle down into your panties.

“You feel so good around my cock,” he moans as he begins thrusting shallowly into your mouth. You can tell he’s close from how irregular the rhythm is. “Can you try to deep throat me?”

After you give an affirmative hum and relax your throat as best you can, he takes your face in both hands and starts to pull you up and down his length, going further each time until he knows he’s in your throat from the sudden tightness of you swallowing and the increase in gagging. Saliva is now dripping from your mouth, coating him and your chin, but you don’t care. Your eyes tear up at the burning sensation, but you can also feel your arousal trickle down your leg as he fucks your mouth more intensely. Right as you press two fingers to your clothed center for some relief, he gives you a tapped warning on your neck and his orgasm spills into your mouth.

He quickly pulls off his jacket and shirt, handing the latter to you to wipe your eyes and mouth with. Once your face is dry, he tucks himself back in and climbs around you into the bed. You turn to watch him fold back your blankets and throw the pillows you have all to the foot of the bed, leaving the space by the headboard. Taehyung then lies down, head where your pillows once were.

“Going to sleep already?” Your voice comes out in a sultry croak that has him laughing a little.

“No, I’m getting ready for you to sit on my face,” he says simply.

When you don’t budge, he sits up and pulls you by the arms toward him. You try to escape him, but his grip just tightens the more you protest.

“Tae, wait, I’m not—”

“You’re not what?”

“I’m not...presentable. Down there.” You avert your eyes as you explain to him that it's been a since you were last at a spa to get waxed. You figured since you weren’t seeing Nick anymore and you were mandated by your PR crew to wait at least 4 months after a breakup, there was no need to keep up with such a strict...landscaping routine. He rolls his eyes and moves to pull on the waistband of your panties to peek in and see what you mean, but you shove him away.

“Do you think I actually care?”

“Do you really not?”

“No? Unless you have some disease or infection, what’s the issue?”

“I’m clean,” you pout.

“Good,” he says before placing a kiss on your lips.

While you’re distracted by the kissing, he maneuvers you into straddling his waist before pulling back. Reluctantly, you shuffle up to hover over his ribcage and shyly grab the headboard. He huffs.

“You know I can’t reach you from there. It’s called sitting on someone’s face for a reason.”

He nudges your butt until the seat of your panties lines up with his jaw. He sees a few errant curls peeking out from the leg holes of your panties, so he uses a finger to push your underwear to the side to get a better look. What’s unsurprising is that it still looks like a vagina, though it had been a while since his last non-bald encounter. He doesn’t care, though, and cups your butt in his hands to move you the rest of the way.

The broad strip he licks up from your entrance to your clit takes you by surprise and because you were wound up so tight from a combination of nerves and horniness from blowing him, you let out a high keening sound. Taehyung chuckles beneath you before using his full lips to kiss at the apex of your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth. The tip of his tongue scrubs figure eights against the bundle of nerve endings and has you squirming over him. More arousal leaks from you and he shifts to drink from you, humming and slurping obscenely. He then starts to lick at you in earnest, tracing strategic shapes across your lips and sucking with varying pressures and paces until you start rocking over him on your own accord.

“That’s my girl,” he praises you from below. “Now, ride my face,” he says before flattening his tongue and pressing up to meet your tentative grinding thrusts.

The combination of saliva and your arousal makes the glide smoother than you expected and it feels so good that one of your hands leaves the headboard to fist in his thick hair. He moans a little at the faint sting and wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs to press you against him harder. His tongue dips into your entrance occasionally, chasing the flavor of your arousal, trying not to let any of your juices go to waste. You bite your lip to trap the wanton moans trying to escape you, but Taehyung realizes what you’re doing and gives you another sharp swat to the bottom to coax them out, mumbling against the inside of your thigh not to hide from him anymore.

As you start to move more desperately above him, he attempts to fuck you more purposefully with his tongue. It’s just enough that in a dozen more swivels of your hips, you’re cumming all over his face, soaking his cheeks with a glistening varnish. You try to move as quickly as possible, but he stops you with a tight hold on your hips and licks you clean. You squirm away, partly because you’re sensitive and partly because he’s so enthusiastic about it that you’re a little bashful.

Finally he lets you get off him, but he doesn’t let you get too far. He follows you and almost makes it into the en suite with you, but you close the door at the last moment. You pee and clean up and when you come out, you feel like a weight has been lifted. Taehyung looks infinitely more sober lying in the middle of your bed in just his boxers, eyes bright and hair messy as he tries to figure out which remote will turn on your speakers.

You stand by the bed and watch him for a while. He turns to you innocently and holds the remotes in his two hands with confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you approach your closet and take off your borrowed sweatshirt before looking for your favorite well-worn sweatsuit. “You’re just so pretty.”

“You’re prettier,” he shouts over to you. He can’t see you inside your closet, but you’re smiling like an idiot.

When you’re fully changed, you go to the bed and lean over him to kiss him. He still smells like you and you tell him so, to which he responds with a grin and subtly licking his lips.

“So when do you want me to tell the public about you?”

“Whenever you want,” he shrugs.

“Really? Because there’s a good chance you won’t be able to live your life the same way you have been once I do that.”

“Then it’ll just change. I would expect it to if you’re coming back into my life again.”

“Oh my god, you’re so—”, you’re at a loss for words.

You decide to crawl into his space and pepper kisses into his skin. He smells like a strange blend of you and him, but the smell is reassuring in some way unknown to you. You sit there for the rest of the night, breathing him in like smoke

#bscproject #bangtan bookclub #bttnetwork #95line.net #kimtaehyung.net #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts smut #bts fanfic #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine #taehyung fanfic

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fire-the-headcanons · 4 years

Text

Tai scratched his neck with a thoughtful frown at the floor. "Have you told Professor Carmine you can carve?"

"No. …Why?"

"Custom parts for weapons. Embellishments, mostly. There was always a two-week wait at Signal for anything they didn't already have the molds for. With all the professional Huntsmen that come here for repairs, I bet it's even worse."

"Hey, yeah, I never thought of that," Summer said, pausing her rifling through the paints. "Wouldn't that be cool? Your stuff being part of real Huntresses' weapons!"

"Summer, we're not fake Huntsmen," Tai complained.

Follow the Beacon Summer—Care Package

[Link to Masterpost]

[The promised fluff! And @ranger-lcat‘s favorite chapter, actually.

TW: slight existentialism, jump to CARE PACKAGE! in all caps to skip]

"Oh—you're that kid."

Summer paused, the pen dwindling to a stop halfway through her signature. "...Oakley?"

"Are you okay?" they asked, sliding the box onto the counter. "You seemed a little... freaked out, on Halloween. I thought later maybe I should have broken character."

"N-no, it was fine!" And not at all embarrassing. She hurried to scrawl the rest of her signature.

Slush sprayed under her boots as she headed back to the dorm. You never expect to know the person under the sheet. But they were back in reality now, and she didn't have to stand back and watch helplessly while people were hurt.

Starting with the ones in front of her.

"CARE PACKAGE!" Summer shouted, kicking the door open a little harder than intended. It banged into Qrow's desk loud enough to send half the room diving for cover. "Whoops. Sorry."

"It's gigantic," Tai scoffed, believably, jumping up to help her carry it in. "What's in here?" They dumped it at the foot of Summer's bed with a muffled floof.

...It was bigger than she'd expected. How much did Huang have lying around? It wasn't like anything of Summer's would fit either of the twins. "I guess Mom didn't know which paints to send, so they just sent everything." She slid Gungnir's arrow from the barrel and sliced through the tape. "Aaaaand it's a bunch of your old clothes."

"I asked him to send, like, two things. Half of these don't even fit me anymore… I thought we donated this." He held up an old band T-shirt—most of the lettering had peeled off, but the bone-like patches sewn on to imitate a Beowolf's pattern remained. She was reasonably sure it wasn't Tai's, either, his dad was the one who liked that group. Then again, Summer had mentioned the twins wearing Grimm colors on a phone call sometime in September. I guess they remembered.

"Cool."

They both glanced at Raven, who hurriedly looked back at her textbook.

"Then it's yours," Tai said, tossing it right over the pages. "Take whatever you want, the rest is going to Ramparts. Here they are!" he shouted, pulling some of his orange zip-off cargo pants from the bottom of the pile. "I knew I had another pair! ...What's this?" he muttered with genuine confusion, drawing a note out of the pocket.

Summer grabbed a loose corner and dragged it open. "Hey kids, we've been too busy to get into Vale, could you drop this stuff off next time you're in town, Claret and Huang."

"That explains why they have some stuff in here too," Tai said, pulling a deep red skirt from the box with his free hand. Summer fought back a smile. It was perfect—her mother was about Raven's size, and while her red had a bit more of a purplish hue it was definitely closer than Tai's orange. Huang had thrown in some plain brown pants for Qrow, too, by the looks of it—

"My paints!" she gushed, pulling a large plastic toolbox from the giant wad of clothing. Another lay beneath it. "And all the figures…" You didn't need to sell it that hard.

"Sorry. Guess Dad figured Uncle Balt was dropping it off for free and just sent half the cabin." Tai grinned. "But hey, maybe we can scrape together a group to play a little Grottoes and Grimm."

"Dan won't want to, though," she said, turning her old Huntress over in her hands. It didn't look like any paint had chipped during transit. Then again… some of these were early attempts and an excuse to redo them wouldn't really hurt.

"He can deal with it for a Saturday or two," Tai said dismissively.

"Can I see them?" Qrow asked. "…The figures?"

"Of course!" Summer said, turning the toolbox to face him as he limped over.

It had been a whole day and his aura was barely recharging, but he refused to go to the doctor. If it kept up any longer they'd probably have to drag him—if something had torn in his knee it could keep siphoning his energy forever until he got medical attention.

"Your leg doing any better?" Tai asked.

"A little."

And all of that was ignoring the gashes on his face and neck. If he could really keep his defenses up in his sleep, it would take more than a distracted tumble down the stairs to injure him.

What they couldn't figure out was why he would lie.

Summer inspected a little plastic Ursa, wrinkling her nose. "These don't look as good as I remember."

"They look great." Qrow picked through the box carefully, one at a time. "Well, the paint looks amazing," he amended.

"Yours are way better than the plastic," she said, setting the Ursa back down. "...You're sure you want me to paint them?"

"It'd take me forever to learn to do this," he said, holding up a little Huntress with a battleaxe. "Go for it."

Tai scratched his neck with a thoughtful frown at the floor. "Have you told Professor Carmine you can carve?"

"No. …Why?"

"Hey, yeah, I never thought of that," Summer said, pausing her rifling through the paints. "Wouldn't that be cool? Your stuff being part of real Huntresses' weapons!"

"Summer, we're not fake Huntsmen," Tai complained.

"You know what I mean!" She grabbed a scratch sheet of paper from her desk and dipped her smallest brush into the red paint, tracing a few practice swirls. Once she put brush to bone it wasn't likely she'd be able to erase any mistakes. When the motions finally felt automatic, she picked up the Beowolf and traced the little lines on its mask.

He peered at it, smiling. "I love it."

"Those are way better than the plastic models," Tai agreed.

"Hey, when you paint the Grimm Reaper, can you use a little of the silver just on the edge of the blade?" Qrow asked, pointing out the little tube of metallic paint sitting on the toolbox's tray.

"Ooh, and leave some of the bone showing?" Summer asked. "That's a great idea!" She beamed at him. Behind him, his sister threaded a needle. "Oh, Raven, if you're going to tailor that shirt you'll need some stay tape. I think it's knit. Here, use some of mine."

"Oh, thanks."

Much better, Summer thought, tracing the next set of red lines onto her practice sheet for the nevermore. Raven quickly got engrossed in her project, and a slightly confused Qrow listened to Tai's enthusiastic retelling of their last G&G campaign while he picked through the box of clothes.

Finally, the cloud of the last few days began to lift.

Next Chapter: Taiyang—Scars

[On one hand, I don't have any ideas for a Grimm and Grottoes campaign with these four. On the other hand, Qrow's Semblance screwing with the players and the GM equally would be hilarious. "Miss." "Miss." "Miss." "Miss." "Miss." "...Nat one." "You take… fifty-six points of damage." "Guys, I don't think this is working."]

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #summer rose #taiyang xiao long #qrow branwen #raven branwen #strq #team strq #follow the beacon

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theyoutubedork · 5 years

Text

Soap and Water- Part 2

Peter Parker

“You’ve done this before?”

Part 1

It’s been a few weeks since Tony Stark asked you to clean a suit for him. It surprised him how easy it was for you to clean it, due to all the small mechanical gizmos sewn in, but you did it regardless. You had worked on it the entire night before he came back the next morning. Tony was very happy with your work and left a very large tip, and grabbed a small business card that he forced you to create for him. He said he would call you if anymore “top secret” stuff needed to be cleaned. You have not received a call from Tony after this encounter, so you guessed he fixed his bad habit of spilling coffee on everything he touches.

Things have continued as regular, yet you have become more paranoid whenever you worked night shifts, since a sub shop a few blocks away, (called Delmar’s if you recall) got blown up in the middle of the night. This news also came in the package of the new hero-on-the-block Spider-Man. You’ve seen a few mentions of him whenever the small tv in the dry cleaners shop was on the news channel. You always heard his alias mentioned from your customers, talking about how he “swung right by me on my way to work,” or “webbed up a guy right in front of me,”. You remember there was one time where you had to get the gross spider webbing out of someone’s jacket once. One of the most frustrating things to get out. Nonetheless, Spider-Man was making himself known in Queens.

It was another one of you night shifts, and no one was in the shop except for you. You say nervously behind the counter, staring out the glass entrance for any signs of danger. You sighed, reaching for the tv remote to shut off the tv. You hear the static crinkling as the screen turns grey, then a solid black. You were left listening to the calm buzzing of the lights and the distant car honks of the city. You closed your eyes, dreaming of the moment you get to go home.

Suddenly the door swung open, making you open your eyes at the bell chime. You looked up to see a familiar red and blue suit with a spider emblem. Your eyes widen. The suit was fit onto a lean, muscular figure, covered with a mask with white-slanted eyes.

“Hey, are you still open?” The figure asked you. It took you second to recognize the figure.

“Uh..yeah..we’re still open,” You babble, straightening yourself, gripping onto the counter with white knuckles. “Are you Spider-Man?” He ignores your question, looking around the shop.

“Thank god, Mr. Stark told me to come here whenever I was in a bind,” He chuckles, coming closer to the desk. You see him reach for his side, and you see a crimson stain soaking his suit. You gasp.

