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pleasantanathema · 3 years

Text

Dirty Old Man

Pairing: Kenny Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Dubcon themes in the beginning (it’s later all consensual), Knifeplay (to remove clothing), Captivity/Kidnapping, Slapping, Daddy Kink, Some Assplay, Gagging (on fingers), Choking, One mention of blood, A little bit of bondage, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Age Gap, Kenny is a dirty old man.

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: It’s late, but it’s here! Here’s my part to the Smut Pile’s Western Collab! Please heed the warnings. Kenny is disgusting and I’m disgusting but here we are, fucking Kenny.

“I told you to stop running away. I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of chasin you down.” Kenny spit the words out like poison, crouching in front of you to place the tip-end of his knife against your corseted chest as a warning.

You attempted a protest, but the makeshift gag made out of a torn piece of your skirts kept you virtually silent. Your wrists were burning, the rope around them scratching against your skin behind your back. The inn he’d taken you to for the night was damp and dirty, the floor you were tossed into reeking of piss and sour bourbon.

He had come for you again. You’d had some wistful doubt that he wouldn’t, but like always, he’d tracked you down as easily as hunters do footprints in thick snow. He’d followed your trail and bound you with that thick rope of braided hemp he always kept at his side. Evading him was never easy, but you thought you’d gotten away with it this time when you’d found a meager orphanage to cook at. He hated children—you thought he’d never set foot in the place, but reckoning had come for you in the early hours of the morning, with a dark shadow moving in the corner of the kitchens.

“You never fuckin’ learn. Maybe this time I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”

The sharp point of his blade dug into your clothes, the cutting edge purposefully situated between featherbone channels so it could slice at cotton threads.

You swore against the cloth in your mouth, your curses soaking into the spit-damp fabric. He hooked a finger under the gag digging into your cheek, pulling at the material with a smirk.

“Got something to say, kid?”

Slowly, he pulled the torn cloth from your mouth, your head twisting to shake away strings of drool that had attached to the textile.

“Maybe I like the chase, Kenny,” you hissed out his name, not bothering with the Mr. Ackerman bullshit you’d called him at home.

He had once been a rather removed presence in your life; he was just that outlaw in the corner who did the terrible things the rich families in your town had the money but not the gall to do. But now he’d become the bane of your existence, the dark thread that always pulled you back into the oppressive home life you were running from. He never seemed to care. If anything, he seemed to take a sick joy in finding you quicker each time you snuck out and ran in a new, farther direction.

“So we’re on a first name basis now, huh? Good, cause we’re about to get real intimate.”

“You could make this real fun and actually untie me.”

“I’m not untying you, ain’t fucking happening. I didn’t spend weeks tracking down a stupid maiden for her daddy for you to run off into the woods the moment I turn my back to piss.”

You winced a little at his harsh words, still very aware of the cold steel carefully skating through the middle of your chest. The threads of your corset were popping and curling back toward the bone linings.

“I’m not some fragile maiden.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you ain’t, what you are is a big pain in my ass. I don’t get paid enough for this shit, so I’m takin’ what I’m owed.”

The reality of your situation settled in when you felt cool air sweep across your freshly exposed breasts. Your initial thought was to kick him, but when you felt him dig the blade a little too deep into the clothes at your belly, you hesitated. One wrong move and he could be slicing you open accidentally.

Your wrists pounded with lack of blood flow as you painstakingly tested the knots for slack again. Of course, there wasn’t any. He’d probably tied up hundreds of unfortunate souls in his miserable lifetime.

A thrill raced across your skin as you heard the knife clatter into the floor, Kenny peeling away the layers of split clothes on your body like he was prudently opening the petals of a rare flower.

“Well, well, look at you, kid.”

Grey eyes swirled with mirth and mischief under the brim of his hat, a wicked smile curling across bearded cheeks.

You felt vulnerable and far too hot, the heat of embarrassment licking over your chest, up your neck, burning at your ears. Worse, blazing excitement was pooling between your legs, the dull thump of pleasure beginning to pound in your head.

A calloused hand began to paw at the fat of your breast, testing the weight of it in his palm.

“You’re a fucking pervert.”

“Never said I ain’t.”

He flicked your nipple with his comment, chuckling as you gasped. The slight twinge of pain sent a jolt of lightning down your spine, making your fingers dig into the thick rope at your wrists and your head tilt back against the wall. Kenny repeated the motion, rubbing his warm thumb over your nipple before flicking it again. You sucked in a quick breath, making your lungs expand and breasts inch closer to his hands.

“You like that?” He teased, a finger tracing the sensitive underside of your breast.

“No.”

He laughed, “Liar. Your pretty nipples are harder than my cock.”

Kenny proved his point by cupping both your tits and making you moan, back arching toward him instead of away. Seeing the opportunity, he moved in closer, making the remnants of your skirts bunch around your hips as he pressed himself between your legs. You turned your face away from him when he dipped down to kiss you, making his wet lips and wiry beard press into the curve of your throat.

He sucked at the tender flesh of your neck, teeth and growls gently scraping against skin.

“What’s my pa going to think about you taking advantage of me like this?”

You knew you made a good point—unless Kenny had decided to pack some petticoats and powder into his saddle bags, he couldn’t cover up the carnage he was creating.

“I’m your daddy for tonight, kid. Maybe if you’re good I won’t even take you home this time.”

“Really?” You knew your voice portrayed your enthusiasm, but you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to be free of your family and go make a life of your own.

Kenny took his time thinking over his response, too busy licking and sucking at the delicate column of your throat. It felt good, too good, even the scratch of his beard had you holding back whimpers. His long fingers were still groping your tits, thumbs rhythmically petting over your peaks.

You felt like you were engulfed in flames, like the hellfire and brimstone that bible-thumpers warned about were taking over your senses. All because of fucking Kenny Ackerman, the dirtiest old man you’d ever come across.

Though you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t imagined something like this before, it was hard not to when most of your time had been spent tied up on a saddle with him. The pervert always had the audacity to have his half-hard erection pressing into your lower back as you shifted on the smelly horse. It was difficult not to imagine how it would feel to have him inside of you when the horse’s trot had his cock sliding too perfectly against your ass. You’d spent a few nights imagining how he would manhandle you, rough and impatient, and far more skilled than the boys you’d fooled around with.

Kenny was a dirty old man, but you had no doubt he could fulfill every naughty fantasy women like you weren’t supposed to dream about.

You shifted forward a bit, draping your thighs over his so you could get closer, press your aching core against that familiar stiffness in his trousers.

“I’ll be a good girl, daddy,” you let the name roll off your tongue as you tilted your face down to his, “I promise.”

You sealed your vow by pressing your mouth to his, a victorious frisson tingling at your nerves when he groaned into your lips. His kiss was rough, one of his hands snaking up to your neck with a vice-like grip to keep you from changing your mind. It made your vision go blurry behind your eyelids, grey spots dancing in the corners of your lashes. He tasted like booze and smoke, remnants of his addictions tainting your tongue. But you kept up with his pace, eager to show him that you would be good, that you wanted this, that you’d let him have you. Even if he did take you back home anyways, at least you’d get a thrilling fuck out of this arrangement.

“You ain’t never been a good girl,” he rumbled against your lips, “daddy’s gonna have to teach you how to behave.”

You gasped when he used his leverage on your neck to push you farther into the creaking boards of the wall. Your wrists were trapped between your back and the floor, going more numb by the second. He caged you in completely, had you sitting in his lap with his cock pressed against your damp drawers and one hand tangling into the mess of your skirts.

“Women and all their fucking clothes,” he snarled down at your half-dressed body. Your eyes went wide as you noticed him reach back for the discarded blade, his other hand still content to press against the sides of your neck.

“W-wait, I don’t have anything else to wear!”

“You ain’t going to be needin’ em anyways, kid.”

Time slowed down like the creeping slush of molasses as you watched Kenny begin to slice through your dress and petticoat, each tug of his wrist sending cotton fibers spilling into the floor. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and sweat beading on the back of your neck every time the spine of the knife grazed the freshly exposed skin of your thighs. You struggled against the rope and the hand holding you back when he began to cut through the length of your drawers. The blade was too close to your intimate places, grazing against your sweltering flesh and making you whimper.

“I ain’t gonna cut you, darlin. As much as I wanna carve my name into your skin, I couldn’t stand hurtin’ you.”

You swallowed thickly and he must’ve felt it, his thumb petting at your neck like he was trying to soothe a scared animal. He stopped cutting at your clothing, lifting his pointed chin so he could look up into your face. He grinned, soft but still wolfish, wrinkles gathering at the corners of his eyes.

“Gimme a kiss, it’ll make you feel better.”

You complied, perhaps too happily, slanting your mouth against his and moaning at the rough feel of his black hairs against your cheeks.

Kenny ripped the rest of the threads from your body with his strong fingers, finishing the work that the knife had started. A weight was lifted off of you when your heavy skirts and the skeleton of your corset finally slipped into the floor to be forgotten. He took particular care in relieving you of your cotton drawers, the shadow of his hat obscuring his face as he marveled at the juncture of your thighs.

“Look at that pretty pussy, all wet and sloppy just for me.”

You cried out when he brushed a knuckle between your dripping folds, finger slowly uncurling so it could prod at your tight hole.

“You always get this wet when you’re around me?”

“Hard not to when you’re always groping me like some animal.”

His gaze flickered back up to you, the mixture of a frown and a smirk tugging at his lips. He pressed his palm more firmly against your windpipe, making you choke.

“Don’t know why I bothered to ungag your smart mouth.”