“Oh god is that blood?” You stutter, pointing to the stain. The figure laughs wearily.

“Yeah, I uhhh.. got scraped fighting off some guy who pulled a knife on an old lady, you think you can get this stain out? I don’t know how to do it.” He murmurs shyly. Without speaking, you pat the counter, gesturing him to sit on it. He quickly jumps into place where you hand once was. You lift a finger, “one moment,” You say as you go to the entrance of the shop and close the blinds and hang the closed sign.

“Were you followed?”

“Nope,”

You make your way back to Spider-Man, whose perched on the counter, with you standing in front of him. You look at him expectantly. His mechanical eyes furrow at you.

“What?”

“Your suit, take it off please,” You say blankly. Spider-Man lets out a yelp.

“W-what?” You roll your eyes.

“You want me to clean the blood right?” His eyes whir as they open.

“Don’t worry, just keep your mask on, follow me,” You say, not waiting for him as you walk into the washroom. You hear frantic grunting and rustling as you start running water and getting some wash cloths. You hear the door close behind you. You stick your hand out behind you, taking the suit without even looking at the hero as your pour soap into the sink.

“Do you have a chair or something?” Spider-Man asked. You turn your head around to look at him.

Shirtless.

He was shirtless.

No pants.

Only Underwear.

And the mask.

You felt your entire body heat up, your face turning as hot as the sun as your eyes crawl over his body.

Spider-Man was ripped.

Like...really ripped.

Spider-Man just looks at you with his white-eyed gaze, not giving you a sense of what he was feeling. You gulp, trying to tear your gaze from the glorious set of abs he had. He had his hand on a bandage wrapped around his waist, covering his wound. You reach for a chair and drag it towards him.

“Uh here you go,” You stammer, quickly returning back to the bloodied suit. You take a damp washcloth and carefully start dapping the stain. You rembered the suit having fragile pieces, so you did your best to not damage them. A few moments pass as you delicately scrub the blood. You hear Spider-Man tap his bare foot on the cool tile.

“So what’s your name?” He asks cooly. Your shoulders tense up at his calming voice.

“Y/N L/N” You say, trying to focus on the stain rather than thinking about those abs.

“Y/N L/N. That’s a pretty name,” He echoes. Your cheeks flush, as your mouth turns dry.

“Thanks. I suppose you can’t tell me yours then?” You joke, soaking the washcloth under the water again. The blood was finally starting to come out.

“Sorry, I can’t” He sighed.

“It’s ok,” You say calmly. After a beat of silence, you speak up again.

“I’ve cleaned this suit before actually,” You feel Spider-Man grip your shoulder quickly making you face him. His mask is loosely hanging on his head, his breath making it move and pucker as he speaks.

“You’ve done this before?” He asks worriedly. You place your hand on his bravely, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry, Tony Stark came in a few weeks ago with it when he spilled any coffee. He didn’t share many details except for that he was giving it to a kid he wanted to recruit, which now I’m guessing is you,” You say. Spider-Man sighs in relief, releasing his grip on your shoulder.

“Oh ok, that’s why Mr. Stark said to come here,” he thought out loud.

“He reccomended me?” You ask, smiling to yourself as the last bits of blood deep into the washcloth.

“Yeah he just mentioned it, I wasn’t planning on stopping by, but, here I am!” He chuckles, gesturing to himself. You smile at him, thankful you got to meet the masked hero.

“Well, I’m sorry it had to be over a blood stain, that’s not something I want you to deal with. I can do it, sure, but I have more, less gruesome, talents,” You laugh, wringing out the washcloth under the faucet. You watch the bright color of blood swirl down the drain, fading as it becomes diluted with soapy water. You take a towel and start drying the spot quickly.

“Oh? Like what?” Spider-Man asked. Your eyebrows furrowed lightly. Dumbly, you didn’t expect him to ask you to elaborate. You tap your chin absentmindedly, turning towards him. You see his shoulders slightly tense when you make “eye contact” with him.

“Well I think the reason I didn’t mess up your suit was because my dad was a mechanic growing up. He really liked collecting and fixing cars, so he had me clean the engines and detailing, or something like that. My mom had a hobby for making clothes so she taught me how to tailor, which is what got me this job in the first place. I can fix the machines whenever they are down, so I guess I just have a thing for the details, since I liked building and repairing things when I was little,” You rambled, not paying too much attention to Spider-Man. After a moment you looked back at him,

“It’s not that impressive,” you mumble. He laughs.

“No, it is! I just don’t understand why you work at a dry cleaners of all places,” He wondered. You finally stop drying the suit and start feeling the fabric with the pads of your thumbs.

“I sometimes wonder that too,” You say dryly, starting to feel a slight tightness in your chest.

“I tried to get into Midtown tech when I was entering high school, but I guess I wasn’t smart enough for it. Even now I couldn’t get into any of the colleges I wanted. I’ve always wanted to work at S.H.I.E.L.D for tech and stuff like that but I haven’t got the resume for it,” you sigh heavily, washing out the sink and throwing the washcloths in the washing machine next to you. When it starts, you both sit in awkward silence, the only sound coming from the rattling machine. You pick up Spider-Man’s suit and give it to him, hands slightly shaking. All this talk of your dreams made your eyes begin to water. You bite your lip and wipe your nose with your shirt sleeve. Spider-Man climbs back into his suit and presses the spider emblem, making his suit and mask cinch to his frame. The mechanical eyes whir and adjust before they look to you. You wonder what he’s thinking.

“Well I think you should give yourself more credit,” He says, making you look up at him with glossy eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“Well...I..uh..” He stammers, kicking his foot forwards in thought, “I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you to Mr. Stark, how about that?” You look at him in disbelief.

“You don’t even know me! You don’t have to do that,”

“Well consider it a token of gratitude, my suit looks good as new,”

“Thanks, it’s a beautiful piece of machinery, wish I could make something like that,”

“I bet you could, with the right resources,” you wave a hand at him in protest.

“Ok ok, I cleaned your suit Spider-Man, don’t you have a city to protect or something?” You joke. He laughs before he flips over the counter. You follow him out carrying your keys and purse. Spider-Man flies out and hangs upside down from a streetlight. He swings back and forth as you lock up the store, switching off the lights. You sigh as you stretch out your limbs, letting out a sigh.

After a moment you turned to look at Spider-Man with sleepy eyes. Today’s events just hit you and you are ready to go home. Spider-Man sensed this.

“Do you want me to swing you home? You look tired, there Y/N” You looked around then shrugged.

“Why not?”

———————

“OH MY GOD SPIDER-MAN!” You yelled as you clutched onto Spider-Man. The wind whipped through your hair as you both swung from building to building. You heard his small chuckle over the loud wind, and you wrapped your legs around his waist even tighter. He flung the two of you on top of a building, which seemed to be your apartment building.

“Which floor, m’lady?” He cooed, his muscular arm still wrapped around your waist. You smile, breathing heavily from the adrenaline.

“20th, the window is on that side,” You say, pointing to one of the sides that face a park before resting the hand on his shoulder. Spider-Man attaches a web to propane tank before repelling down the side of the building.

“Going down,” He says like an elevator voice operator. You laugh as he mimics the cheesy elevator music. After a moment of giggles, he floats in front of your bedroom window, which you confidently left open.

“20th floor,” He says flatly once more, before opening the window further, setting you down inside before hanging upside down by himself. His feet curl up to meet at the web string, as he casually holding onto it with both hands, with no strain whatsoever. His suit’s eyes peer at you, shrinking and growing subtly. You look back at him, taking in the image, as if trying to take a photo and frame it. The suit absorbed the muted lights of the city, as the man quietly swayed before you. You heard his heavy breathing, as if he was at a loss for words. Well at least you were. The light from your room reflected off the lenses of his eyes, making it possible to see your own reflection in them. Although you didn’t know what he looked like, you thought he was beautiful. Something about the way he carried himself made you curious. Something about it made your senses tingle with attraction. Before you regretted it you rolled down his mask to his nose. He ears were poking out slightly, and they were tinged pink. You saw freckles beautifully dusted on his nose and cheeks, so beautiful, you thought. Your eyes go up to his lips, which are slightly parted, showing you the slightly chapped parts. He seemed to be stuttering, not able to catch up to your line of thinking. You blinked in realization, why did you do this again? Oh wait.

“Can I kiss you?” You breathed cautiously. After a moment his head nodded slowly, quickly sticking out his tongue to lick his lips, which sparked a fire within you. You reached on your tip toes, taking the side of his head in your hands. You took this off-chance to place a small, slow, yet sweet kiss on his lips. You were fucking kissing Spider-Man. Like a real motherfucker. The exchange was very passionate, yet very simple. You felt the boy kiss your bottom lip with such determination that you wanted to giggle. After planting one more hungry kiss, you pulled away with a smile, rubbing his cheek with you thumb.

“W-wow,” Spider-Man breathed, gulping his nerves before letting his smile grow beautifully. His teeth peeled out, shining brilliantly. His smile lines crinkled as he scrunched up his nose.

He had a beautiful smile.

“Ha..thanks” He stammered. You said that out loud didn’t you? Oh well. It’s true.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that,” You smiled sheepishly. His smile never faded.

“Don’t apologize, I liked that,” He said, his breath fanning your forehead. This made your skin get goosebumps. After a moment he dropped one of his gloved hands to tuck a piece of hair away from your forehead.

“Thanks for taking me home, Spidey,” You chirped.

“My pleasure, I hope I see you again, Y/N,”

“I’m sure you will,” You say, grabbing his mask to pull it back up over his face. Before you could he grabbed your hand, pulling it forward so he could mold his lips to yours again. You smiled into him, interlocking your hand with his. He kissed you with more certainty, like he wanted to kiss you, and only you. He found you intoxicating, as you found him. After he kissed you like it was the last day on earth, he pulled away, bringing his mask back over his now swollen lips.

“See you later,” you both murmured as he dropped down, swinging away into the night with a hint of childlike glee. You closed your window and flopped onto your bed.

You just kissed Spider-Man.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #tom holland x reader #tom holland #marvel #mcu #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #avengers #avengers x reader #spiderman x reader #mcu fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home

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neighsleigher · 5 years

Text

Blue Man Group Arrives In Nevada, Except It’s Just One Troll

> Equius Zahhak throws away the wax wrapping of his carbonated thin crisps and begrudgingly settles into the leather padding of the passenger seat. A conscious action for a foreigner.

> He could see his escort from the parking lot paying for their topped-off tank of gas and refreshments with unmarked bills. The cashier, human, was, of course, polite to his patron, and given by their shared expression the two had struck a conversation. Much to Equius’ chagrin.

> They've long since escaped the confinements of civilization, the last leg of their journey upon them. From this point on it’d be Equius, his escort, the asphalt of the open road and desert sand wisping past and grating sensitive skin.

Equius rests his arm on the window sill. Though grateful for the lack of roof to their vehicle, he can't help but feel like an uncomfortably large sardine in a comically small can.

Those two wrap it up and finally, finally, the door of the store swings open and the escort emerged. Equius exhaled deeply through his nose and said nothing when the human popped open the driver's door.

“How's your stomach holding up?” he said, before dropping a bag into Equius’s lap. Oh, seltzer water. “Not sure if it'll do it you any good, but it's better than nothing.” The escort starts the ignition while Equius knocks back a quarter of his seltzer as they pulled out of the empty lot and got back on the road.

Already the feeling of nausea is starting to subside. “Thank you.”

“Ain’t a thang-chicken wang,” It’s when Equius raises a brow that the human clears his throat to keep talking. “Out on business huh? Must be some pretty exciting stuff, yeah?”

“I guess,” is all Equius could say.

“And you just returned from- like- space, right?”

“Correct.”

“That’s kinda dope- I mean, that’s cool. Being up in space for that long, I mean. What do you guys even do up there for that long?”

“You’ve gotten awfully chatty considering this is the final stretch of our drive together,” Equius says pointedly, which his escort responds with a shrug of his shoulders. “Clearly we work,” he says while another carbonated thin crisp square is pressed to the trolls lips. “And then we work some more, doing our part to service the Empire.”

His escort, clearly dissatisfied with his answer or lack-thereof, tries to push the subject even further. “Trolls have powers, right? Like mind control, or lifting things with your thoughts. You remind me of the X-Men! Except, you know, they don’t do what you guys do,” he laughs awkwardly. “You’re a blue, right? Can you read my mind, or do you have some other power?”

Crushing heads like a particularly ripe cantaloupe didn’t feel like much of a valued answer. “No.”

“So you guys are just born like that? Sorry, I mean hatched.” This humans attempts at getting friendly were falling flat. Equius isn’t sure if he should scold him for talking to his superiors at all or commend him for the stone sized globes he’s smuggling behind the confinements of his Sunday slacks. Nonetheless, he keeps talking. “Oh- you said you didn’t have any powers? Does that mean you just came out the egg Jack Diesel? A freak with a cause and crazy muscles?” He persisted.

This conversation has taken a hard left and Equius isn’t a fan of the detour.

This man can talk, he is like the Muhammad Ali of talking. If the conversation was an Olympic sport this man would have done a somersault onto the podium and clean house. Bronze, silver, gold- all his, tucked into his grubby little hands and taking everyone for a three-hour drive no one wanted in the first place. The tank is full, his gums are loose and everyone is terrified.

“Yes,” Equius interrupts before this man could even think of moving his lips again. “I was, in fact, hatched with unbelievable strength and gifted physical abilities that your species could only dream to achieve.” The escort opens his mouth to say something else, perhaps to comment on the visible sweat dripping down the troll’s brow. But he would never know for sure as it instead shuts tight.

“Though that is to be expected,” Equius continued. “We are superior, which explains why your planet was so easy to colonize into our mighty Empire. To call it a fight would be to give you more credit than you’ve earned- it was a scuffle if anything.”

“If you want to put it that way, sure, but you’ve got to admit that it was an unfair fight-”

“There is no such thing as ‘unfair’ in a fight,”

“Are you upset because- ”

Equius paused. His face had gone a faint yet noticeable shade of blue.

“Stop the vehicle.”

The escort furrows his brows and gives his passenger a look over. “You okay big guy?”

“I said stop the car.”

Nausea had returned and with a vengeance. The car swerved off the main road and into a clear patch of dirt and rocks, Equius stumbled out with the grace of a newborn deer and into a ditch.

The rest of the drive was smothered with an uncomfortable silence, both escort and escorted now reverting back into their proper roles. The two exchange glances, one apologetic, the other leaning to a close second.