“I’ll be goo—” you didn’t have the chance to finish your plea, his long fingers uncurling from your neck only for two of them to abruptly slide past your open lips. Your eyes watered a bit from the thrusting motion of his digits and you could feel your moans vibrate against his skin. He started to push his fingers farther into your mouth, seeing how far he could go before your throat tightened, smirking the whole time. His skin tasted like rawhide and copper, like leather and blood, and you breathlessly traced your tongue along his slim knuckles.

“Your mouth looks better stuffed,” his other hand resumed teasing your lower lips, “Let’s see how many fingers you can take.”

You almost bit the knuckles in your mouth when he shoved his middle and index fingers into your tight cunt. You muffled out a squeal, eyes rolling shut when a wave of pleasure splashed over your body with the timing of his fingers pushing inside of you. He wasted no time in stretching you, spreading his strong fingers as he withdrew and pressed back inside of you over and over again.

Your tongue went still and flat in your mouth, spit pooling around slim fingers that still pressed farther back into your throat with every thrust of his hand between your legs. You could practically hear him grinning like a madman with both of his calloused hands pressing into two of your wet holes. You sucked around his fingers when he touched a sensitive, fleshy patch inside of you, fingers curling against your walls and stroking the spot repeatedly.

Weightless, you felt weightless in Kenny’s lap, like each thrust of his fingers into your mouth and pussy was sending you higher into the clouds. Even your own fingers had gone limp behind you, no longer clinging to their binds.

“Not bad, kid. How about another?”

You screamed around his hand when his ring finger stretched your opening wider, your pussy burning from its invasion. He laughed, a sadistic rumble from his chest that vibrated against your tits. At the feel of your cry, he pushed the fingers against your tongue even farther down to the back of your mouth, making you fight your gag reflex and sputter. Spit was falling from the corners of your mouth and you could feel your slick drooling down your thighs and onto his pumping wrist between your legs.

“Good girl,” he praised, picking up his already merciless pace, “daddy’s got a big cock, need you to be ready for it.”

Kenny groaned when you nodded your head, eyes fluttering open to catch his gaze. Some twisted pleasure brewed in your lower stomach as you noticed his lopsided grin, pearl white teeth bared over his full lips.

“I bet you look so fucking pretty when you cum. Think you can? Can you cum from an old man stuffin’ you full of fingers, darlin?”

You shivered at his words, your thighs shaking as you felt like you were being pulled apart. The three fingers inside of you knew exactly how to make your head go fuzzy and your nerves wild with pleasure, and it only got more intense when his thumb began to circle your already aching clit. You whimpered around his fingers, finding a momentary reprieve when he pulled them from your lips and admired the drool flowing over his knuckles. But he slid them back in after you caught a quick breath, pumping them at the same speed as the fingers buried into your cunt.

It was like you were brimming and boiling over with the taste and feel of Kenny. Your mind could barely keep up with the shots of ecstasy stemming from your belly, your toes curling against the cold floor, your wrists rubbed raw from rope. Your lower muscles were starting to clench, spasm, shake, and he groaned.

“Fuck you’re gettin’ tight. But I’ve got one more place to try.”

Your brows scrunched together when you felt his ring finger slip from your pussy, only to feel his slim pinky finger prod at the tight pucker of your ass.

“Kemmy, mf, umph,” you struggled to speak with his fingers stuffed in your mouth.

You finally bit against his skin when you felt the length of his smallest finger slither into your ass.

The new sensation rocked you, had you gasping and leaning forward and gagging on his fingers and cumming all at the same time. You screamed as you felt your asshole tighten around his digit, the pleasure of it sending you raring into bliss at full force like you’d just been slammed into a wall. It felt so fucking good, every hole stuffed with him, every muscle clenching and unclenching as he had the nerve to laugh at how easily you came from feeling a finger in your ass.

“Heh, seems you like that, don’tcha?” He let you ride out the remnants of your orgasm for a few moments, fingers still and just feeling you contract around him.

Finally, he worked on setting you free of his hold. He took his time with it, each finger sliding out of you painfully slow like he was slowly uncorking a pent-up bottle of champagne. With your mouth free first, you took your time breathing and gathering your wits, looking down into the floor as shame crept over your body. It was all so nasty and dirty, and when he pulled his fingers out from between your legs, you knew all you wanted was more of it.

“Fuck,” you breathed, surprised when he lifted your chin and placed a rather chaste kiss against your messy mouth.

“I take it you’ve never had somethin’ in your ass?”

“N-no, but it…”

“Feels good, yeah?”

You shot him a suspicious look, “How would you know?”

“I’ve been around, kid.”

Kenny groaned as he sat back, moving you off his lap.

“My knees are too fucking old for this. Get on the bed.”

You didn’t know how you could. Your legs felt like pudding and your hands were completely numb behind your back. Kenny walked to the corner of the small bedroom, pulling his suspenders down so he could toss his shirt into the floor. You struggled to move, eyeing the knife in the floor carefully so you didn’t accidentally cut yourself as you fumbled like a little fawn gaining her legs.

You enjoyed the feel of standing for a moment, leaning back against the wall in all your sloppy nakedness as you watched Kenny dip his hands into the wash bin.

This was the last thing you expected when you woke up this morning. You’d been free, ready to get started on a cornbread and bean breakfast, only to be kidnapped before you could even lace up your shoes. Now you were watching Kenny Ackerman get undressed and hang that signature bowler hat on the back of the door.

He looked better without the hat. In fact, he looked so much better naked.

He had sun kissed skin on his arms and neck from working in the sun, lean sinews of muscle carved over his chest, his thighs. He was dusted in wiry black hair, like someone had taken ash from a fire and doused him in it. And his cock was hard and proud between his legs, long and curved up toward his stomach. Your ego spiked at the thought that you’d made him that way; you were the reason his swollen head was leaking and twitching.

“Can I touch you now?”

“What?” He looked puzzled, running a hand through his dark, shoulder length hair. It looked longer than when you last saw him.

You moved toward him on still shaky legs, making a show of pulling at your hands bound behind your back.

“Shit, I forgot you were tied up. But you gotta promise me when I cut you loose you ain’t just gonna sprint out that door.”

“I don’t have any clothes, Kenny.”

He laughed genuinely at that, scratching at the back of his neck. He’d have to remedy that tomorrow, go out and buy you something to wear so he didn’t parade you around town naked as the day you were born.

You stayed still as he reached for that big knife of his on the floor, settling up behind you to start gnawing the blade through the thick rope. Your shoulders felt at ease when you felt the slack begin to set into your binds, the last bit of hemp audibly slicing away. You pulled your hands in front of you, immediately rubbing at the raw spots on your wrists. They’d be bruised tomorrow, scab over by the next day.

Kenny wrapped his arms around you from behind, hands first skimming over your shoulders and upper arms.

“If you didn’t have such a bad habit of runnin’, I wouldn’t have to do that to you, kid.”

“You’d run away if you had my life, too.”

You knew you didn’t need to fill in the blanks for him. He’d been around long enough to know the ins and outs of your story.

“Suppose I would.”

He kissed your neck as he walked you to the bed, turning you around so he could crawl up the naked expanse of your body as you laid back against the hay stuffed mattress.

“Someone as pretty as you don’t deserve someone like me chasin’ after you.” But his confession didn’t stop him from settling between your thighs and bending down to suck one of your nipples into his eager mouth. You moaned, elated to have your hands free so you could tangle your fingers into his long hair.

“I told you,” you gasped when he bit into your skin hard enough to leave marks, “I like the chase.”

He licked a long, hot stripe between the valley of your breasts before bringing his face back to yours. You kept your hands in his hair as he leaned down to kiss you, all brute force and greedy tongue like you’d gotten used to before. You were just as hungry for him, your body feeling fresh and ripe after your orgasm and ready to be filled again. You bit at his lower lip, smirking when you got a reaction from him. Your tongue began to map the insides of his mouth, letting the taste of him overwhelm you.

Kenny was impatient, gripping your hips and spreading you apart again.

“I like you better when you’re submissive.” He murmured into your mouth, skilled fingers spreading your pussy so the fat head of his cock could rub against you.

“I said I would be a good girl, daddy.”

His head dropped to your shoulder with a groan, “I can’t fucking handle you calling me that, kid.”

“Oh yeah? Is me calling you daddy going to make you cream early, old man?”

He slid his cock inside of you rough and fast to shut you up. Your head fell farther back against the pillow as you mewled, his fingers still having not prepared you for the feel of his stretching you open. Your walls were snug against him; you could feel every throbbing vein under his silken skin dragging against your insides as he pulled out and pushed into you slowly.

Each thrust had euphoria blooming from your stomach and spreading across all your extremities. It was like you could suddenly feel everything, the pleasure making the world around you sharpen. Kenny was breathing hotly into your neck, your nipples were painfully hard and sliding against the dark, downy hairs of his chest. Your fingers were coming back to life, your nails scraping against the greyed roots of his hair. Your toes were curling in the air, your thighs and hips burning from bearing the heaviness of Kenny between them. Both your heart and his were beating fast, blood pumping as if in the same drumline together.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good,” he drawled, “s-so fucking soft, so tight.”

Little sounds were leaving your parted lips, eyes struggling to stay open as each plunge of Kenny’s cock was engulfing you with ecstasy. He was starting to get a bit punishing with his movements, moving hard and fast inside of you and making you forget yourself. His nails were biting into the fatty flesh of your hips, where half-moon marks would surely adorn your skin in the morning. You’d have hickies on your neck too, especially now as he sunk his teeth into the tender spot where your throat met your shoulder.

God it felt good to be used, to be wanted. And you knew Kenny wanted you, he’d even said he wanted to carve his name into your skin. Something inside of you told you that he’d want to own you, if you’d let him. You caught a lot of his longing gazes before, whether in the back of the saloon he frequented or the ridiculous dance halls your family drug you to. You’d often wondered if he would fuck you against a wall if you tempted him to, and now you had your long-awaited answer.

“Oh daddy,” you purred, both purposely and not, little oh’s and mhm’s following behind.

The name spurred Kenny into a new gait. He shifted back onto his knees swiftly, the same hand from before resuming its chokehold on your neck. You moaned at the familiar contact, the sound trapped behind his spread fingers. He had more power behind his hips from this angle, sending his cock deeper into your depths and into places his long fingers couldn’t reach from before. Your eyes squeezed shut, tiny gasps all that could be formed behind the wall of his hand.

“Who knew you were such a little slut, darlin. Might keep you around after all.”

Your tits were bouncing in rhythm with his relentless assault, your hands now fisting into the feather pillow next to your face.

“F-fucking shit, I—” you were going stupid, is what you were. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your brain felt foggy in your head.

“You’ve got such a dirty mouth on ya,” Kenny put more pressure behind the fist around your neck, the lack of oxygen making it even harder to think than before, “you really do need a daddy to teach you some, fuck, s-some fucking manners.”

All you could do was nod, completely lost to the feeling of him encompassing you, filling you.

His free hand pulled at one of your limp legs, hoisting it up and over his shoulder. He smothered your skin with wet kisses, nipping at your ankle and chuckling when he felt the bubbled squeal beneath his palm. The hair on his torso tickled the back of your thigh, adding a new layer of sensation that you didn’t think you could handle. It was too much—Kenny was too much, fucking into you like a feral beast that just got his first taste of sweet flesh.

“You’re never gettin’ away from me again,” he hissed out between gritted teeth, “you’re mine now.”

You couldn’t think to respond. Kenny unwrapped his hand from your throat, letting that blood flow return to your head.

“You hear me?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. All you could focus on was the drumming of his cock hitting your insides, the wet, squelching sounds of your pussy sucking him in.

The sound of him slapping his hand across your check registered before the pain did. You gasped as your head swung with the force, the side of your face smarting with a throbbing sting.

“Say you’re mine, kid.” Seriousness laced his tone, those dangerous, long fingers grasping at your jaw and pulling you to look at him. He leaned forward, curling your leg with him, making you groan at the pleasure and pain mixing as he tested your flexibility. He kept moving inside of you, pace never faltering.

“Fucking. Say. It.”

Your heart was racing with adrenaline, a strange concoction of fear and bliss spreading over your consciousness.

“Y-yours,” you croaked out, wetting your lips with your tongue, “I’m yours, Kenny!”

You didn’t mean to scream it, but it seemed to please him, that lecherous grin of his spreading over his lips.

“That’s fucking right. I own this tight, pretty little pussy.”

He released your jaw only to slap you again, quicker and softer this time, and you moaned the moment he made contact.

“You like getting slapped around?”

You turned your face back to him, smirking through the sting, “yes, daddy.”

The devilishness that swirled in his eyes made your stomach flip. He paused the movements of his hips, letting your cunt flutter and clench at his stilled cock. Your breathing picked up as you registered what was about to happen.

Kenny hit you with the back of his hand this time, bony knuckles thumping with the quick flick of his wrist. Without his cock moving inside of you, all you could do was bask in the stinging pain left behind on your cheeks. It felt so wrong, but it made the coil in your belly tighten like never before.

“F-fuck,” you moaned, your balled fists releasing the pillow.

Without a second thought, you grabbed at his hair, jerking him down to meet your mouth.

“You better cum inside me after that, daddy, I think I deserve it.”

“Oh, you deserve it darlin,” he started pumping inside of you again, sending your head flying back and his mouth landing on the pulse of your neck, “gonna fill you to the fucking brim.”

His movements were cruel, fast, cock ramming inside of you so harshly that you felt it all the way in your throat. Your hand slipped from his hair and found purchase on his back, nails scraping against sweaty flesh. You could feel his rough skin splitting, but you didn’t care, all that mattered anymore was the way his cock slid in between your gummy walls, the way he was moaning your name like a fucking prayer against your skin.

Kenny’s thumb found your clit, swirling quick, brutal circles over your swollen bud. You could feel yourself clench around him, the sharp pleasure almost painful. You were going to explode. You were going to topple over in ecstasy and it was all because of the wickedness of the dirty old man inside of you.

“K-Kenny, holy f-fucking god, I-I—”

He must have felt it before you did. Hot ropes of cum were seeping inside of you the moment you hit the high point of orgasm. Your nails slid down the entirety of his back, slim, warm rivulets of blood following in their wake.

It was like the bliss never ended. You were caught in the waves of it, each one cresting and falling over and over again as you milked his cock dry, slick and cum pooling between your thighs and soaking the linens.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. Kenny placed a delicate hand between your breasts, like he was trying to slow it down for you. His small act made the world narrow in around you; the remnants of stinging pain and excruciating pleasure still hummed, but you fell into the quiet of just listening to the two of you breath for a few moments.

Eventually, your toes went numb. You’d fully forgotten the poor leg that had been curled over his shoulder. You shifted to move, and Kenny got the hint, finally pulling his spent cock from inside of you and rolling over on his back.

“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth, hand reaching over his shoulder as he met the mattress, “you’ve got fucking claws.”

You had half a mind to apologize, but you didn’t bother, still basking in the afterglow of sex. Your body was tired, wrists still aching, thighs shaking.

“You alright?” A warm hand found your cheek, even hotter lips pressing to yours in a soft kiss.

“Mhm, more than alright.”

“Didn’t know you had that in you, kid.”

Kenny pulled you into his chest, long arm curling around your back. His fingers traced soft, swirling patterns on your hip, and you nearly shuddered as you remembered those were the same movements he’d used to abuse your clit. You curled one of your legs over his, needing to get closer, those pesky after-sex hormones and needs clawing at your instincts.

It felt oddly like home to be pressed up against him, your face against his chest, one of your hands mimicking his and drawing circling in his damp chest hair. He smelled like home, anyways, like earth and spices.

“You gonna take me home?”

He was quiet for a second, pressing his lips into your hairline.

“Nah, I’ll take you someplace safe. Maybe buy you a fucking train ticket so you can get out of this part of the world.”

“You sure you don’t want to keep me?”

“Now don’t fucking tempt me with that, kid.”

“I wouldn’t mind being yours, you know.”

“You don’t wanna be mine, even if I make you say that shit when I’m fuckin’ you.”

You knew he was right, but you didn’t offer him an affirmation.

Maybe you’d let him fuck you for a few more days before you ventured off on your own, maybe you’d convince him to chase you down a few more times just for the thrill of it. Maybe you’d wrap your fists around his suspenders and convince him to run away with you.

You did like Kenny, after all. Even if he was such a perverted, disgusting old man.

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penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories · 4 years

Text

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point.

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up.

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv for being my incredible beta and to @maybege for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content!

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control)

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss.

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother.

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine.

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet.

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments.

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you.

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be.

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway.

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well.

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from.

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life.

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby.

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead.

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least.

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes.

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours.

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things.

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project.

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any.

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!”

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize.

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen.

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way. “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.”

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?”

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you.

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast.

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving.

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch.

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru.

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…”

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.”

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod.

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves.

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own?

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.”

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area.

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him.

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house.

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working.

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him.

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours.

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in.

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent.

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away.

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams.

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence.

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest.

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.”

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall. “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover.

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to…

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs. Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it, meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso.

And you begin to weep with him.

*********

The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut.

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth.

You cannot tell him for a long while still.

*******

It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it.

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words.

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

*****

The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air.

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance.

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors.

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.”

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet.

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist.

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.”

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface.

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality.

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.”

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him.

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss.

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you.

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all.

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features.

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him.

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth.

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal.

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest.

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him.

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern.

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in.

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first.

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there.

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy.

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity.

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other.

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other.

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived. With more than ever to lose.

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course.

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down.

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him.

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile.

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away.

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating.

“I can feel you staring, little one.” He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence.

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek.

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively.

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest.

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.”

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.”

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from.

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter.

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms.

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches.

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy.

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin.

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously.

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted.

With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too.

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed.

Although first you needed a blank canvas.

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up.

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance.

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created.

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this.

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him.

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises.

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful.

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods.

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing.

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue.

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors.

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now.

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?”

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.”

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you.

You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat.

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay.

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan.

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold.

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know.

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen.

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it.

Gentle.

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again.

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow.

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him.

Stars, how you want to let him.

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture.

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach.

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is.

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind.

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother.

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him.

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble.

Confident.

Steadfast.

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you.

Nothing can.

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you.

Treasure.

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion.

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying.

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him.

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.”

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons.

“Darling, I’m…”

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now.

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now.

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping.

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before.

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself.

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly.

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists.

“Allow me.”

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head.

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves.

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening.

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind.

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did.

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples.

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing.

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked.

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.”

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it.

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again.

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone.

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is.

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night.

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him.

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care.

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple.

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all.

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control.

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand.

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.”

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him.

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all.

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.”

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.”

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body.

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips.

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you.

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you.

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own.

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time.

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this.

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed?

Anchor. Anchor against me.

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before.

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck.

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge.

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought.

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him.

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit.

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear.

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back.

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under.

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up.

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you, how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this.

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion.

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths.

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it.

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth.

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes.

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations.

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.”

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough, how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied.

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you.

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it.

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity.

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force.

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all.

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind.

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them.

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been.

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time.

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke.

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair.

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand.

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke.

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment.

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over.

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too.

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms.

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it.

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle.

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.”

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef.

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses.

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day.

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving.

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning.

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite?

So is the promise of the return of the Light.