And they leave it at that.

In two hours time, they finally encounter signs of life outside of the average lizard and hungry buzzard, driving past Imperial Military vehicles and the trolls who stood there like sour-faced statues. The Escort stops next to a toll booth and the troll manning it. “Evening boys, you two look like shit. Long drive?”

Neither driver or passenger could take offense to the observations made by the Imperial Soldier manning the toll road of the fenced off area, as they reigned true. Driving for almost several hours- including periodical breaks at Equius’ expense- has that kind of impression on people.

Their destination was finally revealed to be a small district in the middle of the Mojave Desert, Nevada. He hadn’t been given all the details, just to show up at the given coordinates as soon as they were grounded and their personal affairs were situated. No questions were asked; not because they weren’t necessary, but because it would have been unprofessional.

Equius runs the proper procedures. He flashes his I.D, credentials, and the necessary paperwork to prove his placement before taking a beetle to the pad of his index finger. It’s needle pointed mandibles piercing flesh and drawing a healthy sample of blood into its now swollen thorax. It glows a faint, royal blue.

He drops the beetle now full of his blood sample into a metal dish sitting neatly on the desk inside the booth.

The Imperial Soldier doesn’t look up from his flashy military-grade tablet, tapping letters and numbers into the illuminated screen before speaking in the escort’s direction. “You can turn back now.”

The human's jaw tightens a bit and excuses himself quietly, but not before offering Equius a farewell; “Sorry about the tight fit big guy, and uh, everything else.” Most likely concerned that he’d get a mark to his records. And ‘annoyed their assignment vomiting on the side of the road’ sounds like a quick way to lose healthcare privilege.

His silence is enough to make the escort shrink back into his seat, but it’s Equius’s careful bob of his head that eases him just enough to leave the booth comfortably.

“You can enter, just head towards the collapsible containment shelter- the big white tent a few feet away from the crash site,” The Soldier pointed past the gates and through the crowd, where a white stood proudly above the chaos. “Your overseer should already be inside.”

Equius muttered his thanks and entered the gate that sealed- whatever this was- off from the rest of the world with a chain linked fence and a lot of lethal weaponry.

Imperial Soldiers, Medicullers, and members of the Research Division scattered the sector like ants. Everyone was kept busy, to slow down and to do anything else outside of their job would merit a scolding or a demotion to their ranks. Out of the corner of his eye, Equius could see, judging by the colors of the patches sewn into their shoulders, three olives and a cerulean examining the contents of a body bag.

In the middle of the fray was a crater the size of a small cargo ship, deep enough to drain a lake three times over.

The earth around the edge of the crater that dropped into the pit was scorched and ashen, nothing would be able to grow here again. Equius peered over the ridge to get a closer look, to see if he could catch a glimpse of what could have caused an impact that severe to create such a sizeable hole. But it was empty, save for the trolls collecting dirt samples.

“Zahhak.” A voice, stern and smooth, called out above the crowd.

His attention snaps to look ahead, to now approach the white tent that the Imperial Soldier informed him of with a clawed finger. The voice originating from behind its partially raised entry.

A particularly photogenic tealblood, a familiar face, waited patiently by the tent’s entrance. The overseer’s right hand adjusts her thinly framed glasses that only brought attention to her small, button nose, her long hair now done up in a tight bun instead of flowing freely at her shoulders.

“You’re late,” she scolds and Equius tries not to wince. It had only been by five minutes, but that wasn’t an excuse to waste her time.

“My apologies, but if I may ask-”

“You may.”

Equius bit his bottom lip carefully before speaking again, his voice soft. “Why did you assign to me a human escort?”

Serana stares at Equius blankly, her gaze forcing him to shift nervously where he stands. Their relationship was strictly professional, but even then it wasn’t as if Serana hadn’t made attempts to understand her co-workers on some level.

“Come with me.” She was hard to read at times, even with

Ignoring the dampness on his forehead, she leads him inside.

Despite first appearances, the inside of the tent was fairly spacious, with enough walking room for exactly five adult trolls of intimidating size. On opposite ends of the tent the walls were occupied by bulky consoles, display screens, and workbenches all of organic roots. Healthy, pulsating wires coiled the floor and snaked their way around the legs of every troll and table here, every wire connected to one massive framework in the corner of the tent. Conveying electric currents into the lush purple mainframe.

Serana caught up her skirt and maneuvered her way around the maze of circuitry. She leads her lesser to the far back of the tent, where the wires became more crowded and convoluted. Making it a chore and a half for Equius to dance around so as to not crush anything.

Serana approached the back of the tent, her clipboard secure in her arms. “Sir,” she rose her voice to be heard among the whirring of machines.

The Overseer, Galleo Mercur, was (visually) as one would expect of a sea dweller; clean, neatly trimmed and exhibiting excellence with every graceful poise. His nose was pointed and his jawline regal, like a model, and though he’s already earned sweeps under his belt the man didn’t look a cycle over twelve. He stood in front of a glass display case that Equius couldn’t peer into despite being taller than the man.

The Overseer turned to face Equius with a wide grin etched into his lips. “Zahhak, baby, you mate it!” The man was always so loud, and even when he should have been used to it; Equius jumped each time. “Why so late, I thought you had a grasp on Earth time?”

“His driver was human, sir,” Serana interrupted.

The man rests a hand on his hip, cocking it to the side. “What? Zahhak, buddy, I am so sorry- Serana, how on Alternia did this happen!? You know I don’t trust monkeys behind the wheel.” He makes sure that everyone and their lusus within earshot knows his stance on the miserable road trip that Equius had embarked.

His dutiful assistant let her fingers drum against the back of her clipboard. “I did not arrange for this, sir.” Oh, that actually made sense.

Galleo tilted his head. “Then who did?” That made a lot more sense.

“You did, sir.”

Galleo paused for a moment, lips and brows scrunched tight to scan his mind for whether the accusation proved true or not. “Oh well, mistakes happen. Doesn’t matter,” he dismisses it just as soon as he considers it. Galleo brings up his right hand and waves it lazily; taking this as her cue, Serana carefully takes up space next to her Overseer and the glass cube he stood in front of.

“Zahhak,” Galleo said simply, running a chill down Equius’s spine. Or maybe it was the night breeze cooling the metal.

“Sir?” He responds proper.

Galleo, obviously pleased with the attentive care his employee put into his answers. “How would you feel about taking up a special little assignment during our time here on Earth?”

An assignment straight from the Overseer? “I would feel honored, sir.”

Galleo tossed his head back and laughed, loud and boisterous, like a talk show host from SNL, a program that Equius shamefully admits to tuning in on from time to time to fill the silence in his quarters. “See,” he spun on his heels, and Equius could see the gleam in his eyes behind the yellow tint of his glasses. “That’s why I like you, you’re always so quick to do what I want you to do and you barely waste my time with useless questions,” he crowed.

“Of course,” Equius affirmed. “If you are to just tell me what it is that I am to do, sir, then I will do it to the best of my abilities.” Serving his higherups came first, after all. Even if Equius did take a quick detour to visit Dirk. The Overseer let out another hearty laugh, with Serana fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

“A few nights ago, Earth time mind you, one of our patrol stations were given a heads up about some illegal crash landing activities here in this desert. I’m sure you saw the big hole outside.” It was hard to miss it. “To cut a long story short, patrol was called, they came to check it out, then patrol called us once they realized that this was way out of both their jurisdiction and pay grade.” Galleo stepped to the side; giving Equius a clear view of the mystery behind the glass casing, and the mystery a clear view of Equius.

At first he sees himself in a red tint, the glass surface of the foreign object reflected everything within a ten-foot radius. It was sphere shaped, smooth, and reminded Equius of a glass marble. It couldn’t be no more than thirty- no, thirty-five inches in circumference and looked heavy for any human or rustblood to carry on their own. The sphere glowed an intense color of red, specks of orange and yellow danced and mixed together with the red backdrop like small explosions in a sea of maroon.

“If you think that’s obnoxiously intoxicating, check this out.” Galleo, all too excitedly, reached for the latch that separated the orb from the rest of the world and yanked it free in one swift motion. Serana took a step away from the glass containment and Equius made sure to follow her example.

The lights began to flicker and the mainframe hissed in what can only be properly described as agony, the wires coiling in on themselves while the biomechanic consoles shook in their placements.

A gutteral rumble predated the crack-flash of energy that was pulled from their electronics. The once striking red color of the orb then shifted into something angry, telling. The explosions of orange and yellow bloomed inside of themselves, spreading out to all corners of the orb like thin veins. Trolls, now dangerously aware of what had been released onto them, relinquished their stations and hurriedly exited the tent save for three. Equius shielded his vision with his forearm, a crack of electricity licked the flesh of his arm and he cried out in pain and anger.

The vibrations beneath their feet had been growing, now even more intense than it was seconds ago. All the electricity that was being pulled from their equipment were now being drawn into the face of the orb.

Serana, now the troll of reason, saw an opening and jumped on it the second it was wide enough for her to squeeze through. Dodging wild and uncoordinated ropes of energy to slam the glass lid shut, and let go of a relieved breathe she had been holding on to. The orb hissed and sparked little snaps of energy, but other than that it lied as dormant as it was before.

When the excitement finally died down, Galleo noticed a smudge of navy blue on the toe of his shoe. He grimaced openly, muttering to himself about how these were ‘imported’ and ‘suede’. Letting Equius pick himself up from the ground while he fished for something on a nearby bench.

Equius held his wound in his free hand, while Galleo offered to him a file tablet. “I want you to take home a sample of this thing and run some tests while I tend to business. Paperwork and such, nothing interesting.” Carefully Equius took the so far only non-damaged piece of equipment in the room. “Give it a look over, fill out a report, and you have until we’re due for another departure mission.

Equius nodded and gingerly accepted the digital file from his Overseers hands. The wound would just have to wait, he’d have to secure some samples before anything else.

#narrative post #long post //#emetophobia //

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harrysvintageguitar-blog · 6 years

Text

PHOTOGRAPHY HARRY ; chapter 1

"Bye mum!" were my last words as I saw her driving off, leaving me alone in a whole new world. Today, was my first day of university. I managed to scrape through my A-levels and get a decent enough grades to be accepted by Brighton Uni. Ever since I was little I have always wanted to do something with art as a career. I would pretend with my grandparents that I was some kind of fancy painter who sold their paintings for millions of pounds, we would do auctioneers selling my crumpled, messy drawings. But my grandparents pretended it was the greatest thing they had ever seen and even to this day they they have a box full in the loft of all my drawings, of course signed and dated. My grandparents were always one of my reasons for doing art when I was younger, just to see the smile my scribbles of a rainbow and some stick men would draw upon their faces. It's been 6 years since they had passed away, but whenever I created a new piece I would always try and remember their expressions looking at my work, even if it wasnt my best. That's what my first thought was, as Mum said her goodbyes, whilst I was stood on the curb with my suitcase and box of a few bits. Mum never seemed to be very interested in my life, I had to awkwardly ask for a lift as no one else could give me a lift. The ride there wasnt particularly enjoyable as the silence seemed to fog the air. So I decided to connect my phone to the aux cable and play some Fleetwood Mac to calm myself. I mean a fresh new start, new people and new places is the best thing to get me away from home. My thoughts were broken, when a girl started to wave in myself. I must've been daydreaming because she looked slightly impatient, but she gave me a soft smile when I regained focus. She was beautiful she had birght hazel eyes that matched perfectly with her tight curled black hair and olive skin. She wore a navy velevet crop top that tied around her waist with a pair of black jeans that stuck to her hips, showing off her hour-glass figure. "I'm Bobby" she gleamed as she gestured her had to me. I gave her a smile back and shook her hand "Violet" I replied. "Ah so you must be my room mate. Been waiting all day to meet you, you took your time!" she teased letting out a brief laugh. Immediately putting me at ease. "Follow me and I'll show you to our room." She said as she grabbed the box of my stuff and walking into the building ahead of us. The building was a basic uni stereotypical building, the typical grey building with a basic style to it, but it would have to do. "Heres your room" Bobby gestured to the little box room overlooking the carpark and other houses. "Thanks Bobby" "It's alright... um look me and some friends are going to a local pub near by to meet up with the other freshers. If you dont have plans do you want to come?" Her eyes were hopeful like a innocent puppy, how could I say no. "Oh, yeah, sure that sounds really cool" "YES! ok well be ready by 9 and then we can walk down together, cool?" she said excitedly. I nodded glad that my first year might not be going to complete rubish just yet. I locked the door behind me, sighing as I sat on the bare matress. I suppose I should unpack a bit as my room did seem a bit bare and I had hours to get ready so I had time. I unpacked my duvet covers that I'd taken from home, it had flowers on it that tied well together. However, you could still see some of the acrylic stains from when I had been too lazy to go and paint on my desk and then accidently knocked paint on it, but that added character. I set up my bed adding a pillow that Grandma had sewn together for me and I also hung up some coloured fair lights around the room to add a more homely look, along with my posters of some bands that I had seen back home. By the time I set up my room It had been 2 hours and I only had a hour to get ready, so I quickly set up my speaker and played a few songs from my playlist to try and boost my energy levels from travelling mostly all day. I hadn't had many clothes to choose from that weren't crinkled or just lunging around clothes, so I decided just to go for my normal day wear: a pair of blue 'mom' jeans and a white T-shirt with 'feminism' written in black across the front. My hair was no longer strait from where I straightened it this morning and curls were beginning to show so I put it in a quick pony tail, tucking my baby hairs behind my ears. As I had gone so basic on the outfit I thought it was right to spruce up the makeup a bit more, grabbing my orange eyeshadow palette that I had have since I was 15. I qucikly put some orange in my crease with my brush and a shimmery gold on top to add a more glam look and a bit of mascara to top it off. It was almost 9 so I grabbed my phone chucked it in my bag with my purse and tried to find Bobby. "Bobby!" "IM ALMOST READY! just give me five mins!" she called from her room. I took her word for it and grabbed my black converse and sat on the sofa which was positioned right next to the kitchen and positioned my self tying my laces. ~20 mins later~ "hey V, sorry I didnt know what to wear... ready to go?" she said as she brushed he hand through her hair. No one had ever called me 'V' before, but then no one really new my name let alone making a nickname for it, it felt good. She came out in a dress that was another velvet piece in green that tied around her hips exagerating her curves, with a pair of black heels. Making me feel very self concious about my outfit choice. "it's fine, nice dress by the way" I complemented trying to not make it seem awkward. "aw thankyou! I um love your bag." The brief pause didn't help my confidence but I decided to forget it and just go to the pub. We both walked down to the 'pub' as Bobby had described it, it was more like a casual club not a steak and chips place that I had imagined in my head. The place was called 'panther' there was a loud buzz of people and banging of music played through outside. But Bobby gave me a smile and pinched my hand as she lead me inside over towards a bar. There was a group of about 5 people standing around that seemed to be looking straight at us, they all hugged Bobby welcoming eachother untill they all stared at me obviously wondring who I was. "Oh guys this is my room mate Violet, thought she could use some company so be nice!" "hey nice to meet all of you" I smiled, they all laughed giving me hugs. There was Alex a who was tall and stood strong with baby blue eyes that shined against the light. Lucy, who Bobby seemed especially close with as they both had eachothers arms wrapped around their waists, I presumed that was her girlfriend, she had dark brown long hair that was around her shoulders, they just seemed to go perfectly together. There was also Niall a cute looking guy with blonde hair that stood sipping his pint of beer at the back smiling at me.Two other girls also stood next to Niall they both seemed as elegant as Lucy with their slim figures and perfect structured faces. By the time we all started talking I realised I hadn't yet got a drink and decided to swiftly move towards to bar,sitting on the sticky stool waiting for the bar tender to come over. It was nice to have a bit of space away from people just to regather myself, I had a quick scroll through my instagram feed looking at the people back home starting uni, wheni decided to turn it off and just to enjoy myself. Untill I heard the stool next to me be pulled out by a man with curly dark brown hair, he was looking me straight in the eyes. He had piercing green eyes that where mesmerising. "Hello" he said, his voice husky "I'm in a band" he grinned. "Does that line normally get you very far" I spluttered out not thinking what I was saying. "Didn't mean to offend you." His hands began to play with his ruby ring around his finger twirling it round almost nervously. He looked very comfy whilst wearing a knitted space jumper that looked exspensive, with a pair of flared blue jeans and vans, whilst he had sunglasses stirred into his curly hair. "I just thought I would come over and say 'hi', you seemed to be lonely sitting here all by yourself" a small smile began to grow across his face, as he began to look up at me. "I'm perfectly fine thanks, I'm here with my room mate so no need to worry im not alone" I joked letting out a small laugh. "Good to hear it" he beamed "I'm harry, just moved here, you?" he ignored my invitation for him to leave. "Violet, and so have I, are you at uni here too?" I began to get more comftable as his smile relaxed me. "Yeah I'm doing second year photgraphy, I just moved from London to Brighton as I fancided a change of scenery" he sighed. I didn't question his lack of enthusiam and ordered a drink for myself. He tried to pay for me but I refused I didn't need his money. But he insisted where I had to let him or he would of kept pestering me. For the whole night we both sat there talking about a load of nonsense like our favourite food and movie and about what we wanted to do in the future, obviously I had no idea or either did he like most students. He did talk about his band saying that his band mates are going to perform this weekend on saturday and that I should go, he seemed like a sort of guy to like my music taste so I couldnt see why not. "The band is called CHASM, and dont froget it cos' one day we'll be touring the world" we both laughed. For some reason the tinge of confidence that he had didnt seem rude to me it felt funny and almost warming as cringey as it sounded he started to grow on me. "Hey um look, heres my number" he typed his number in my phone and sent message to himself so he had my number too, making my eyes roll playfully. "Text me whenever you want and if you want to come along to one of our gigs" his dimples began to show as his mouth peaked. "Yeah sure, maybe see you around campus?" I tried to say casually like I knew what I was talking about. We said our good byes as Bobby was calling me to leave now as she had begun to get a bit tipsy. He hugged me into his arms in a bear hug, I could smell the scent of alcohol mixed with aftershave, but not too over powering that it was actually pleasant. Harry made sure we both were in a uber on the way home nice and safely, even though it was only a 10 minute walk. He insisted on walking us home himslef but he had already been too kind and I didn't want to push it. By the time he shut the door, Bobby immediately look at me with her brow raised, her make up slightly smudged and he strap of her dress fallen on her side. "he totally likes you you know" she giggled as the effects of alcohol took its toll. I just rolled my eyes at the comment, although it did feel nice for someone to pay attention to yourself occasionly AUTHORS NOTE: I hope you liked this it is my first time ever writing a fanfiction and If you like this then I would like to start a series to do with Harry and Violet (: x