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs

#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan #obi-wan x oc

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

And Everyday: When Life Gives You Lemons, Put Some Vodka in Your Lemonade (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode, Jaida Essence Hall/Jan Sport) - Campvanjie

AN: This was originally written for a fic exchange, and posted to AO3 under my now deleted account there on May 1st, 2020. Reposting here, because I’m proud of it, and am clearing old S12 fics from my Google drive. I’m the original author of this work, and there’s absolutely no plagiarism going on!

Summary: Gigi needs a soft place to land after her quarter-life meltdown, and Crystal realizes the happily every after she gave up on, might not be totally out of reach. Meanwhile, Jaida and Jan work on restoring an old barnhouse; because marriage begets home improvement.Prompts: Parenthood AU, Enemies to Lovers, Idiots in Love, and Angst all used to varying degrees.

CW: conversations around divorce/child custody and (past) bullying behavior, character mentions (non-specific) mental health issues as the reason for a past breakup.

“- Ugh, anyway, it’s like 3:30, he’s almost an hour late and I don’t know why the fuck I even got all dressed up just to sit at court being looked at like I’m some cheap bitch-”, Gigi grumbled into her phone. It was pressed against her cheek as she tried her best to juggle her purse and a extra-large coffee held in her other hand, her livid glare captured perfectly in the harsh, white light of the bathroom mirror across from her.

“I dunno, maybe because you have to be there? Kind of the mom thing to do.”, Crystal told her, static edging into her voice.

It was a long-distance call after all, and Gigi had fought against her fingers dialing the number almost by muscle memory. She had only relented once she had gotten through the packed hallway of the courts complex, and almost collapsed into what seemed like the only empty bathroom.

Call Crystal, had been the only thing she could think of do, in between beating her palms against the cool, brick walls, and shaking with sobs she refused to shed for fear of ruining her makeup.

Without missing a beat; Crystal had picked up, her voice always high and slowed, syllables enunciated in a way that had trained Gigi into asking for coffee, like it was spelled with a K, calling her son’s name, with the E in the middle a sharp, upward spike.

Crystal, Gigi realized with a start; was who had taught her to gulp in her breaths to hide herself crying, and shove her fist into her front pocket, to keep herself from shaking so much.

“I know. I know you’re right. I just- God, I’m so sick of it. It just want this all to be over so I can go back to what’s important, and stop feeling like my entire world is crashing down around me."

Crystal laughed, a little too dry for it to be genuine. "Hey, Gigi?"

"Hm?"

"If you- if you wanted, maybe you and the little munchkin could visit? Come see me in Missouri, maybe it’ll get your mind off things."

Gigi’s hands stopped underneath the stream of lukewarm water flowing from the faucet, her eyes meeting her reflection in the mirror. She looked like shit, no matter how much her carefully applied façade remained in place, her gaze jittered around the small room and she had never felt so truly tired in her entire life.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I mean, me of all people should know something about everything falling apart."

Less than an hour later, Gigi found herself dialing Crystal’s number again. She stood outside the courthouse, her glasses misted from the early- evening rain shower as she waited for her car.

Relinquished. She didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry, or take her parents up on their offer to live in their Florida timeshare and disappear off the face of the planet, too.

"He’s not coming because he filed paperwork to relinquish parental rights two weeks ago. In the eyes of the law, it’s just the two of you.”, her lawyer had told her, after finding Gigi just outside the bathroom. Jackie Cox was always dressed in tweed, pastel, pantsuits, dark hair coiffed in buttery smooth curls at the top of her head, her lips pursed in a thin, straight line, as though she was perpetually exhausted.

Gigi supposed that, being one of the city’s longest-serving family court attorneys would do that to you.

“I don’t know how I missed it on the dockets, but I should have told you first.”, Jackie apologized; her hand warm and steady at the small of Gigi’s back as she walked her client back up the hallway.

Gigi grunted, shrugging her shoulders underneath her jacket. “It’s fin- It wouldn’t have changed anything, Jackie. Really, thanks for everything."

She let herself lean against Jackie, letting one of her oldest friends wrap her arms around her, breathing in the scent of Jackie’s honeysuckle perfume on the courthouse steps.

"I’m sorry this happened-”, Jackie started, and Gigi could feel her heart sink to her stomach.

She had never done well with pity, least of all when she truly deserved it.

“Don’t be. Please, just don’t.”

“What are you going to do now?”, Jackie asked, as Gigi stepped out of her embrace, surveying the street before them that was quickly filling with cars and bikes and buses as the work day finished and school let out for the day.

“Right now? Get in an Uber and hope they don’t charge me triple for being late at daycare again.”

Crystal picked up on the fourth ring, and Gigi could hear the sound of a sink running in the background. Water splashed against metal, and the distinct sound of another woman’s voice, screeching with laughter, buzzed through the speakers of Gigi’s phone.

“Whoo- chile, I’m telling you if you come any closer with that flour, I’m gonna-"

"Shit. Sorry.”, Crystal had muffled the phone against her chest, the static only cutting out when Gigi was sure she had ducked into another room.

“How quickly can you get that guest room set up? I’m pretty sure we can make it for tomorrow if I drive through the night.”

“Mom- Mom it’s twelve-thirty-five. It’s way, way, way past your bedtime!”, Destiny crowed from his carseat, kicking at Gigi’s back. His blonde curls were plastered to the side of his face, lips dusted with salt from the bag of chips that Gigi had let him pick out form himself at their last rest stop.

Their entire lives had fit neatly into the sickeningly suburban five-seater that his father had insisted on, the largest luggage case filled with her son’s clothes and bedsheets still having enough room to jostle under his bare feet.

She knew it was impulsive, and stupid, and half-expected the police to pull them over several states away, but as the highways emptied to nothing bur a ribbon of white lines that kept them on the right side of the road, Gigi became more and more convinced she was doing the right thing.

“My bedtime is five-thirty, kiddo. Yours is eight, so you get to stay up so much later.”, she joked easily, never having had Destiny for so many hours, all by herself in the years since he had started preschool.

“Wait, that doesn’t make sense! It’s eight at night and right now it’s morning! Nobody goes to sleep at five in the morning!”, he shrieked, and giggled at his own reflection in the rearview mirror.

“That’s when the garbage truck wakes up!”, he added. Gigi didn’t remember, if he had ever talked so much, his voice jarring and so different from the toddler babbles she had recorded, and kept on her phone to watch on her worst days.

Her textile studio had taken up her days, until her partners had grown tired of Gigi stumbling in at eleven in the morning, unable to force herself to care very much about their bottom line, and the grey, dull world outside until Destiny had come to kick her out of bed.

Afterwards, his father would take her nights, the pressure incessant that they be exactly what they looked like- a family that belonged in a catalog, with a perfectly dressed, perfectly quiet child, money to burn and success in spades; drinking from matching flutes of champagne while Destiny was left alone in his basement bedroom with a baby monitor and his collection of stuffed animals.

Gigi faltered in a sea of plastic smiles and shallow conversations, and at the end of the day, all of her friends who had warned her off marrying her senior-year rebound, giving her life over to the promise of a bright, empty future, had been right.

He wanted to live in a dream, where she was only ever a sidekick; their son nothing more to him than a prop to parade, an filled-in item on a checklist that he had given up without a second thought.

Gigi had named him Destiny, because she liked it first, but second, because it had sounded so good with his last name; that she had never even considered having to change it.

Destiny Goode was a name that sounded like a motivational quote from a caveman, and she briefly wondered, merging on to the next interstate her GPS system highlighted- if a six-year-old would remember his name if she changed it right now.

He could be a Garret, or a Jaden, just like every other boy at school.

A fresh slate with no more questions to be asked, and nothing left to tie her perfect boy to Gigi’s worst mistake.

“-So, she’ll be here at nine-thirty, and we’re all going to be nice as fuck and not make it weird, okay?"

Crystal smoothed down the pleats of her skirt with her palms, her legs crossed in front of her at the breakfast table, as her eyes flitted between Jaida and Jan, who both had forks in hand as they enjoyed the chilaquilles that Crystal had set out for their meal, knowing this was going to be a big conversation.

"Chile-”

“Okay, go back to the part where she broke up with you and then ended up married to darksided Warner-"

"Guys!”, Crystal protested, glaring down at her friends.

Jaida and Jan had bought the barn on her family’s property not even weeks after Crystal had agreed to put it on the market, the decrepit, white-washed wood tower an eyesore along the country highway.

They were the closest thing she had to neighbors, in the wide acres of rolling plains that separated everyone by miles along the road, and it hadn’t taken long for the three of them to grow close.

Together, they had carved a guest house out of the front entryway, laying water pipes and television cable; and were working on renovations to turn the barn’s hall into an event space, with glass lanterns hanging high along the rafters that Crystal remembered walking across like a tightrope when she was a child.

Jan drilled in heavy wood planks to form a catwalk that overlooked the barn floor, which you could reach from the outside fire escape, and Crystal had been thrilled to finally put her years of following behind her father to use, toolbox in hand as she sanded down the reinforced beams holding up the roof.

If Gigi hadn’t called her, Crystal and Jan had a day ahead of them of hauling the shingles from a pallet left by the side of the road, in Crystal’s truck up to the barn, while Jaida had her camera, and a full calendar of Senior Portraits to finish before the end of the school year.

“I know it sounds like a lot, but please, please, don’t make it weird. Gigi always…- She always needed everything to go perfectly, and I hate to say it but… I might be her only real friend. Like, ever.”, Crystal told them, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

Gigi, who for the past few years, had been nothing but a collection of memories that would fire in her brain occasionally, like a slight twinge from an old injury, would be back in the flesh at her doorstep, at any minute. Crystal barely had the time to recruit Jaida’s help in clearing out her guest rooms for Gigi and her son, much less process how she truly felt about offering up her home as their refuge.

Gigi had never responded to the birthday cards she sent for Destiny after his third birthday; barely ever logging into her Facebook page that had been filled with photos of the two of them through college; and seemed to abruptly be cut off after she had gotten married. Occasionally, something would trickle through, a vacation photo of her little family, and anniversary note, a first day at school and a post that asked everyone to go and follow her business page.

For all of the refreshing Crystal did, Gigi’s studio seemed to never upload anything beyond its logo and business hours.

“Nah, listen, I get it, babe.”, said Jaida, a tortilla chip hanging from the corner of her mouth. “People grow and change and we gotta meet them where they’re at."

She nodded towards Jan, who was gulping down her orange juice, with a fond grin. "If you would have told my queen bitch ass when I was in high school, that I would end up married to Miss Team Too Much, I would have stole your man and told the whole school some dirty secret.”, Jaida laughed. “Everybody’s dealing with something, and I was so closeted and angry I was acting a fool for free."

"You were never closeted.”, Jan piped up, her voice rising an octave from normal, making Crystal widen her eyes as she looked to her side.

“Glass closet, honey. Besides, my point is, it’s water under a bridge, whatever we do when we’re young. I love you now.”, she said, pressing a kiss to Jan’s temple as she rose to go take their dishes to the sink. “You ended up turning out to be an amazing woman. I’m sure Gigi’s just the same."

The sun was high over the horizon line when Gigi’s car rumbled up the range road, rocks spraying into the grass as her wheels skipped over the pockmarked dirt.

She had taken Destiny to a hotel waterpark with a free breakfast, the absolute joy and shock on his face more than worth being several hours off of the arrival time she had texted Crystal. He was asleep now, only dressed in a pair of shorts and his sneakers, the buckles of his carseat starting to chafe red against his skin.

Gigi turned left at the barn, towards the yellow-shuttered house she remembered visiting over so many spring breaks and reading weeks, surprised to see two workers, stacking pallets of shingles by the barn door. One was a gorgeous, darker-skinned woman, the sun glittering from the highlights in her hair as she waved over to Gigi, making her grin despite herself.

Crystal’s tiny town had always been welcoming, the huge open expanses of space seeming to make everyone all the more willing to seek a connection- though Gigi would have never guessed that Crystal and her family would ever do anything with the barn, which looked just a little less decrepit than she remembered, so many years later.

She parked by the balcony, just in front of Crystal’s truck, and shook Destiny awake, helping him into the first shirt which she could reach from his bag.

"C'mon, Des. We’re here. Are you excited to say hi to Mom’s friend? She stayed up all night to make you new room!”, she asked, watching as he took in the word around them.

“You have friends?”, he blurted out, so plainly that Gigi couldn’t keep a smile off her face, even if he had probably heard that from a TV show she probably shouldn’t have been letting him see.

“That’s not very nice."

Still, she kissed the top of his head, and helped him out of the car, his tiny hand feeling heavy in hers as they made their way up the stairs to Crystal’s door.

The balcony creaked under their feet, as Gigi raised her hand to press against the doorbell, Destiny tugging against her shirt, pointing up at the colorful strips of cut paper that still adorned the windows, the sun cutting what must have been a stained-glass glow inside the house.

"Snowflakes, like at school!”, he called to her, pressing his face against the windowsill before Gigi pulled him back.

“No, it’s called papel picado.”, Gigi corrected, remembering how Crystal had spent hours at her paper press in the basement of the art rooms in college, a mess of stencils spread across the desk, a chisel and mallet in hand as she studied the pictures her grandmother would send her.

Crystal’s tongue would poke out of her mouth, her pupils blown wide in concentration, oblivious to the darkening sky above her until Gigi would find her, at half-past midnight, standing still wide awake in the middle of confetti slices of cut paper piling around her.

They would kiss, exhilarated and young and alone together, and Gigi would never think anything was wrong until-

“Gigi! Geegs! Look who’s late to their own party!”, Crystal squealed, the door swinging wide open to reveal her; red-brown hair still as wild as ever, piled into a messy ponytail atop her head, and a smile so wide Gigi could see nearly all her teeth. Crystal sparkled with the same craft glitter that had always hung from her fingertips, her cheeks flush as though she’d run from one end of the house to the other.

Her eyes looked bright again, the memory of which was so foreign to Gigi that she took a moment to take it all in, Crystal’s bright skirt and her tight, sleeveless top looking all the more like relics of the summers they had spent together.

“Ahoy.”, she greeted, raising a hand to her forehead in a mock salute.

Crystal giggled.

Giggled, like she always had, and waved them inside with a flourish of her hand.

“Are you mad at me?”, Jaida asked, kicking open the toolbox that she and Jan shared.

They had watched Crystal let the storied Gigi into the house, and decided to occupy themselves with bolting down the side light fixtures in the barn, until whatever was probably going on between their neighbor and ex calmed down enough for Crystal to invite them in.

But, Jan’s temper had grown increasingly short through their day, her drill now clenched in a white-knuckled grip as Jaida held the ladder she was on steady below her, digging in the tool box for the next drill bit she would need.

“Why- the fuck- would I be mad at you?”, she said through gritted teeth, over the sound of the power tool in her hand.

“‘Cause you just said fuck, for one.”, Jaida muttered, her eyes rolling skyward. Her wife had always been a little dramatic, but there was nothing Jaida hated more than the silent treatment, far preferring a knock-down, drag-out, screaming fight to being frozen out for hours with little more than a sharp glance or a silent nodded sent her way.

Jan shrugged her shoulders, her favorite blue and red flannel shirt stretching deliciously tight across her back.

Was Jan teasing her? Was it all some kind of elaborate game that was intended to be finished in their bedroom?

“Well, whatever you’re doing, it’s killing the mood, babe.”, Jaida teased, hoping that Jan would get the hint.

Instead, she dropped the drill from her grip, clattering down the ladder as it bounced on the hard-packed ground. The battery pack popped from the tool’s back, not that Jan could be bothered as she stalked away, ignoring Jaida’s raised eyebrows.

“Hey- hey- you can’t just wreck stuff because you’re having a bad day!”, Jaida called after her wife, looking down at the mess of wires at her feet. “And I don’t know how to fix this shit so-"

She fell silent, as Jan’s steps echoed up the outdoor fire escape, her body disappearing until Jaida could only see the outline of her long, blonde hair, blowing in the wind from the balcony.

"Jan?”, she shouted, following her up the steps. “Hey, I know I fucked up, but you gotta tell me how otherwise I’m not gonna know how to fix it."

"Right.”, Jan scoffed as Jaida rounded the corner, the two of them facing towards Crystal’s house, where a second-floor light flickered on and off several times. “I forgot that everything’s so easy for you, I just have to spell it all out."

"Okay, what does that even mean?"

Jan glowered at her wife, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Why did you tell Crystal the reason you were a bully in high school was because you weren’t out?"

"That’s what this about? Baby-”, Jaida reached forward, her hand only barely touching Jan’s shoulder before her wife flinched away. “I was just trying to make her feel a little better about the whole thing, everything going on with Gigi. I don’t even remember if I was a bully in high school."

"Maybe I do.”, Jan snapped, her eyes flashing up in anger for a split second.

Jaida sighed, looking back over the horizon; where the sun was starting to dip at the back of scattered farmhouses and cottage homes littered accross the plains. “Look- I- I’m sorry and I shouldn’t have brought it up-”

“You’ve never apologized."

"You want me to say sorry?"

It had been years since Jan and Jaida had reconnected, long separated from the people that they had been as children.

Jaida had remembered Jan as an easy target from their first day in kindergarten, a tiny, loud girl who fell into a pattern that followed until Jan had left for college on a musical theatre scholarship, and Jaida had gone to play basketball for a small, comfortable liberal arts college in the heartland. When she had met Jan again; she was another person who shared the same name, at an alumni event where both of them had been invited to promote their respective colleges.

Where Jan had always worn her heart on her sleeve, the woman Jaida had married was confident, and passionate, witty and driven beyond belief.

She hadn’t had a second thought proposing to her, in the middle of the butterfly sanctuary at the zoo in the springtime, kissing her passionately without question at their Central Park wedding, their families both swaying together underneath the canopy of a white tent, to the music of the very first DJ they had found on Google.

"I just want you to- admit that it happened.”

“You’re acting like this was a big deal.”, Jaida groaned. “Baby, we were kids."

"It was a big deal. I thought about the stupid shit you and your friends said, for years after- and you don’t know what that was like."

"Okay- I-”

Jaida sighed, laying her hands on the railing that rounded the balcony, squeezing the metal rung tightly against her palms, the fight seeping out of her as she studied her wife, who looked on the verge of tears.

“Jan- baby, hey, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Silence fell between them, the sound of the crickets the only thing that cut in between their breaths. Jan buried her face in her hands, elbows resting against the railing beside her wife.

“I know. It’s just, that stuff adds up sometimes.”

She pressed herself into her wife’s shoulder, letting her head rest against Jaida’s arm.

“It adds up the other way around, too. Don’t think it doesn’t.”, Jan whispered, and Jaida finally let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding in, her arm snaking around to rest around her wife’s waist. “It’s just a lot of work.”

“Then I’ll work on it, baby. Just tell me what you need.”

Gigi was surprised, at how instantly familiar Crystals kitchen was, breakfast leftovers heaped on top of Destiny’s plate while she quietly accepted a Diet Coke, sipping at the flat beverage as she finally began to relax. Gigi could tell her son was starting to feel sleepy, his eyes losing focus even as he kept lifting his fork to his mouth.

“Cielito.”, Crystal cooed, as she ruffled his curls, passing by the two of them as she moved to shutter the blinds in the kitchen. Destiny clearly thrived under the attention, and Gigi wondered if he had always craved touch, or if he was only a child who was excited by all of the new things around him. The heat was sticky, and Crystal’s brightly painted walls made the whole house look even more like an eternal birthday party, the fridge covered with photos and magnets.