#Harry Styles #styles #harry #fanfic #fanfiction #photography #one direction #harry styles fanfiction #brighton #harrys #photo

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imjustthemechanic · 6 years

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The Stone Knight

Part 1/? - Two Statues Part 2/? - A Curious Interview Part 3/? - John Doe Part 4/? - Escape Attempt Part 5/? - Making the News Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - More Impossible Part 8/? - The Shield Thieves Part 9/? - Reality Sinks In Part 10/? - Preparing a Quest Part 11/? - The Marvelous History of Sir Stephen Part 12/? - Uninvited Guests Part 13/? - So That’s What It Does Part 14/? - The What and the Where Part 15/? - Gearing Up

Ain’t no party like a party with Black Widow’s personal arsenal.

That was a terribly awkward spot in the conversation, so it was a relief on multiple levels when Sir Stephen suddenly shouted, “this is it!”

Everybody looked up to see Sir Stephen burst out of the library room with the book in his hands. There were a few of the post-its sticking out of the pages, but he ignored them all as he set it down on Sue's desk and reverently unfolded one of the big maps. It depicted an ellipse with eight extant stones and dotted outlines to show where Lau's expedition had found evidence of four more that were now gone. The one that had once been at the focus had fallen down and broken in two, and another dotted line showed where Lau believed the one across from it on the long axis had once been much bigger.

Everybody crowded around to look, and Natasha read off the caption. “L'anneau à Cracnesse, sur l'île de Flotta.” The Ring at Kracness, on the island of Flotta.

Carter was already typing it in to google. “Okay... according to Wikipedia, Kracness Henge on the island of Flotta is one of the oldest known stone circles in the British Isles. It is believed to date from around 3500 BC, making it a thousand years older than the pyramids at Gizeh. The henge forms part of the Heart of Neolithic Orkney World Heritage Site, and is looked after by Historic Scotland as a scheduled monument.” She looked at Nat. “Meaning nobody's allowed to dig it up.”

“Meaning you need permission to dig it up,” Nat corrected. “So if the Grail's buried there and they try, we can have them arrested.” How well that would work when the offenders were a kobold and a resurrected sorcerer, she was not entirely sure, and the others looked likewise dubious. “We have to assume that if we can find this, they can, too, so in order to be there ahead of them we'd better get going.”

“Should we not seek permission to be there?” asked Sir Stephen.

“Nah,” said Nat. “That takes months.”

Knowing Sue would be upset if it were left lying around, Natasha carefully put the book in the 'to be shelved' basket under the library table before they left. As they descended in the elevator back to the ground floor, Dr. Wilson cleared his throat.

“Not to be that guy,” he said. “But if we're not actually allowed to dig the Grail up, how are we gonna make sure Totenkopf doesn't get his hands on it.”

“By killing him,” said Sir Stephen grimly.

“Oh? That easy, is it?” asked Dr. Wilson.

“If it is true, in any sense, that we were both turned to stone, then our duel is unfinished,” said Sir Stephen. “I have my doubts whether there is any shred of honour in the man, but if there is, he will want to finish it as much as I.”

“That could be a problem when your sword's still in an evidence locker in Inverness,” DI Carter realized. “They'll have set all that aside while they try to figure out what the hell went on in that room.”

“Then we'll just have to get them out,” Natasha decided, “and the rest of us will have to arm ourselves, too.” She considered her companions. “Dr. Wilson, you were in the military. You must know how to handle a firearm. Carter obviously has her service weapon, and I've got some stuff stashed away at my place. But Sir Stephen's gonna need his own stuff.” She didn't doubt he would be a quick study with a gun, but he might be a little too eager for anybody else's tastes.

“How are we going to get it?” asked DI Carter as the elevator doors opened. “We can't just walk in here and ask for it. I seem to remember a conversation about how not even the Queen can do that.”

“I'm a Russian spy, remember?” asked Nat, deliberately doing a stagey, exaggerated accent. “I'll get the shield before we leave here, and the rest of the gear in Inverness.” They headed out to the car park.

Rushman cleared his throat. “I can shoot,” he said. “I go duck hunting, remem... I mean. I go duck hunting,” he repeated.

It occurred to Natasha that in the alternate reality that existed in this man's head, he might very well have been the one who taught her to use a gun. Had the two of them bonded by sitting in blinds together on rainy days, sharing hot chocolate and body heat while they waited for a bird to get within range? The mental picture was wistfully sweet, at the same time as it made Nat shudder – if she thought like that too much, she was going to start believing in it. That was the reason people preferred the beautiful lies, after all. They were just so much more comfortable than the ugly truths hiding behind them.

Anyway, so long as there was a ghost of a chance that Zola either was Rushman or had created him to mess with her, Nat wasn't going to trust him with a gun. “We'll see,” she said.

Getting Sir Stephen's shield was no problem at all. After Dr. Hughes had left for the evening, Nat simply slipped into her lab, picked a couple of locks, and slid it out of the safe. It was wrapped in plastic to keep it from being contaminated by other sources of DNA, and for a moment Nat felt a pang of regret. She'd wanted to be done with things like destroying evidence and hiding the truth, and yet here she was, doing exactly that, even if not quite for the reasons she might once have. Maybe if she thought of it as serving the concept of truth rather than any one truth in particular. After all, at the rate they were going, it might not be long before 'truth' didn't even mean anything anymore.

She unwrapped the plastic. The stone replica of the shield that had appeared as part of the statue had been huge and thick and looked like it must weigh a ton. The real thing, though of the same dimensions, was feather-light. Its leather skin had been painted blue and white, with a star in the center. Silver-plated rivets around the edge and an embellished boss in the centre, both just barely beginning to tarnish, held the leather in place, and on the back were the two straps for the bearer's arm, fixed to a wooden strut. The sagas, Nat recalled, described shields like this as being made from linden wood. Was this one, or had the Lady of the Lake provided Sir Stephen with something else altogether?

Before she left the Life Sciences building, Natasha did one more thing. She stopped by the office to slide something into Dr. Hughes' mail slot – a bubble envelope containing two swabs with DNA samples, and a short note asking for a paternity test. At this point is was a little hard to believe that science would actually have any answers for her, but part of an answer would do.

Back at the car where the others were waiting, Natasha presented the shield to Sir Stephen. It felt like an oddly ceremonial moment, standing there with this medieval object in her hands – an impression that was only reinforced when Sir Stephen reached out hungrily for it, then held it at arm's length to look at as thought it were a long-lost love.

“Thank you,” he said gravely, and put it on his arm.

Nat did a bit of a double-take, as if she had to check and make sure that he was still dressed in a t-shirt and jeans that belonged to Dr. Wilson, still had a little bald patch where the surgeons at Raigmore had sewn up the gash in his face. He was, and he did, and yet for some reason it didn't matter. With that shield on his arm, Sir Stephen of Rogsey was a warrior.

“Next stop, Six Burnett Road,” said DI Carter as they climbed into the car. “I'm really not looking forward to submitting my case reporton all this.”

“Not quite yet,” said Nat. “I told you, we've gotta stop by my place first.

“Are you all right with coming along?” Dr. Wilson asked Rushman. “You didn't exactly sign up for this, and I have a feeling we're about to break some laws we didn't even know existed.”

Rushman shrugged. “If I don't exist, they'll have a hard time prosecuting me,” he pointed out.

“I guess that's one way to look at it,” Dr. Wilson agreed, but it was hard to say whether he were interpreting the statement as a joke – or indeed, if Rushman had meant it as one.

Natasha's flat could be entered directly from the street, which was a major part of the reason she'd chosen it – it facilitated getting in and out at odd hours of the night without disturbing the neighbours. It was certainly useful now, when she wouldn't have wanted to explain why she, normally a loner, had four people with her. She tuned on the light, revealing a very ordinary-looking kitchen with a bouquet of dusty fake daffodils on the table and a slightly shabby poster of Degas' La Classe de Danse on the wall. She leaned over the sink to shut the blinds, then turned to pull the fridge out from the wall and reveal the hidden compartment behind it.

“Need some help with that?” Rushman asked.

“No,” said Nat. She got it out, unplugged it, and opened the hidden door to reveal a row of meticulously maintained Soviet assault rifles.

“I'm, uh, guessing you don't have a license for those,” DI Carter observed, as Nat began pulling things out.

“You can arrest me later,” Nat promised. She handed the first rifle to Dr. Wilson, who immediately began checking it – his military training made it as natural as breathing. Natasha nodded approvingly and grabbed a second weapon for Carter.

“Is all that really necessary?” asked Rushman, watching with wide eyes. He must be wondering what on earth his little girl had gotten herself into.

“We're in a race against time with a guy who can blow up a building with his mind,” Natasha replied. “I don't think there's such a thing as over-prepared.” She grabbed a third weapon for herself, then a fourth just in case one got damaged, and began piling up boxes of ammunition. “I've got a red and black sports back in the bedroom closet tha's got a plce for these,” she said. “Somebody wanna go find it for me?”

“I know the one you mean,” said Rushman. “I'll get it.”

“It's the door on the...” Nat began, but he'd already left the room, as if he knew exactly where he was going. A moment later he was back with the bag in his hands. He'd known exactly where it was, she thought. Of course he had, he'd been here before. That was what Nat had told people when she'd taken the flat, that she didn't need help because her father was flying over with her stuff.

“Thanks,” she said. Nat unzipped the bag and opened the pockets she'd sewn into the bottom to hold weapons and ammo. “You guys can have something to eat if you want. I'm gonna pack a few other things before we head out.” Who knew when, or if, she'd be back again?

“What kind of other things?” Carter asked suspiciously.

“Clothes,” said Natasha dryly. “Toothpaste. Tampons. That kind of thing.”

“Ah.” Carter nodded, both relieved and disappointed.

Natasha did her packing, trying to keep in mind that even in the summer the Orkney Islands were likely to be cold and stormy. As she did she began to be able to smell something... onions? Puzzled, she peeked around the corner into the kitchen, and found that somebody had pushed the fridge back into place, and now Rushman had pasta on the stove and Dr. Wilson was cutting up vegetables.

“You're cooking?” asked Nat.

Rushman smiled at her. “I figured I might as well do something useful,” he said. “Do you like spaghetti?”

The hopeful way he said it made her want to grit her teeth. He wanted her to like spaghetti, because he was looking for something in her of the daughter he remembered.