Crystal had never learned to speak Spanish, at least as far as Gigi knew, having begged Crystal to help her pass her class for months when they had been roommates, but she supposed, she must have picked up more of it, with all the time she must have spent with her family afterwards.

“Where are you Mom and Dad?”, Gigi asked, swirling her straw in her Diet Coke. “I should say hi, right?"

Crystal shrugged. "We could Facetime? They were back in Mexico for a while after my Dad got sick, but right now they’re travelling Europe, living the old people dream. I’m sure my Mom still misses you."

Gigi took a deeper breath, her lips pursed as she watched Crystal dump dirty dishes in the sink.

"Is um- are you getting the barn demolished? I saw a couple people working on it outside."

"Oh, that’s just Jan and Jaida. They live there. I sold it a few months ago, and they’re trying to turn it into, like, a wedding hall. You’d love them- they’re the gayes-”, she paused, looking down at Destiny as he tipped his glass of orange juice into his mouth. “They’re super, super in love, and so gross."

Gigi could feel herself start to blush, even though she had started having that conversation with her son almost as soon as he had started to learn to talk.

"I usually have them over for dinner, so you can say hi."

Gigi coughed, swallowing the question that had been at the tip of her tongue since she had spoken to Crystal the day before.

"So? are you seeing anyone?”, she asked.

Crystal shook her head. “I’m not really looking.”, she said. “Still putting the cry in Crystal!”, she laughed. “And you were right, I wouldn’t want to put that on anyone else."

"I- ”, Gigi bit back her reply, not quite knowing if this was a talk she wanted to have, with her son arranging chips on his plate not two feet in front of her.

“Hey- buddy”, Crystal tapped on Destiny’s shoulder, nudging him with her hip. “Go wash your hands in the bathroom. It’s the one with the fish on the door and Star Wars on the curtain."

He looked back up at his mother, Gigi giving him a curt nod of approval as he skittered up the hallway.

"He’s a cute kid, you know? You’re doing a good job.”, she told Gigi, pushing the boy’s chair back in.

“Yeah… mostly not my job, but I’ll pass it on to our last nanny."

Gigi had stood with their plates, following Crystal to the sink where she happily plunged her arms into the hot, soapy bubbles, not caring very much for how her shirtsleeves got soaked in the water, navy fabric clinging to her wrists.

"Seriously. Gigi- look at me.”, Crystal reached around her, shutting off the faucet with a decisive clicking noise. “I don’t blame you for being twenty-one and not sticking around after I flipped out because I didn’t know how to deal with college, and real life and everything. It’s a day by day thing.”, she shrugged, reaching to open a cabinet and put the glasses in the drying rack away.

Crystal’s body was almost uncomfortably close, pressing into Gigi’s side like she remembered them being like, when they had shared their first apartment, having barely enough room for two people in between the fridge and the stove.

“Some days are better than others. But it’s-”, she paused, and smirked, her lips curling into the same wicked grin that Gigi could never shake from her memories, no matter how hard she tried. “No offense, but you’re not important enough for it to have been your fault."

"Oh, that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”, Gigi couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “Kick a girl when she’s down?"

"Or, some people just have shitty brain chemistry, and other people are assholes. Stop thinking it’s all on you all the time, you absolute flaming fuck-up.”, Crystal told her, her words softening behind her smile.

“Maybe don’t say flaming, but I did fu-"

Destiny padded back into the room, rubbing at his eyes. "Is it adult time yet?”, he asked, his tiny mouth yawning open. “Everyone’s saying all the bad words."

Crystal snickered, turning her undivided attention back to rinsing out the sink, her back turned to the both of them as if to say Gigi was on her own with that one.

"Good night, I guess.”, she muttered, shuffling across the tile towards him.

“See you tomorrow, Geegs. Just don’t forget, there’s always that.”

Gigi laid in bed with Destiny resting half on her chest, her son not wanting to leave her side, once the novelty of their adventure had worn off, and he had started to realize that there was a certain kind of permanence, to Crystal’s rainbow-colored walls, to the laughter from the kitchen that came from Jan and Jaida, who had eyed Gigi with enough suspicion to let it be known to her that she was absolutely not welcome in whatever little world they had built.

Okay, maybe the last bit was just in her head, and she could just introduce herself properly at breakfast the next morning- but she had still jumped at the chance to lock herself in Destiny’s appointed bedroom, pretending that he would need her to fall asleep, even though he had only wanted to cuddle before passing out completely the second that she dimmed the lights.

She scrolled through her phone, mindlessly as her son shifted in her arms, the message bubble beside his father’s name still lit up red with unread texts, that she skipped through to flick past her Instagram feed, landing on Crystal’s profile at the very bottom of her following list. The very first account which she had followed, years ago, and the very last that she kept up with, the creeping intimacy of being under Crystal’s roof, trying to piece together the life she had dropped out of, thicker than the heat of the air around her.

Crystal’s photos were all filtered through something that made them look brighter, more vibrant than the rainy afternoons and damp wetlands that they featured in the background, the captions all long, effusive essays about the importance of showing up to vote, or the beauty of the creek behind her house in the summertime. The most recent photo, featured her lying in a bed of sunflowers, grinning up at the sky, eyes half-shut against the sunlight.

Don’t look right into a solar eclipse!, the caption started, followed by at least a dozen laughing emoji faces, alternating with bright pink flowers. Sometimes life just punches you in the face, dummy! And you just gotta deal with it anyway. Don’t waste a second!

Gigi chuckled, locking the phone and laying it back on the bedside table, trying to move as little as possible as she turned off what was left of the light in the bedroom, and drew herself closer to her son in her arms.

His breathing was steady, his hands reaching for her hair in his sleep.

“Okay, kiddo. I got you.”, she said to nobody in particular, sinking lower in the sheets so she could tuck them tighter around him.

There’s always tomorrow, she could hear Crystal telling her, her voice clear as the dream Gigi was starting to slip into.

The next morning, she would start putting everything back together again.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #crystal methyd #jaida essence hall #jan sport #crygi #jaida x jan #lesbian au #hurt/comfort #parenting au #s12 #angst #fluff #campvanjie #tw mentions of divorce #tw mention of mental illness

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linx-the-sphinx · 3 years

Text

Inmate AU

The room was bland, annoyingly so. The walls had probably once been the color of milk but time had painted them more green than white, with the color dripping from the ceiling. The only light of the room came from a narrow window, build in the wall he was leaning against. It seemed to be sunny behind the thick ivy as far as he could tell. Moss and thin vines of sort strangled the three bars of the window though they stood strong. He was sure that whenever this building will admit defeat under the scrubs, the bars won't. They'll stay. They'll survive Mother Nature.

The room's door would too. Like the bars, it was made of iron. The metal was dull, having lost its shine a long time ago. There wasn't a pawl on this side, only a thick block of metal with a slit at eye level. It was closed from the outside. The only item in the room was the bed he was sitting on. Filthy and squeaking from everything he does. The frame was made of metal, though it didn't seem to be iron. It looked more like bronze. Or perhaps it was rust. The mattress was strangely yellow, from what he didn't want to imagine. The smell didn't leave much room for imagination though.

The whole room reeked. The overwhelming smell of decay and shrubbery. It was hard to breathe.

Still, he took a deep breath: "I am… My name is…" he sighed. His head throbbed with how hard he had been thinking: "I am…" he shook his head, pulling his knees to his chest. His hand wandered to a collar he wore. Uncomfortable would be an understatement when describing the thing. Whatever kind of textile it was made of, it was scratchy and irritated his skin if the burning sensation was anything to go off of. His fingers went over a small, rectangular plate. Its corners were rounded off surprisingly smoothly. On it was things engraved.

R.A - 7639

The other side was blank.

His mind told him it meant something, maybe even connected to his name, how he got here or what here even was. But he came up with nothing. All he remembered was being dragged through a long, long tunnel or hallway. It was white, really white. Not like the room's walls.

How long had he been in here? His head told him about a day? One and a half? However, his stomach told a different story. It pulled itself in, twisted and turned, eating at itself. A low groan escaped his lips, his arms hugging tightly around his stomach. He needed food! Now!

"Hello?" he called out, hoping for somebody standing in front of the door or outside the window: "Is anybody there?"

There was silence. Then,

Scratch, scratch, scratch

At first, he froze, staring at the door. But the sound didn't come from the door. It didn't come from the window either. Hunger momentarily forgotten, he got up, turning his head to hear where it came from.

Scratch, scratch

He got up from the bed, closing his eyes to let his body focus on his hearing. He stood still.

Scratch

It came from below the bed. Grabbed by curiousity, he pulled at the bed's frame. The thin legs made a horrible squeaking sound. He froze again.

It stayed silent this time.

"Hello?"

Scratch

There was something else besides the scratching. Slowly he got onto hands and knees between bed and wall.

"Who is there?"

There was a small crack in the wall, starting from the ground, barely big enough for a finger.

Scratch, scratch, scratch

Driven by the muffled sounds behind the wall, he began to scratch away the thin stone that covered it, listening for the sounds every now and then. There was a brick, grey and old. Just before he finished freeing all the corners though, hee gasped, crawling back a few inches. The brick grinded against the rest of his brethren than made the wall but didn't quite free itself, walled in thight. Then he heard it. A soft groan. Then an even softer voice: "H-Hello?"

"I'm here." He said with surprising steadyness in his voice.

"Could you -ah- help me a little?"

He came back and letting his fingernails work against the harsh cement. Only then did the thought of how dumb this was, cross his mind. He didn't know who this was! Who he was helping! For all he knew it was someone or -thing dangerous.

He took another step back: "Wait, who are you?"

…

"Hello? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah. Ah I'm here."

"Then tell me, who are you?" He asked.

"I… I don't really know. I guess it's -ah- S.S Number 6271." the voice answered.

"S… S?" His hand wandered absentmindedly to the small plate hanging from his neck. His fingers traced the engravings.

"What about you? What's your name?"

"I'm afraid I don't know either. But I have this weird plate that says R.A with the number 7639."

There was a hum.

"... Do you think you can help me? The cement around the brick looks dry enough to scratch off."

Even with logic telling him that it had the high risk of something going wrong, he began to scrape off the grey material.

Son of a gun, it really worked. His fingers burned and even bled a little but the cement was coming off. Bit by bit.

The sunlight dimmed, transformed into a harsh orange behind the dark green ivy. It must be such a beautiful sunset out there right now…

Finally, after night began to reclaim the sky, it happened. With a crumble, the rest of the cement came off. The tiles were cool, not that he wasn't aware. He wore only the choker and a strange version of a nightgown. Still, though, he pressed his cheek against it. Back looked an eye seemingly made of gold ore. A mix of yellow and grey.

"Hello."

The other smiled based on the way his cheeks pushed up: "Thank you for helping me. I -ah- heard you. Ah forgive me, you must be pretty hungry, right? Did you have food yet?"

"No, I haven't."

The other pushed himself up and disappeared from the hole, giving way for him to look at a blank wall, identical to his own.

"H-Here. You can have it." The other pushed a piece of what appeared to be bread through the hole. Ravenous, he bit into it, sitting up with his back against the bed. He had never tasted anything that good, no doubt about it.

"Thank you." he said: "I was starving."

The other gave a small laugh: "I'm glad I could help."

"Do you know anything about this place?" He said.

"No, I don't *know* anything. I only came here a few hours or so ago. But guess this is some sort of prison."

"But I didn't commit any crimes." At least, he was sure he hadn't. He wasn't a person to commit crimes... Right?

"Me neither…" the two fell into a deep silence. He looked around the room to make sure there weren't any cameras.

"So…" the other spoke again, making him lean back down: "Is it alright if I call you R?"

"Since that is all we can go off of, sure. I'll call you S then."

"Sounds good. Nice to meet you, R." S said, cheek partially closing his eye again.

"The pleasure's all mine... How much do you know before you came here, S?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. I remember… Hm..."

"Is something wrong?" R asked.

"Ah no no. It's just… Now that I'm thinking about it, I can't remember anything."

"That's okay." R laughed softly: "At least I'm not the only one."

S hesitated: "..."

R took a moment to take everything in: "So if you can't remember anything, how can you tell this is a prison?"

"Like I said, I am not 100% sure this is one. You have to admit, though; These rooms sure look like cells."

He was just about to agree when the clear sound of steps came from the direction of the door. S gasped, speaking in a hushed whisper: "Quick! Cover up the hole!" and then disappeared. R jumped to his feet, pushed the bed back into it's original place and sat down on it, legs crossed.

The iron door opened and a single person, dressed in light armor came in. R guessed he was male, judging by his build. Just like S had said, the man didn't say a word, neither when he entered nor when he strutted towards R who froze, back straight, staring at the mask covering the man's face. It was hard to make out details under the hood and the general darkness of the room. The man grabbed R by the plate, eyeing it up carefully. R didn't protest, only flinched slightly.

He took out a rope with a hook at the end. With a little

Click

the hook was set in place at the tiny ring that connected plate and choker. The man pulled at the rope, R getting up from the bed.

The hallway behind the door was long and straight, on the right half a dozen doors on either side. Each door had two letters along with four numbers engraved on exchangeable plates.

T.C. 9276

G.G. 1532

K.O. 7429

…

#danganronpa #danganronpa au #au #alternate universe #inmate au #random idea #rantaro amami #amami rantaro #drv3 #drv3 rantaro #shuichi saihara #danganronpa shuichi #drv3 saihara

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deadlygoddess85 · 4 years

Text

Eternal Soul Serie

- Part 5 -

Chapter 5 - The Horacle, The Mind Reader and the Artist: Nina Clarissa Sangrey’s Scene.

Pairing: San x Nina x Yeosang

Words: Lots.

Genre: Fantasy, fluffy, subjective.

Song suggestion: Hungover - Mothica

Characters presentation: The Vampires

Characters Presentation: The Witches

/ CHAPTER 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 /

After the small altercation between Jo and Seonghwa, Hongjoong decided to give some time to both families to cool down.

A few days later, Nina and Andri went back to the Manor to help Ateez family with the incoming war, even if Jo asked them not to get involved.

Days rapidly turned into weeks and the two witches were getting more and more comfortable with the vampires. The two families were good together, working hard to get intel, analyzing Yeosang’s visions, helping Yunho with potions and experimentations; Hongjoong was incredibly happy with this.

***

Nina was roaming around the manor after a long day in the library. She just loved the architecture of the building. The wooden walls and ceiling, the large windows draped with luxurious textile, the chandeliers illuminating the ceiling and all the paintings and many decorations everywhere, she felt like she was back in time. The young lady walked along the long hallways imagining all the pictures she would take in a place like this. She stopped in front of an empty armor that was standing guard against the wall.

The inanimate soldier was tall with a long spear. Curious, Nina extended her hand to touch the weapon,

“Careful it’s very sharp.” The sweet low voice of San startled the young woman who made a step back from the warrior. The vampire was leaning against the doorframe of the library, arm crossed over his chest and a smug smirk on his face. His more casual clothes clashing with his usual suit and tie attire.

Nina let out a small chuckled, her cheek heating up in a small blush. She made a few steps toward the young man.

“You guys keep sharp weapons on random inanimate armors?” she asked with a bit too much flirt in her voice than she really wanted to show. San smiled and made his way to the soldier, passing in front of the young woman.

“Yes! This way, if we are being attack by anyone or anything, we always have a weapon on hand!” he replied while taking the spear in his hands and making it skillfully spin a few times.

Nina bit her bottom lip, failing at trying to hide her arousal for the vampire. San’s emerald eyes shined on the witch, admiring the plush curves of her body. It was undeniable, the tension between the two young adults was palpable. Since the very first time he saw her at the bar, San couldn’t stop thinking about her. He stopped counting the number of times he resisted the temptation to just pull her into a heated kiss or push her against the table when they were together in the library. The simple idea of deflowering a beauty like her turned him on so bad.

Lost in his thoughts, San haven’t notice that Nina got closer to him, much closer. Her body a few inches away from his, the young woman dared touch the fabric of his black shirt, feeling the soft material under her fingertips as well as his tone and muscular chest.

“What are you thinking about so hard?” she asked looking up at him with a flirtatious smile. The vampire looked down at the witch and he lifted his hand to her face, brushing her jawline with his thumb. The simple gesture made Nina shivered. San took her chin between his fingers and he slowly closed the gap separating them. Nina could swear she saw the color of his eyes shift from a light violet to a dark deep purple when his lips brushed hers,

“I’m thinking about you. And all the things I’d do to you” he replied sensually. The young woman left the cold wood of the wall on her back, contrasting with the unusual warmth of San’s body. Their lips touched in a gentle kiss. Nina melted in the vampire’s arms. The young man wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her into a tight embrace, his lips colliding with hers again, this time into a longer more passionate kiss. Nina let out a small moan when she felt San’s growing bulge grazing her aching core. Things were starting to heat up between the two young adults, when a voice startled them,

“Hongjoong is looking for you, San!”

The vampire, exasperated, leaned his forehead against Nina’s and sighed heavily. He turned toward the voice and saw his brother Yeosang. The Horacle walked to him and the two men glared at each other,

“Now!” he insisted.

San gave a sorry look to Nina, he excused himself to her in a small bow before he walked out the hallway toward his master’s private room. Yeosang waited for his brother to get out of sight then he turned to Nina,

“I’m sorry to interrupt…whatever this was.” His voice had a hint of disappointment and jealousy in it. The Horacle hated his shyness. Ever since the two witches decided to stay in the manor, he only wanted to get closer to Nina, but his shy personality made it so much more difficult for him.

The young woman smiled at the vampire and put a loving hand on his muscular arm,

“It’s alright, Sweety!”

The moment Nina put her hand on his naked bicep, Yeosang sank into a vision and a disturbing one.

A room, dark and humid, lighten up by few candles. Chained up on the wall was this man, Pierce, he is shouting a name… “Nina!”. Nina was laying on some sort of altar in the middle of the room. She was asleep. No! She was dead, her blood drained into a golden chalice. A Nightshades took the cup and recite an incantation, a ritual….

The vision shifted in time; the same Nightshade showing something to his master. A book. An old manuscript. The Master’s voice resonated in Yeosang’s mind: “Bring me the girl!”

“Yeosang are you alright?” Nina asked, concerned. She knew the vampire had visions, but by his reaction, this one seemed to have been intense.

Coming back to himself, the young man backed-up from the young woman, a terrified look on his face,

“I-I g-got to go…”

Yeosang walked away from Nina at a fast pace, going straight to his room. Alone, confused and slightly irritated, Nina rolled her eyes,

“These guys!”

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

“Little love triangle at play here? And what does Yeosang’s vision mean...”

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#ateez #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez x reader #san #yeosang #san smut #san fluff #san x reader #yeosang angst #yeosang fluff #yeosang x reader #san reader #yeosang reader #kpop #kpop smut #kpop fluff #idols

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crue-sixx · 5 years

Text

The Lady In The Water

Title: The Lady In The Water

Author: tiddly-winx

Fandom: The Dirt

Summary: The tortured soul of a murdered woman lingers above her watery tomb. Her spirit resides in the apartment she once called home, her power growing stronger on rainy days. You are a medium-you can see hear and talk to ghosts. You must help them find the light.