“It depends on the spaghetti,” said Nat. “I'll give it a try. Let me wash my hands and I'll be right in to help.” Getting directly involved would be the easiest way to make sure she could intervene if it turned out to be a plot to poison them or something. As was washing her hands, for that matter – Nat kept her poisons under the bathroom sink, and she wanted to make sure they hadn't been touched.

They hadn't, and as Nat closed the cupboard and got up again, she could hear Rushman talking in the kitchen.

“I had no idea how to cook when I was younger,” he admitted. “After Kathy got sick, I got to realize that Nat and I couldn't have McDonald's every night, so I actually went and took a cooking course at night school, just so I could get it right.”

Natasha turned on the faucet to drown out the voices, and stared in the mirror as she washed her hands. Rushman did look like he could be her father, she thought. The two of them had the same blue eyes, the same eyebrows, the same chin. It made her wonder which was worse: the idea that this was all a conscious lie before he betrayed them, or that he really did have this entire lifetime in his head that had never happened, in which he could show up in Natasha's office and say hi, Ginger Snap, and she would run into his arms.

In the end she couldn't decide. Both, in their own way, were equally terrifying.

#fanfic #black widow #natasha romanov #captain america #steve rogers #falcon #sam wilson #agent 13 #sharon carter

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takadasaiko · 7 years

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Howl Until it Hurts: Chapter Three (a Rowdy 3 fic)

FFN II AO3

Story Summary: When Amanda asks how they met, Martin reluctantly tells her the story about how Project Incubus became the Rowdy 3. Following from Martin being brought into Blackwing through their escape.

Chapter Summary: Martin arrives at Blackwing and to the harsh reality of what he's tumbled into.

Chapter Three: Learning to Cope

They'd taken his bag at the door and with it went his extra clothes, a couple of comics, and - worst of all - his walkman and headset. He'd told them no when they had asked, but then they'd just taken it anyway. Martin had fought, but it hadn't taken a lot to haul him off his feet and start down the hall to the room where they'd instructed him to strip, shower, and change into the white jumpsuit with a symbol sewn into it that he didn't recognize. All like it was the most normal thing in the world.

As he stood in the shower, feeling the hot water burning his fair skin, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was completely and utterly alone in the world.

He had had no one to help stop this. He was a minor, and now that they had ahold of him they sure as hell weren't going to let him live on his own. His mother had been all he'd had in the world. He had no idea what had happened to his father - nor did he care to ask - and if his mother had had extended family they were long gone by now. It had just been them. Now she was hospitalized and he wasn't much better off.

Martin frowned at the ugly jumpsuit. It was too bright and too heavy. Instead of pulling it up around his shoulders like he was supposed to he left it hanging halfway at his waist, the tank top they'd given him to put under it serving as his sole shirt. He blatantly ignored the woman that tried to tell him to fix it. If they thought that he was there to be their perfect little lab rat, they'd have something else coming.

The shoes they left for him were too soft compared to his usual heavy boots that he wore. They squeaked with every step, making it impossible to not alert the world to his presence and by the time that he was led to his new room he was in a foul mood.

It was too perfect, but not for him. The walls were bright white, freshly painted. The bed was made, every corner of the sheets tucked in at all the right places. There was a desk with books and a pad of paper and a bin full of pens. An open closet showed several sets of jumpsuits just like the one he wasn't wearing correctly then and another pair of the horrible shoes. It was stifling. Suffocating. Like a pristine little cage so the rat didn't know he was in the lab. He turned his nose up at it and shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose irritably.

"Don't like it?"

Martin whirled around, finding Major Scott Riggs standing with his hands clasped in front of him. "I want my stuff back. They took it."

Riggins nodded, but something told Martin that didn't mean he was agreeing to do as the teen had demanded. It was an acknowledgement that he'd been heard. "It's an adjustment, I know, but we need to limit outside contacts to get the best results. A controlled environment will help us narrow down what needs to be done to better help you control what you can do."

Blue eyes narrowed and Martin stared at him for a long moment. He could smell something off of him. It wasn't fear, but something else. He wasn't sure what yet. "Least give me my music."

"Eventually. Maybe."

"What'dya expect me to do until then? Make friends in the freak zoo? Or am I the only one here?"

"There are others. I imagine you've… sensed them. But no, not yet. Again, we're limiting outside contact. You'll keep a steady schedule. Up at five for testing. Breakfast at seven. Morning studies to make sure you don't fall behind. Afternoon testing begins after a lunch period and it's lights out at ten."

"I don't like quiet."

"It'll help you focus."

"I don't have a problem focusing."

"Don't you?" Riggins asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. He motioned into the room. "The room is yours. I'd say it's a little bigger than what you're used to back home, wouldn't you? It'll start to feel like your own soon." He patted Martin on the shoulder and made a comment about zipping the jumpsuit up before turning to leave, the doors shutting automatically behind him.

Martin couldn't sleep that night. He tried, but he was still buzzing with energy and it was too quiet in the room. The walls were too thick and too bright and it was too quiet. It was deafening like his mother's screams that morning.

Martin had been poked and prodded by enough doctors for a lifetime. Nothing bothered him any more, and it hadn't even occurred to him to be nervous over the testing. He'd assumed it meant what it always did: drawing enough blood work to feed a small coven of vampires, a few physical tests, maybe some scans….

Blackwing wanted that and more.

The first round of morning testing left him exhausted and achy, though funny enough the electric shock had actually given him a burst of energy rather than taking it from him. They were more interested in that than Martin liked.

He had thought they might finally show him the cafeteria when breakfast time rolled around, but instead they delivered him into a mostly empty room. It was pitch black, but he could smell the fear rolling off the other person there. Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours or so of being in Blackwing's custody he got the impression that choosing to go with them had been a bonzo bad idea.

The lights flashed on without warning and Martin squinted hard. His eyes finally adjusted and he saw a terrified man strapped to a chair, a gag in his mouth keeping him mostly quiet. His fear spiked and it tasted amazing, and Martin got it. Breakfast. The guy was breakfast.

"Good morning, Martin," Riggins greeted over a loudspeaker and the teen squared his shoulders.

"No."

"You're never going to learn to control it without practice."

It was so practical sounding, or would have been if the bound man weren't whimpering like a kicked dog.

"I might kill him. No."

There was a short sigh before the comm cut and Martin heard the door unlock. He scrambled for it before they changed their minds. Or before he changed his. The man smelled like a damned feast, but he couldn't control it, and he was far from desperate enough to be forced into it.

Riggins was waiting on him with two armed guards. Martin eyes them warily and Riggins waved them off. He took a step forward. "Martin, I told you when you came in that we're not going to let you starve to death in here."

"So just put me in the room with him," the teen snapped. "I'll… I dunno, soak it up. It happens sometimes. Anywhere there's a lot of people with a lot of hype."

"Is that how you've been doing it?" Riggins asked curiously. "It won't last, son. You're proof of that right here. You may gain some time, but you will starve if you don't feed."

"You don't know that. You said you don't know how it works, so you can't know that!"

Riggins sighed, his expression reminding Martin of so many other adults that seemed to think they knew best. They rarely did in his experience. They did want to control though. "Okay."

Blue eyes blinked hard. That had been unexpected. "Okay?"

"I can't help you if you won't help yourself, son, but unless you feed, you're not going to survive long. I didn't bring you here to die."

The words hadn't sounded like a threat, not then. It was days later that one of the scientists that were supposed to be helping him fit him into a machine, locked him down, and flipped a switch.

Martin screamed. The sound echoed in the room and bounced off the walls as his back arched and somewhere amidst the pain he felt the hard tug of the straps against his wrists and ankles. It wasn't electricity. That he could take. That he could absorbed. This was something very different and it hurt like hell.

He wasn't sure how long it lasted. It could have been seconds, but it felt like it would never end, and when it finally released him he collapsed back against the table. Everything pulsed around him. He didn't think they'd taken his glasses, but he felt like he'd stuck his head under water and opened his eyes. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe. He could barely think through the pain and the clawing hunger. It had only been this bad once before that he remembered, and it hadn't been that long. He shouldn't be this bad yet.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Martin felt them unstrapping him and lifting him up. He couldn't focus on where they were taking him or do anything except being dragged between them.

He must have lost consciousness somewhere in there because when he opened his eyes he was seated on the floor, propped up against the wall. His head was killing him and his limbs were heavy. Everything hurt and the hunger was strong enough to make him sick.

Then there was the smell and it drew his undivided attention. The same man from days before was strapped to the chair in the middle of the same room. He was terrified and a struggling, muffled cry escaping him.

Energy flooded his system, filling him up and replenishing strength. Martin pulled himself to his feet, staggering just a little against the wall even as the door opened. He turned, a deep growl startling him, especially when he realized it had come from his own throat. He felt better. Stronger. More focused. He also felt like taking Riggins' head off about then. "You son of a bitch!" he snarled as he exploded forward, but suddenly he found the pair of guards from days before with their guns aimed directly at him and he slammed to a stop.

Riggins was completely unruffled. "I told you I didn't bring you here to die, Martin. I'm not going to let you starve yourself to death because you're stubborn. You are my responsibility, do you understand that?"

"Gonna have them shoot me?" the teen growled. "Lota good that'd do."

"It won't do any actual damage, but what comes out of those guns will pack a hell of a punch."

"So what? Is this the plan from here on out? If I refuse to go through with one of your crazy tests or refuse to feed off of someone you zap the hell out of me and force me?"

"I hope not. That's not going to get either of anywhere. Walk with me, Martin. They're not going to hurt you, because you're not a threat, are you?"

Martin snapped his snarky retort short and his shoulders sagged a little. Pick your battles. That was a lesson his mother had always tried to teach him and he was doing this to help save her. He was trapped in this place and even if he attacked Riggins right then he'd never be able to fight his way out from where he was. It might feel really good right about then, but it'd be pointless.

He followed Riggins back to his room, listening to the older man explain that things were different because he was different. Special. He would have to adjust and that would take time. Riggins understood and he'd help in any way he knew how. They would learn together.

Martin let him talk, his silence taken as acceptance and he was left alone to his pristine cage with its white walls. He stood there a moment, excess energy stirring inside, desperate for a release.

Well, Riggins had told him they were going to help him to cope.

It didn't take him long to trash the room, but he felt better for it in the end. They wouldn't though, and that'd just be the cherry on top.

Notes: Originally this was going to be two different chapters, but I decided it flowed a bit better as one, so you get a bit longer one this time. I've gotten some really positive feedback from this little series, so I'm glad you're enjoying it!

#Dirk Gently #DGHDA #Rowdy 3 #Martin #colonel scott riggins #Howl Until it Hurts #fanfiction

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spoldhamauthor · 5 years

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A freebie for you, since it is Friday. A piece of speculative fiction, two working titles as I can't decide which one is most apt - Blood Money or Paid in Full. Anyway, I hope you enjoy and I would love to hear your thoughts.

The Loansman had summoned us. Such an invitation could not be refused. We had heard tales of that office all our lives; of the highly polished wood panelling that lined the walls, of the huge desk inlaid with blood-red leather. Of the ornate fireplace, engraved all about with the various symbols for currency from across The Investment. But it was the ceiling that was the stuff of legend.

It was rumoured that every inch of it was delicately, minutely sculpted into images of the human form. Hundreds of naked, cherub-like bodies populating its surface, each one bearing a death mask in alabaster, finely wrought and morbidly fascinating. Those faces shone when the light reached them, the way human skin shines in the glare of the sun.

We waited in tense silence in the somewhat disappointingly grubby passageway, like shabby statues lining a grim corridor. I sensed some frustration in the boys, suspecting I was as much the source of it as was our visit her today. I had something of a reputation for recklessness, but even I was not foolish enough to try anything clever here. I thought about reassuring them of that, then thought better of it. I have never been one to make promises I can’t keep.

A small, bent-backed man in a smart grey suit hurried past us, covered in an air of cowering subservience. He paid us no mind at all, stopping at the office door to knock upon it gently, “Your next appointment is here, sir,” he announced through the panelling. He did not wait for a reply, but turned on his heel, scurrying away down the corridor, disappearing into the vague darkness at the end of it as if he could not get away quick enough.

We watched him go in mild surprise and it struck me as a strange occupation, if all the small man’s job entailed was to knock at the office door to let the occupant within know that people awaited his pleasure.

At last, the polished brass door handle was turned. Even the click it made sounded expensive. The dark, glossy door fell effortlessly wide, revealing a beautiful antique floor. The Loansman appeared in the doorway like an apparition. Despite all advice, in the face of all protocol, I could not help but look directly at him.

At first sight he was impressive, to say the least. His attire was somber; effortlessly formal, yet devastatingly stylish. His hair was a perfect black, combed neatly, the lustrous strands matching the immaculate sideburns that graced his masculine jaw. He wore a cravat in a shade of emerald green. On another man, it might have been ostentatious. On the Loansman, it was powerfully effective, complementing the deep jewel-jade of his eyes. Eyes that were fixed upon me with quiet disdain.

I lowered my gaze kicking myself for such a bad start. It was known to even the poorest debtor that you do not look upon the Loansman until he bid you do so.

I cringed, waiting for his anger. It did not come. Instead, he glided wordlessly into the corridor, his contempt for us oozing from him like the heavy scent of his cologne.

He walked along us, like a general inspecting his ranks. His arrogance went ahead of him, casting a forward shadow. He stopped in front of Thomas.

“You owe me only a very little, but it shall be repaid.”

He moved back along the line, pausing at William, “Your debt is somewhat greater, though be assured, you too shall repay it in full.”

The Loansman came to me next, “And you,” he said, looking down upon me patronisingly, “Do you know why you are here, girl?”

“You summoned me sir,” I said with a dry mouth, deliberately fixing my gaze upon the gold buttons of his jacket.

He did not respond but stood in front of me for an eternity. Scared to open my mouth for fear of putting my foot in it, I paid inordinate attention to those buttons. Even as I did, they changed; the sheen of gold more like gilt. I found my eyes travelling the width of his broad chest, the silk waistcoat taking on the appearance of brushed cotton. Surprised, I bit my tongue and dared to let my eyes roam further.

The suit he wore like the night was not so pristine now I looked closer. Here and there it was patched and sewn. It was carefully done, the needlework fine and neat. Nonetheless there were a few stray ends of cotton, betraying the mending work where it had not been cut close enough to the cloth. They stood proud of the fabric like stray hairs; small, yet impossible to ignore once you had seen them. Distracted, my examination travelled further, across his wide shoulders. All at once it seemed to me that there was very little beneath the jacket; little that was really the man, at any rate. I pondered; perhaps he wore shoulder pads, large ones at that. I sucked in a breath, unable to suppress the small “oh” that escaped my lips.

I felt his body stiffen, sure I was to be reprimanded. I held my breath, once more awaiting his displeasure. I dared not look at William or Thomas, though I saw William’s fist clench tight out of the corner of my eye.

The Loansman spun elegantly on his heel. Once again, he stood in the open doorway to his office, extending a graceful arm, “You may look upon me. After you.”

I looked up in surprise. So did the boys, for the first time daring to appraise The Loansman for themselves. I watched their awe and admiration as they first looked him over, doubtless as I had done. Then I watched them more closely, for signs that they had seen the small imperfections too. Their expressions told me they had not; they remained impressed.

“If you please,” The Loansman spoke gruffly, “time is money.”

Realising the boys were still spellbound, I was the first to move, nudging Thomas into action and beckoning William to follow behind. They moved like sleepwalkers, stepping tentatively into the office as if afraid the floor might suddenly disappear and cast them down into the very bowels of hell. We arranged ourselves in an obedient row in front of the desk, like naughty school children before a Headmaster.

The Loansman took his time getting to his seat, a huge leather and wood monstrosity that hunkered behind the desk like some furtive beast. As he made his way around to it, I couldn’t help but notice that his desk also looked patched and repaired in places. At first glance a classic piece of furniture, closer inspection revealed that the woodgrain here and there appeared to be going the wrong way, as if someone had inserted odd pieces to fill in holes. The fabled leather inlay was indeed blood-red. It made my eyes swim, appearing to shimmer and ripple as if it were made of some viscous liquid.

Eager to dispel the effect, which began to make me feel nauseous, I took a swift look around the room while The Loansman’s back was turned.

The floor length drapes hanging at the imposing French Windows were at first glance a luxurious navy velvet, but I saw that they were moth-eaten and ragged around the hems. One of the crystal- clear panes bore a slight crack in a corner, where a spider web traced a finely delicate pattern as if to help hold it together. I was about to risk a glance at the infamous ceiling when The Loansman settled himself into the chair, a sound like a sigh of welcome escaping the padded seat.

The Loansman leaned forward, elbows resting upon the wood, hands steepled before him, looking down at the desktop contemplatively. The top of his head showed strands of steely grey at the roots of his hair, the scalp tinged below with a purple-black stain. He dyed his hair. Startled, I did my best to keep my expression bland when he next looked upon us, unwilling to sour his disposition towards me still further.

“You,” he said, pointing both index fingers at Thomas, “and you,” he pointed to William, “have each been summoned to discuss outstanding payments. But of course, you must know this.”

Thomas and William attempted some reply, but The Loansman cut them off, “It is written into the very law of the land. No one, no matter what their status, is permitted to default in the repayment of their debt. Throughout The Investment, from the highest, grandest mountains to the lowest, meanest plains, every man, woman and child plays their part. Again, this is something that you must already know.”

Thomas shifted uncomfortably beside me as The Loansman fixed his gaze upon him alone, “So I would ask how it is that you have not made good on your debt these last three months?”

“It is not for want of trying,” Thomas stuttered, “I am paid less at my work, the wages dropped so low…”

“Then you take on a second mode of employment.”

“A second job? Sir, there is little enough time to do the one I already have.”

“Nonsense. You end your working day mid-evening. You could work until late evening, could you not? You currently have one day a week when you do nothing, nothing, other than rest at home. That is another day upon which you could be working in order to earn.” It was a statement, not a question.

He turned to William, “I could say much the same for you. You have defaulted upon two months payment, for much the same reasons. Laziness.”

“With respect sir, I am not lazy.” William interjected.

“Nor am I.” Thomas added.

The Loansman waved a hand dismissively, “Laziness, inefficiency and a failure to take seriously enough the impact of non-payment of monies due.”

He stood abruptly and glided across to the French Windows, affecting to look out of them It seemed to me more like he was looking into them, as if they were mirrors rather than windows. He clasped his hands behind his back, his brow furrowed like a man deep in thought.

“I see it repeatedly, you know,” he said, his voice loaded with patient weariness, “time and again I am caused to remind people such as yourselves of the very point of your existence. How can you possibly forget it? And yet you do, all the time it seems.”

He deigned to turn and face us, his expression stern, “So I will spell it out here for you, in the hope that you will not become so lax again. If we are to continue to live in the manner to which we are accustomed, we must pay. It is a simple and honest a truth as that. Look about you! Look at the room in which you stand! Look at the way I am dressed, the shoes on my feet, the ring on my hand!”

Only now did I notice the signet ring, a large, gaudy, square-headed thing that sat awkwardly on his middle finger. It looked as if it had once belonged to a different man. It struck me that he had not been wearing it earlier; that he had by some sleight of hand slipped it onto his finger only now, for maximum effect. I looked at the boys for some confirmation of my suspicions. Dismayed, I saw that they were once again rapt, utterly taken in by the man and his appearance.

“If we are to keep up this lifestyle, this image, this representation that is so very important across the globe in such uncertain, jealous times, then each man, woman and child must do his or her part. You must pay your way! You owe a great debt to your government, the most generous and giving of benefactors, and that debt must be paid! Non-payments cannot be allowed, no matter who the defaulter might be!”

For the first time, he showed some signs of animation, his face flushed red with anger, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. I thought he might reach for the neatly folded handkerchief in his jacket, then understood that it was another falsehood; merely a white triangle of cotton sewn into a fake pocket.

“So, we must find a way to make reparations. You must find a way. The debt is yours, not mine. I am the one aggrieved here, I am the one wronged. You must learn not to live beyond your means!”

Thomas and William actually bowed their heads at that, as if they felt the burden of shame. It was about all I could take. I would have confronted The Loansman then and there, had I not been saved from my folly by an urgent rap at the door.

The Loansman inclined his head in irritation at the interruption. “Come,” he ordered sharply.

I felt the door swing open behind me and we all turned, expecting the little grey man to come in, or to call out a message. There was no one there, the door seeming to have opened onto a palpable silence, mere empty space beyond. Yet the Loansman made an exasperated face as if receiving an inconvenient message.

“Oh, all right, if I must,” he spoke to thin air, “You will excuse me.” The latter to the three of us, as if we had any choice in the matter.

He left us with a measured, steady pace, his former composure returned, all trace of the passion and ire gone. The door clicked shut behind him.

I released a breath, hearing the boys do the same. We turned to one another as we always did whenever things got tricky.

“Well that was weird.” I said.

“Can you believe this place?” Thomas whispered in a rush, ignoring me.

“It’s amazing!” William enthused, “Who would ever have believed it?”

“Wow!” Thomas murmured. He was looking around him, wide-eyed, “Just wow!”

A knot began to form in the pit of my stomach. The way the boys were reacting told me they did not see things as I did.

“You do see it, right? The room?” I asked them both.

“Of course we see it!” Thomas laughed, “How could we not?”

“Oh, I see it all right,” William agreed, “I see the gold framed portraits, the plush leather seating, the priceless desk…”

“The priceless desk?”

“Not to mention The Loansman himself!” Thomas took up, “The solid gold buttons, the suit that would cost us a year’s pay or more. Oh, we see it, sure enough!”

They looked thrilled and enthralled, as impressed and delighted as children at a circus. They were beaming stupidly, looking about them with undisguised awe.

“You have got to be kidding me, right?” They looked at me, their rapturous expressions at once clouded by confusion.

“Kidding you how?” Thomas asked.

“This! All this!” I hissed, fighting to keep from shouting, “It’s all a lie! None of it is as it seems!”

William looked troubled at the suggestion. They looked at one another, then back at me, their faces blank, and I saw that their ignorance was genuine; they were not kidding me at all.

“For pity’s sake! Those gold buttons are nothing more than gilt! Look at the threadbare curtains! The mismatched grain in the desk! Nothing about this place or The Loansman is as precious or as valuable as he would have us believe! It is all false, a lie! An intricate, elaborate lie I grant you, but a lie nonetheless!”

William shook his head, his denial plain, “But why? Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “Maybe because if the people of The Investment knew the truth, they would stop giving him their money.”

They fell silent, considering. William cast an anxious look at Thomas, who shook his head disapprovingly.

“Be careful,” he cautioned me, “what you are saying is very close to heresy.”

“Heresy? Are you serious? Can you honestly not see what is right in front of you? What are we all slaving to pay for, month in, month out?”

“This!” William snapped, sounding chillingly like The Loansman only minutes before, “This office and the man who graces it. The man who takes care of The Investment on a daily basis. The man I am ashamed to say I am in arrears to!”

“The man who would have you working all hours of every day and night so he can take the money you earn out of your pockets and the food out of your mouth!”

“It is a small price to pay for the welfare of The Investment.”

“What investment? What is invested in here, other than the whims of one man? A fake man at that? He is nothing more than a shabby replica of the statues built in every park and square; of every portrait hung in every school, office, library and railway station across The Investment! You can’t really mean to tell me you are taken in by this? What about us for once? What do we get in return for working ourselves to the bone? Where is the investment in us? Where is ourreturn?”

William gasped; a sharp, indrawn breath of horror at my words.

“You don’t mean what you say!” he said.

“Oh, but I do! Open your eyes and see the truth for yourself. It is right in front of you! To think that all this time I have been taken in by this. That I believed I had to pay my way for the good of The Investment. There is only one who gains in all of this, that is clear to me now. It is not even a grand empire he sits in, but a shabby one! It seems to me that The Loansman lives a life he can ill afford, and we are the ones paying for it! That the motto of The Investment is ‘Earn as You Live, Live as You Earn’ is an insult added to a mockery! What would the people say if they could see how their hard-won coin is wasted, on nothing?”

“You would dare to rewrite the motto of The Investment? That revered statement, uttered like a prayer amongst the grateful masses?”

I had not heard The Loansman re-enter the room; had not felt the shifting air as the door opened to re-admit him. The thought that he had been there throughout, that he had heard it all and never really left, crossed my mind. I turned to face him and for the first time since we met, I felt a shiver of real fear.

The dye with which he undoubtedly coloured his hair had leaked down his face, leaving deep purple streaks like veins down his forehead and cheeks. It was no longer neatly combed but pushed back in an untidy mess, as if a hand had been drawn hastily through it in a moment of stress.

The ring, loose before, was now absurdly so. It fell in slow loops about his finger each time he moved his hand. The false handkerchief was a dirty grey, something sticky and dark in its centre beginning to spread outwards. The waistcoat was stretched tight across his belly, leaving gaping spaces between the cheap buttons. Even as I looked on, one of them snapped free of its stitching and flew across the space between us to land spinning at my feet.

I looked down at it, wondering if he had meant to aim it at me. When I looked up again he was closer, though I swear he had not moved a step. Now I could see how long and ragged his dirty nails were, how his supposedly pristine shirt was a sickly, yellowing white.

He opened his mouth in a snarl, revealing blackened and rotting teeth. I took an involuntary step backwards, away from him. I stumbled, reaching out to the desk to steady myself. Its surface was worn and greasy, my hand slipping across the wood and onto the blood-red leather.

It was warm and tacky to the touch. I retracted my hand instinctively, knowing the feel of it was wrong. I was horrified to find my palm and fingertips were blood stained, one finger crowned by a deep red clot which I shook off in disgust. The red leather was swirling and pooling, here and there escaping its confines and leaking out onto the wood itself.

I looked to William and Thomas for support. They looked back at me, William with a patronising air, Thomas with mild amusement.

“What the hell?” I began.

“Didn’t you wonder why you were summoned?” Thomas asked.

I shook my head, confused by his question, “I came along with you. I always come with you; you’re like brothers to me. Where you go, I go. It’s always been that way,” Could they really not see what I could see?

“Yes, you did and how many times did your smart mouth, your penchant for upsetting people, cause us nothing but trouble? How many times did we have to haul you out of some situation or another, because of your own foolishness?”

“What?” I couldn’t seem to raise my voice above a whisper, so shocked was I by their response. It was true, I knew it. Even now, I expected them to come to my aid, to help me as they had always done.

“I don’t understand. I was summoned,” I glanced at The Loansman, who folded his arms across his chest and stared hard at me, “You summoned me.” I finished lamely.

“I did not.” The Loansman said. He licked his dry lips with a tongue that seemed suddenly too fat for his mouth, a sickeningly sensual gesture that made my stomach turn.

“Then why am I here?”

“Ask your friends.” he said, spittle dribbling down his chin to land thickly upon the filthy cravat, its’ gorgeous emerald shades now dull and lifeless.

I turned to the boys; my lifelong friends, my almost-brothers, the question stuck in my throat for fear of the answer.

William looked hard at me, his eyes searching mine as if he expected me to know why. In truth I think I did, but I did not want to acknowledge it. I turned to Thomas, my eyes pleading.

“You are the settlement of our debt.” he said simply, “You are our repayment.”

“What?” I said again, the word empty on the air.

“You were not summoned. You were not even invited to come along. You assumed you were to accompany us as you always do. As we knew you would. Why would you have been called here? You pay your dues every month, without fail. You have your own dwelling, your own cow for milk, hens for eggs. You have a garden for your vegetables and an oven to bake your bread. Why would The Loansman have cause to call for you?”

“I don’t understand.” I said again lamely

“Oh, come now, yes you do. I have already explained, it is simple enough. You are the settlement of our balance. Your dwelling, your cow, your hens, your garden and your oven can all be sold. They not only cover our debt but pay a month or two in advance.”

“How can you do this? How can you just rob me of all my belongings? I am not yours to give or to sell!”

“You are the property of The Investment,” The Loansman spoke thickly. I ignored him, desperate to make Thomas and William see the error of their ways.

“What am I to do then? Where am I to go when you have made me destitute?” William turned away from me, Thomas merely shrugged.

Something stirred above me, some movement overhead catching my eye. I looked before I remembered the rumours. I heard The Loansman give a soft snicker of laughter.

It was all true. The ceiling was crawling with limbs, alive with small faces; if not in alabaster then in a tarnished, ancient plaster. They were tiny, like the shrunken heads in the stories of old; as if someone had made them smaller to fit them in the cramped space. Their eyes were stretched wide in various depictions of terror, the mouths all working madly in voiceless despair. Not a single arm broke free of the ceiling, though I felt sure if they could they would have reached out for help.

There were so many of them up there, writhing and squirming, never able to escape their confines. I knew without asking that they were not the result of some gifted, hellish sculptor’s but real, living people, though the form of their existence was utterly repugnant to me.

“What you are looking at,” The Loansman drooled, “is a settlement of accounts. Each face you see looking back at you is a loan repaid in full.”

I stared at him, unable to find words to speak, unsure that I could say them anyway. I felt a dry heat all over, like I was coming down with a sudden and unstoppable sickness. I suppose in a manner of speaking, I was.

“You will be one of them soon.” he added, raising a hand and dragging the soiled sleeve of his jacket across his lusty mouth. He did not take his eyes off me, regarding me as if I was a tempting main course on an especially mouth-watering menu.

I thought to plead with Thomas and William. I thought that even now, when I knew in my heart it was already too late, they might step in and rescue me, like they always did. They were standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder, visibly united in their cause, though I was gratified at last to see a trace of doubt and horror flicker across their faces.

The Loansman, that filthy, ragged beggar in disguise, came towards me. I could not prevent the cry from escaping my lips, dreading the thought of the clammy flesh of his hand upon me. He passed me by as if I was of no further interest to him, approaching Thomas and William instead.

His back to me now, his jacket clinging to him in patches of sweat, giving him a mottled appearance, I heard him say in a business-like tone, “Gentlemen, are we agreed? This is to be your full and final payment of arrears, by means of which you settle your outstanding debt to The Investment as represented by myself, The Loansman, otherwise known as Revenue Agent Supreme?”

“It is,” they replied in unison, with all the solemnity and authenticity of a couple reciting marriage vows to a vicar.

“Do you give this payment freely and of your own volition?”

I stiffened, keen to know how they would answer that question, eager to learn if they had been forced into this, or if they were offering me up as a ready sacrifice to pay for their own greed.

“We do,” they intoned again. That was the moment I knew I was truly lost. That was the point at which I began to feel a strange unsteadiness on my feet, a light-headedness as the room began to slowly yet inexorably spin in an off-balance, counter-clockwise motion.

“Then I am pleased to inform you that The Investment, The Loansman and the Revenue Agent Supreme accepts your payment gratefully. Please be seated gentlemen, whilst I deal with the formalities and ensure the payment has gone through successfully.”

I watched helplessly as Thomas and William sank into large, embracing wing-back chairs in Oxblood leather which I swear had not been in the room before. The Loansman once more circled his desk, lowering himself into the waiting seat that seemed to fold about him. He reached under his desk and slid open a drawer, from which he took a sheet of paper that he set before him. He slid the drawer smoothly shut, then reached to his left for the pen that lay cradled in a bronze rest like a treasured item. He clicked it noisily, the nib revealing itself, poised over the paper.

He looked at me, or what was left of me. I felt I was slowly melting out of existence. I was whole still, yet somehow not whole. As if I had ceased to exist as a solid being and was instead becoming some form of gas, eddying and billowing in a skin-tone cloud; spiralling, gyrating, my nebulous feet leaving the floor, my voice lost, becoming weak as a distant breeze. Even if I could speak, they would not hear me now. What use anyway? They would not care.

I waited for my thoughts to leave me, wishing they would. For although my body was becoming nothing, my mind was as clear as ever, allowing me shock and panic as fully as if I were still real. Leading me to believe that my wispy heart was pounding, that my airy blood was racing. That my eyes were full of tears and my chest about to burst with grief and terror.

I watched as The Loansman scratched the pen drily across the paper, realising with a jolt that I was looking down upon the scene from some height.

The Loansman was frowning at the dryness of the pen, dipping it into the red leather desk covering. It came away full, dripping with scarlet ink. I watched as fat, ruby droplets splashed into the leather, creating small, circular ripples that radiated outward like raindrops into a pond.

My blood, I knew. My blood; spilling and falling onto that sinister covering that I suspected was not a covering at all, but an endlessly deep pool that went far below the confines of the desk and the floor below.

“Ah! That is what they mean when they say you are in the red!” Thomas quipped. The joke at my expense hit me like a physical blow, despite my reduced state. William laughed aloud, even The Loansman allowed a grin to cross his sordid features, though his rolling eyes told me it was not the first time he had heard the pun.

There was a sudden cold hardness at my back, the cloud-like feeling leaving me abruptly. I was once again solid, though not as I had previously been. I felt a strange paralysis, in which I could feel every inch of my body, yet I could not pull it free from whatever forced anchored me to the ceiling.

“She cannot fall from there? Be released from her bond?” I heard William enquire.

“She cannot.” The Loansman confirmed.

“And our arrangement is secure? We are no longer indebted to you?”

The Loansman set down his pen carefully, as if it had a sharp edge that might cut him, “Gentlemen, you will be forever indebted to me, have no doubt.”

“Of course, of course,” Thomas babbled, eager to rephrase his question, “We are eternally indebted to The Investment and to your good self,” he qualified, “I simply meant to say that we are back in the black, so to speak? We must only continue to make our monthly repayments?”

“And to ensure that you never again fall behind; yes, indeed you must,” The Loansman clarified, “I trust that I need not explain to you the consequences of any further missed payments?” He gestured up towards me, William and Thomas both craning their necks to follow his pointing finger.

It took a while for them to locate me, I think, in amongst the swirling mass of arms and legs, the array of shrunken heads. I was screaming at them to help me, raging at them for what they had condemned me to, yet not a sound escaped me. I felt others close to me, straining against their invisible bonds, fighting and struggling to be heard, to be freed. I could feel the workings of their silent mouths, sense the despairing rage behind their efforts to break loose.

“You will take word of what you have witnessed hear today back into The Investment when you leave,” The Loansman instructed them as they stared up at me, “You will speak of the opulence of my offices, the grandeur of my state, the magnificence of my person. You will remind the people of how very fortunate they are to have such a representative on the face of the globe. More than anything, you will remind them of the importance of paying their dues. You will forget to mention how my ceiling is made. You will remember only that it is a marvel of creation, and you will spread word of it with respectful awe.”

Thomas and William nodded like obedient dogs, gazing up at me as if I was some incredibly hypnotic force. “Make no mistake gentlemen, if I ever have cause to summon you to my office again, I will expect the full balance of your entire debt to be paid to me without delay. Do I make myself clear?”

They tore their eyes away from me at last. Finally, I heard a note of dread in Thomas’s voice, “We understand.” he rasped, nudging William into responding.

“Yes. Yes of course, we understand.” the word ended in a sob.

‘Damn you both to hell,’ I thought, wishing I could scream the words at them and be truly heard, ‘Damn you both and damn you Loansman, for your obscene lust for money! Money above all else, damn you!’

It was useless. Even I could not hear my own voice except for in my head.

“Then we are finished here,” The Loansman said, rising from his chair and approaching the door, which swung noiselessly open at his approach, “I bid you good day.”

Thomas and William stood, visibly shaken. They slunk from the room like scolded children, William casting a last glance up at me as he went. He looked sorrowful, like he might regret what he had done.

The thought enraged me. Guilt, sorrow, shame; none of these things were enough. None of them would ever restore me to the world or to my life again. I cursed him as he went, hurling at him every foul, coarse, vulgar word I had ever heard in my impotence: nothing I said would ever be heard again.

The door shut with a subdued clunk. The Loansman smoothed down his jacket, slicked back his hair, returned to his chair with an air of practised ease. He paid me not a moment’s more attention. I had become an irrelevance to him, now that the debt was paid.

Finally exhausted, I gave up trying to make myself heard and fell silent, taking in the room below me. All trace of shoddiness had disappeared. The room and the man were once again a splendid sight, the Loansman tastefully opulent in both his bearing and dress, the room sumptuous with fine fabrics and costly materials.

One of the many emblems of money carved into the ornate fireplace suddenly bulged fatly, as if it was taking a breath. It was the symbol for money from my home on The Investment. I had made my final contribution, it seemed.

The silence stretched out. The Loansman sat stiff-backed and completely still at his desk. At length, there came a respectful knock at the door, followed by a timid voice delivering the message, “Your next appointment is here, sir.”

In my mind’s eye. I could see the small, grey-suited man scurrying away down the corridor into the safety of the all-encompassing darkness at its furthest reaches.

In his chair below me, The Loansman suddenly came to life. He sat up, at once alert, straightening the beautiful emerald cravat at his neck, patting the spotless white handkerchief in his top pocket. He stood, every inch a man of respectability and assurance, to approach the door. It swung silently open.

The Loansman stepped out into the corridor, pausing in the doorway to look his visitors over.

S P Oldham

https://solostinwords.com/home/blood-money-paid-in-full

#freebie Freebie Friday short story horror speculative fiction

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a-little-bit-colorful · 7 years

Text

Here's part two of @devils-deeds-23 's Coraline au!!

Spooky stuff happens and Luke feels uncomfortable.

"Bricks?’

"I don't know what to tell you Luke, it probably just leads to the apartment next door." His father commentated. Luke was still puzzled, questions running through his head at fifty miles an hour. Evan still tired from doing his taxes, stood up and walked out the room.

"Well fuck."

"Language!"

Luke huffed in disappointment. He was really hoping that the door would lead to a secret room full of pirate treasure. Or something interesting like that. Oh well. He closed the small door slowly with dissapointment.

Knowing it would be dinner soon, he stood up and grabbed his doll that was still on the floor. Then left to prepare for supper. The door still in the back of his mind.

The afternoon went by as it normally does. Food here and complaining there. Luke did his daily chores. Same as always. After everything was done, he headed to bed after a long day of absolutely nothing. Passing the living room, he took a chance at the little door one last time. Nothing had changed, bricks were still there. The thing was still unlocked, but he didn't think much of it.

Seeing nothing out of place he carried on to his room.

Luke got settled into bed, trying not to be disappointed by the fact he never saw Jonathan today. Starring at the ceiling for a bit he started to drift. Rolling over to the doll that sat on his bedside table, he turned its head away from him. (What? He didn't want that damn thing watching him sleep...)

Luke was on the bridge of sleep when he heard it, a slight tapping beneath his bed. It was constant, and fast. He was to tired to actually get out of bed to see what it was, so he just leaned over the edge of the bed. A flash of grey hopped passed Luke's head.

He quickly realized what was happening and followed after what ever was under his bed. The body of fur stopped at the top of the stairs. The thing’s ears poked up in question. This thing was a bunny, Luke realized.

The bunny raced down the stairs, Luke wasn't far behind. The ball of fur took a sharp turn into the living room. It ran through a crack in the tiny door on the wall.

He thought he caught the damn thing. Maybe he could’ve convinced his dads to keep it. But when he opened the door, he had an entirely different idea in his head. A slinky like mechanism sprung, the space behind the door getting longer. The bricks where no longer there. A tunnel of sorts taking its place. Luke's mind went to childish things when a gust of wind came from the tunnel. (He was thinking about farts.)

The pretty colors that illuminated the long tunnel lighted Luke's way to a room. The same room he came from.

Confused, he looked around. Finding the painting on the wall that reminded him so much of 'ol sugar toothed Jonathan the other day, he noticed something a little bit off.

Instead of the fallen ice cream boy from earlier in his exploration, a happy 'my-ice-cream-didn't-fall-and-I'm-going-to-eat-this-treat" boy stood in the painting. Surely his parents where fucking with him again, as they where prone to pranks even if the are grown adults.

Whispering profanities of how dumb of a prank this was, there was a humming paired with sizzling coming from the kitchen.

Wanting to follow the great smell of home cooked meals, Luke slowly strutted to the kitchen. The room seemed... brighter than usual. He didn't pay attention as all he wanted was to find where the smell of breakfast came from, damn the fact it was the middle of the night.

His father stood at the kitchen counter, his back to Luke. Luke could immediately tell something was off as Evan didn't seem to have his cast on his right arm. Luke made an effort to wake his father up from what he assumed was him sleep walking.

"Dad, why are you up so late? And where's your ca-"

"There you are! I was starting to get worried."

Luke backed away slowly till he was in the doorway to the kitchen once again. That wasn't his father. Face and body like him, but this person’s right arm seemed perfectly fine! Not even a scratch! But that wasn't what scared Luke the most.

It was the black sewn on buttons that took the place of his fathers eyes. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't human.

"And who are you?" Luke asked clearly suspicious. The Evan Fong imposter spoke in a voice almost too cheerful.

"Don't you recognize me? I'm your other father idiot! Would you go get Dathi, that stick of a man hasn't eaten in forever."

Luke was still in denial that this was happening, thinking that this was only a dream. He might as well have some fun, see where all of this will go. The other father broke Luke's thought process when he hurried him on, explaining that David was in his office.

Luke left the room for Dathi's office, still weary of the Evan imposter. Luke wandered towards the familiar sound of Dathis prized guitar. It's been a while since its melodic sound filled Luke's ears. Dathi used to play it 24/7, but once he started his book the house had been awfully quiet.

Walking through the suspiciously joyful flat, he noticed that all of the family photos that once adorned the walls were now photos of small rabbits. He didn't really want to question it.

After what felt like an eternity the teen was standing in the doorway of a very brightly lit room. This place was almost too professional for his fathers personality; Luke took note of the James Bond -ish aesthetic, he'd probably joke about it with Jonathan the next day.

A lanky figure sat strumming a guitar lazily. It sure looked a lot like his father. Only more up kept and those god forsaken buttons were on his face. When the figure noticed Luke he stood up promptly, taking no time crossing the office and enveloping Luke in a bear hug.

He immediately tensed, neither of his fathers had ever hugged Luke like this person had. If he were to be completely honest, he'd say no one had ever hugged him like this.

Dathi stepped back, keeping his hands on Luke's shoulders.

"Well if it isn't the greatest child I have!"

"I'm the only child you have." Luke said giving the Dathi imposter a snarky look.

"Oh I know that," He retorted. "I was kidd'n wit' ya!"

Luke pushed off the hands clamped on his shoulders, and began rocking on his heels. "So there's some food in the kitchen, don't know if you want it."

He and Dathi left for the kitchen. Feeling that something or someone was watching him.

When they got to the kitchen, Evan was waiting for them. A big grin on his face.

Something was so unnerving about this place, but Luke couldn't figure out what. Of course the button eyes were weird and kinda disgusting. But he ignored the uncanny valley effect still, because damn was this food good!

This weird place seemed like such a nice place to be so far! Of course it got better when a knock came from the back door. Evan seemed really exited to answer the door. He opened it slowly, as if taunting Luke.

It was Jonathan. Of course he had button eyes but other then that, everything was a complete replica! (Luke would know, he spends all day memorizing every inch of Jon in silence.)

He had the same blue hoody, only it was unzipped. A tank top like shirt under it, reading "baby blue." He also wore some shorts that left nothing to the imagination. He wore the obnoxiously large boots that went up mid thigh Jon wore when they first met. As he said a couple days ago: "They're comfortable and make me feel fantabulous!"

The other Evan walked up behind Jon, placing his hand on the top of his head and pulling out what looked to be a leash.

"I couldn't help but notice you've been... stressed out lately." Evan paused a wide smile forming on his face. He attached the hook of the leash to the collar like choker around other Jon's neck. Handing the rest of it to Luke.

"So I thought'd I'd get you a new toy," He said way too calmly. Luke of course was horrified (and a little too exited... not that he'd say it.)

"Umm... thank you?" Luke said warily. He was still really flustered, but still tried to hide it.

He looked around to find something else to look at besides his cru- friend. His friend. Yes that's what he is.

His eyes found the clock, staring at it for a moment in deep thought. It was already 4 am? He should get some actual sleep.

Luke started to complain that it was late and that it was about time he got some rest. "No worries! Your room is upstairs, like it always is. You two go ahead, me and David will clean up." Evan replied. Dathi stood up brushing off his pants and waved happily at the teens.

Luke held the end of the leash loosely, walking towards his room. The other Jon followed behind, those damn boots thumping the hard wooden floor.

Once they reached Luke's room, he was lost for words. His once cluttered desk and broken book shelf were nicely organized, they looked brand new! Posters he could only longingly stare at from afar in the stores now hung upon his walls.

The one weird thing was the cat statue that stood above the window was replaced by an owl. He didn't pay it much attention anyway.

Depending on who tells the story, Luke either went to bed happily with the other Jon siting at the desk besides his bed. Or he and Jon "stay up" and have some "fun times." Going to bed snuggled up against each other.

All I can say is, Luke is in for one hell of an emotional trainwreck.

FINALLY!!! My writing style seemed to change, so that's a thing. I'm so sorry this has taken so long! Hopefully part three won't take as long??? Have a nice day my friends!

#this took WAY too long #I've been 1. in the hospital and 2. very lazy #coraline au #i may go back and edit this a bit more

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avaswritings-blog · 7 years

Text

Free Write: Butter Lover

Even inside the small store Keith can feel the hot desert sun against his skin. His white shirt clings to his back like a second-skin, now translucent with the layer of sweat coating his body. He plucks at the string tied around his middle, almost tight enough to uncomfortable but loose enough to not fall off. His fingers tap against the ceramic counter as he listens to Beau’s voice croon through the small radio to his left, it's been a few weeks since that new scientist showed up in their town claiming that it was by far the most scientifically interesting community in the country and Beau still hadn't stopped talking about him.

Something gurgles and grumbles below the desk and for a moment Keith thinks it's the small pack of mice that sometimes sleep there and they've finally had enough of the gatorade and crackers Keith keeps hidden behind the packages of vegetables and decided it would be better to just eat Keith himself. Wouldnt that be a way to go. But after some deliberation and checking under the counters for the mice, Keith realizes that it was his stomach growling.

He sighs and flicks the volume knob on the radio, making it louder. Beau stops for a moment to introduce the weather and Keith smiles, from the smooth notes and instrumentals he can decipher that it's going to be a good day.

He makes his way through the aisles, checking to see if everything's in order when his stomach growls again. He frowns. Keith’s eyes scan the store, he knows it's empty, but then again, nothing's ever really empty. He plucks a bag of chips from the top shelf and pinches the top, waiting. The lights flicker in the store. His eyebrows furrow and he opens the bag with a pop. Blood starts to ooze out of the walls behind the cash register and Keith groans. He hates cleaning that up.

“I'm hungry,” He says, his voice almost a whine.

The oozing of the blood starts to slow but continues to fall nonetheless. Keith huffs and stalks over to the counter. He grabs the stapler sitting there and with as much anger as he can have while stapling something, he staples the bag closed and sets it back on the shelf.

“Okay, there. Happy?” The oozing stops but the blood that fell starts to stain the grey walls.

It's not a habit, or at least, he doesn't try to make it one, but most of the time Keith forgets to bring a lunch, and the stuff he has stocked behind the counter don't do much to fuel him for grueling work of manning the counter of the convenience store at the edge of town, just past the car lot.

The first time the wall had started bleeding Keith was a little freaked out and he had only been working there a day or so. He called his friend Jason in a panic, “What the fuck do I do with a bleeding wall? I've only dealt with green stuff before—this is actual blood.” Jason had laughed because Jason always laughs and because he thought everyone had at least one bleeding wall in their house.

“Well, what did you do to make it bleed in the first place?” He had asked, there was another voice in the background. It might have been Mitchell.

“I don’t know!” The blood was pooling on the floor now and Keith scrambled off of the floor and climbed on top of the closest counter. In his hurry the radio that was always sitting beside the register crashed to the floor. Small pieces flew everywhere but Beau’s voice continued to be heard through the busted speaker.

“My wall only bled when I lied to my mum so there has to be something! Walls don't just bleed for nothing Keith!”

Keith had hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket before he could continue. He moved over on the counter to get a better look at the blood, there wasn't even a hole or anything—when something crackled and popped under his shoe. He looked down and said “ooh” as he saw the bag of chips under his foot. Out of options, he grabbed the stapler and shoved it back on the shelf he found it on. He looked hopefully over at the bleeding wall and let out a sigh of relief.

After the bleeding stopped he was left with a stained wall and a pool of blood on the floor. What the fuck was he suppose to do with that. He walked over to the corkboard beside the fridges and plucked a card out from behind a flyer looking for interns for Beau’s radio show.

Blood Cleaning.

xxx-xxx-xxx

He had pulled his phone out from his pocket and dialed the number. He wasn't entirely sure what address to tell them when they picked up because the road that the store was on didn't even have a name. The number rang for almost a full minute and just as Keith was about to hang out an ear-splitting scream shot through his phone speaker. He doubled over as it rang through his ears. Keith landed with a thump on the cool tile and he threw the phone as far away from himself as he could but he phone still shrikes and screamed and Keith still felt it vibrating his bones.

After what felt like hours the screaming finally stopped and Keith’s body sagged in relief. He wiped the tears from his eyes and the small amount of blood that had started to fall from his nose and ears and pinned the card back onto the wall. The store clear of blood.

Now, months after that incident, he can't help but hate himself. He should have just starved and died like that. He doesn't want to have to go through that again. His fingers tremble as he pulls out his phone but the door opens behind him, the small bell jingling.

He shoves the phone into his sweater pocket and goes back behind the counter ignoring the squelch of blood beneath his feet. The mans hands land on the counter with a thump and his head is thrown down between them.

“What can I get you?” Keith asks warily, the man exhales deeply and Keith assumes that he just ran from something. Maybe he just left his car in the car lot.

“C—phew, okay, can I get a stick of butter?” The man asks, his voice shaking. He takes a few more breaths and then stands up straight, his cheeks puffed out.

Keith’s eyes widen a bit before he schools his expression back to his normal blank-faced one. The man’s hair is a light silver and his bangs are down, sticking to his forehead with sweat, just like Keith’s own. He holds out a few bills and Keith has to pry them out of his hands, he notices the tips man's large ears burn a dark pink as Keith’s fingers wrap around his own.

“Can you let go?” Keith asks after a few seconds. The man blinks like he’s being pulled out of a trance and his hands falls open.

“Ah, sorry.” His cheeks are pink now too.

Keith hands him the stick of butter and the silver-haired man grabs it, salutes Keith with his free hand, and runs out of the store. He shakes his head at the now empty door and punches the cash-register open. There's blood stuck between the buttons and some had slipped into cash drawer, staining the bills red. Keith sighs and just shoves the money into a random slot.

The store goes quiet after the cash register shuts with a ding, Beau’s voice barely above a whisper. He mentions something about Arby's and the lights that sometimes appear there and Keith almost goes to shut it off. Fuck Arby’s. Keith’s store has lights above it sometimes too.

The door slams open again and the bell rings violently, Keith’s head snaps up. The silver-haired man runs up to counter and slams a fistfull of money against the counter. His hand is shaking, and upon further inspection the rest of his body is too. The man is smiling at him and it's so infectious that Keith finds himself almost smiling back. From here Keith notices that there's patches sewn into the jean jacket he’s wearing, the one that catches his eye though is the one that reads: OLLIE. it's sewn into the fabric above his heart like a nametag so Keith reads it as such.

Ollie runs a hand through his hair and a bead of sweat falls from the soaked strands. Keith follows its trail from his temple, down the curve of his cheekbone until is disappears behind the collar of his shirt.

“What can I help you with again?” Keith asks him and almost dies of embarrassment when his voice barely comes out above a whisper.

Ollie’s grin widens and he points the small refrigerated area where the butter sticks are kept.

“Like, 3 more sticks of butter!”

Keith raises an eyebrow at him and places the stick down on counter. “Doing some baking?” He asks as he types the payment into the cash register. Ollie shakes his head, hair bouncing.

“No, no, something way cooler.” He winks at Keith before running back out of the store.

From the counter, he could see Ollie outside. He was running out into the desert across from the store. He could barely see him at the edge of the store’s parking lot’s radius of light but his arms were swinging widely and his legs were flailing. Great puffs of sand kicked up behind him and sweat was visibly running down the back of his neck. Keith heard a squeak from behind him and looked back to see the mice that usually hide under the counter sitting in the pool of wall-blood. When he looked back up, Ollie was gone.

The community radio show was over from what Keith could tell. Loud, irritating static played from the speakers instead of the usual calming static. Keith wished time worked here. He never knew when he should close the store, sometimes it's a gut feeling, other times a loud siren wails out in the parking lot. It’s a guessing game. There’s no siren right now but Keith feels like it's probably going to be night soon and most stores close before then. No one wants to be out and about when it's dark out.

Keith stares down at the blood and sighs. If he doesn’t clean it up soon it’ll just be sitting there for days. That can be a problem for future-him though.

On a blank sheet of paper Keith starts to tally how many minutes have gone by. He gets to three tallies before he feels a sudden pang above his kidney, his vision blurs for a moment and all he sees is blobs of light against dark. He blinks and it’s gone. What was he doing again? He stares down at the blank piece of paper on the counter and draws a giraffe. Or at least, what he thinks a giraffe would look like. He’s never seen one before.

After drawing the animal’s fifth eye and second tail he hears Ollie again. The door is thrown open and yet again, Ollie stands a mere 5 feet from him, his grin wild and hair untamed. He’s still shaking.

“Keith!” Chanyeol exclaims, he’s not sure how he knows his name. Maybe the nametag gave it away. “You need to, I need — fuck, like.. a whole wheelbarrow full of butter!” He’s still shaking and Keith’s not sure if it's from excitement or extrusion.

“You’re really freaking me out right now man.” Keith says.

“Come on, come on, come on!” His hands make the grabby motion towards the butter and Keith has to literally climb on top of the counter to keep Ollie from grabbing them himself.

“What are you doing with all this butter?!” Keith almost screams and Ollie smiles even wider.

“Do you want to see?” He asks in return, his hands are resting on Keith’s shoulders and even through the fabric of his shirt Keith can feel the warmth of his palms. He’s already sweating from the heat outside but Keith doesn’t push him away, he just lays there, half-sprawled over the counter top staring at Ollie, thinking.

Going with him could be a bad idea, he doesn’t even know him, but Jason always says he’s too boring. always doing the same things: eat, work, sleep. Keith never found it in himself to be adventurous, their town was dangerous and curiosity would always lead to someone's death. But Keith’s died before, several times in fact, so maybe this time wouldn’t be so bad. Not if it was by Ollie’s hand. He’s rather cute. In a weird sort of way. “Sure, why not?”

Ollie beams and Keith gives him a small smile in return. He pulls Keith over the counter and wraps his hand around Keith’s wrist. Keith feels his cheeks heat up at the contact but he doesn’t say anything, just allows Ollie to lead him out of the store.

As soon as Keith steps out of the small store he immediately wants to return. The sun is hot against his skin, burning it. The walk through the desert sand is hard, his feet keep sticking and his calves begin to ache almost right away but Ollie keeps walking. His hand slips out of Ollie’s grasp a few times, the sweat from both their skin causing him to loose grip but Ollie just wipes his hand down the front of his shorts and grabs it again. Keith feels the familiar sting when he tries to count the seconds but he stops before he blacks out.

“Aha!” Ollie exclaims, the butter is still in his other hand and Keith tries not to wonder how it didn’t melt. “Here we are!”

Keith looks around and finds nothing. Nothing but desert sand a few rocks. He looks over at Ollie and curls his hand into a fist, ready to punch him in the gut. Ollie’s eyes flicker towards the motion and he backs up a few feet. “Look Keith!” He points to the ground.

There’s a hole.

“There’s a hole.” Keith deadpans and Ollie nods his head. He motions for Keith to come closer and points to the hole. “Watch.” He tells him.

Ollie unwraps the sticks of butter and drops them one by one into the small hole in the ground. Keith watches them disappear into the darkness. Nothing happens. Keith goes to tell Ollie his observation when there’s a large chomping noise and what sounds like something licking their lips.

“What the— Holy fuck— Ollie what—-” Keith stares at the hole, his eyes wide. “What the fresh titty is in that fucking hole?”

Ollie laughs, loud and deep, and Keith wishes he would have saved it for another time because he can’t fully appreciate how beautiful he looks when there’s a hole in the ground making slobbering noises two feet in front of them. Ollie wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulder and pulls him closer.

“I don’t know man, but it fucking loves butter.”

Where they live, a hole in the middle of the desert that enjoys the taste of butter shouldn’t really be that exciting but Ollie is still shaking slightly from the excitement of finding it and Keith would rather go to the library then tell him that. He’s crouched down next to the hole now, throwing small rocks down into the abyss, laughing whenever the creature down there spits them back at them. Keith looks at him with a smile on his face, laughing when Ollie falls over from a rather large rock gets thrown back and lands on his chest. He walks over to Ollie and holds out his hand to help him up, Ollie grins up at him and instead of getting up, he uses the leverage he has on Keith’s hand and pulls him down onto the sand dune with him.

Keith groans and frowns at the sand sticking to his skin. He tries his best to wipe it off but it ends up just sticking to his hands instead.

“Do you wanna go get pizza with me Keith?” Ollie asks, his eyes are on the setting sun in the distant instead of on Keith himself. Keith doesn’t say anything, just nods and hopes Ollie can feel the movement against his arm.

#free write

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