Note: Based on the Haunted Apartment HC. The character of John Rimbauer and his house Rose Red are of the mind of Stephen King.

Warnings: Swearing, violence, paranormal and scary shit, implied rape murder and drowning, ghost sex. If you are squeamish please don't read.

Late 1880's

Amelia Grace was a low level worker, who had joined the labor union in the strikes for better working conditions. She soon went up the latter in the Union ranks and became the spokesperson for the cause. Across the continent in New York, a horrible fire broke out in a textile factory that burned over 100 poor souls of women and girls alive. The owners had locked the doors with heavy chains during working hours, so that their employees would be forced to work their entire shifts with no breaks. One of the machines had caught fire and in a matter of minutes and only a handful of workers jumped to safety, though not entirely safe. They sustained broken bones and horrible burns-scarring them for life.

She was now speaking at a rally against a Seattle based businessman John Rimbauer. He had built a factory in the city where he employed the cruelest of men to be his overseers. She had been speaking with some of the women and girls in his employ and from what they relayed to her, John Rimbauer had an insatiable sexual appetite. When he'd come and inspect the books, he'd call some ladies into his office and spend extended periods of time with them. afterward the ladies having expressions on their faces that looked as if they'd made a pact with the devil.

She was nabbed by his men that night at her residence and taken to a sewer. She had been chained to the floor with little room for movement. Before her, John Rimbauer himself stood before her and clucked his tongue "Little hens should know that it's the rooster who calls the world to arms" he reached down and brushed a thumb against her chin delicately.

Amelia spat in his face, to which he calmly wiped off the saliva. With a wicked grin on his face, he took from her what all people value most-consent. Over many weeks, he deprived her of nourishment and forced her into debauchery previously unknown to her. When the flood waters came and filled the sewers, she met her fate, but not before she cursed his name, his family and wherever he'd reside. But her spirit remains to this day tethered to her apartment unit, where the very thing that was her death became the source of her power-water.

Death was only the beginning.

Early 1980's

You had heard rumors of the missing woman named Amelia Grace, that she was still alive somewhere in a bog in Ireland for some shit like that. You didn't believe a word of it, so you decided that she was long since dead and buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in the city.

You see, you were a hunter of all things paranormal and your brother Mick had given you a hot tip that something was going down in his friends' apartment. He said he'd hear a woman's whisper softly in his ear, then a cold chill would wash over him like he'd been splashed with ice water. You didn't bother with all the high-tech equipment, you had a knack at attracting weird shit to you, which is why you were always secretly Mick's favorite sibling, from the day he found you playing with an imaginary friend.

You were rolling a ball and he thought it was hitting the wall and rolling back to you with momentum, but when he saw the ball stop in the middle of the room and roll back to you, he shit his pants. He made sure to watch you so you didn't say anything to your parents and wind up in the loony bin, instructing you to shut the Hell up if you saw or heard anything out of the ordinary.

You had moved up here in his place with him to help him with his medical condition, paying him back for all the childhood memories he had shared with you. He made you feel normal, while all the other kids (including your own brothers and sisters) called you a freak and rubbed your face in the mud. He had warned you about his band mates, that they'd try to get in your pants. You teased your brother "I might just need someone in my pants, my hand does get lonely down there".

He chocked on his coffee and said "You're disgusting" with a furrowed brow.

You met his friends, they seemed really cool. You knew better than to admit you could see, hear and communicate with ghosts right off the bat, but this place felt more powerful than others. To your ears, a leaky faucet was the scream of a person in pure agony. It sounded like someone dragging a rusty fork across a chalkboard.

You only stayed five minutes until you had to leave. You quickly apologized and told Mick to explain it to them later. You knew they'd scoff in your face-just like everyone else did. You elected to stay away a few days and do some research and you were giddy with glee when you saw Amelia Grace's name on the records of tenants, you had to go back almost 100 years worth of documents at the library, the building had changed hands so many times it was almost impossible to track the original owner.

While you were away, things started getting more noticeable around the unit, then going downright dangerous. The landlord had said that nobody lived in this unit longer than a year, especially males, and they would soon see why.

On the rare occasion that Vince actually did the dishes, something in the dishwater caught his eye. Where should have been his reflection, the visage of a pretty woman took it's place. She was smiling at him and laughing, then she raised her finger and curled it towards her. He was completely captivated, him not knowing he was leaning over the sink and putting his face in the soapy water. Her touch was like a ray of warmth, her hands caressing his face with the softness of a feather pillow.

When he opened his eyes, the woman had turned into a rotting shell of her former self. She let out a shrill scream and her leather, bony fingers clasped his head tightly and tried to drag him deeper. He panicked and tried to pull away from her, but this only strengthened her resolve and almost had drowned him in the sink when Tommy pulled him up with "What the Hell Vinny?! Why're trying to drown yourself dude?!"

Vince looked back to the dishwater, where the majority of it was splashed about the countertop and floor. His eyes were wild like he'd taken a hit of a drug, but he hadn't even touched anything like that yet today. "Th-the girl..." was all he could stammer while Tommy tried to console him. the drummer telling the singer that he was probably still either drunk or high from last night. It took more convincing on Tommy's part to calm his friend down, but it was done.

A week later, Tommy was in the shower when he heard a bubbly voice from the drain calling his name. I also sounded distant, like it was far away. He bent down to listen, and as he was eye level with the drain, a thick clump of hair sprang up and wrapped itself around his neck. It was slimy and stringy, and way too strong to be just normal hair. He stumbled and fell, dragging up even more hair with him.

He watched in utter terror as he saw decaying flesh drag itself from the drain and assemble before him. He looked into the dead eyes of the female, her hair wrapping him in a cocoon of mold, debris and the unholiest of foul smelling filth that not even the devil himself could concoct. Tommy was so horrified that he didn't even notice the temperature of the water was rising substantially-beyond what was normal or bearable to a human to withstand.

His skin began to sizzle, and chemical burns began to appear on the surface. It was then the pain overtook his fear and began yowling for help. Nikki was in the kitchen when he heard Tommy fall in the shower. He got up to see if he was okay, but knew it was quite the opposite when he was screaming for assistance. Nikki kicked down the door and had to look away only for a moment before helping his friend.

He grabbed up a towel to wrap around Tommy, who was shaking from shock and fear. Nikki then got on the phone for an ambulance and did as the dispatcher instructed him to. Normally he would have told whoever was giving him orders to fuck off but he didn't want to hurt Tommy any further. Vince came home to see Tommy be wheeled away on a stretcher and he looked to Nikki for answers. "What the fuck happened?!"

"I don't know" Nikki was so mad he was shaking "Maybe the landlord fucked with the boiler or the damn thing's broken!" he went and cussed out the landlord over the issue and the landlord insisted that he didn't touch the boiler, even going as far as to show them that the boiler was up to code, in working order and at a reasonable temperature for bathing.

Vince remembered what happened to him and relayed it to Nikki "Dude, there's something off about our unit man! I saw some bloated chick in the water while I was washing dishes last week!"

"You're so full of shit Vince!" Nikki laughed sarcastically "I don't know what to believe, you saying we have a ghost or you saying you did the fuckin' dishes!"

"I'm serious!" he actually started bawling "Remember when Mick's sister Y/N could only stay a few minutes before she looked like she was gonna be sick?"

Nikki DID remember you, only because you were hot and he wanted to fuck you. He did think it was strange that you focused on the water pipes in the unit, but he was naturally attracted to people who were somewhat odd. "Vince, get it out of your head that our place is haunted! If you don't like it you can move the fuck out! I'm staying right here!"

The blonde stared in disbelief and said "You know what? Fuck you, Sixx! There's something wrong with this place!" he walked backward while flipping Nikki the bird with both hands "I'm staying with Mick and Y/N!"

With all the events of the day, Nikki opted to drink alone in the apartment and shoot up. He was alone in his bed, in a drug induced sleep when he felt the soft wetness of your kisses on his cheek. He jolted awake to see you naked straddling his hips. He smirked as you gave a playful wave. and said "Surprise!"

"How'd you get in?" he asked in his slurred speech.

"The window" you giggled "Just like everyone else!" you leaned forward so your nipples grazed his and said "You know, I wanted you to fuck me since the day I saw you..." the rain outside made the light distort your features so he couldn't see what you actually were-the ghost taking your form, the thing he truly desired.

Now Nikki Sixx wasn't one to turn down sex when it was freely offered so he leaned forward and kissed your lips, then moving down to your breasts. He was getting hard just by touching and kissing you. He reached down to play with your pussy but you stopped him "I'm already so wet for you, baby" you groaned into his mouth "Just fuck me already" you pulled his cock up and you slid him into you with ease.

He moaned loudly, you being wetter for him than any other bitch before you. "Jesus Fuckin' Christ Y/N you're so hot..." he slowly began thrusting into you, but you leaned forward and pinned his arms to the bed.

"No, no, no Nikki" you chastised "I'm callin' the shots tonight" he chuckled, him secretly liking a woman dominating him. "You just stay still and I'll ride your cock like the Lone Ranger rides Silver..." he laid back, with your still pinning him down.

Soon, he was at his limit "Oh my god Y/N you're gonna melt my dick off!" he then shot his load into you and after a moment of bliss, he stared in silence as you began rotting right in front of him. You were decaying rapidly, the stink of human waste oozed from the walls, dripping slowly like molasses.

He knew that Vince was right- their place was haunted. He tried to get the ghost off of him, but her frame became heavier with each thrash. He got some relief when she stopped only to be horrified when she began dry heaving. He knew what was next, but he couldn't stop it. She vomited sewer water onto him, the putrid potion going in his mouth and up his nose. Thankfully he closed his eyes as the torrent of dirty water hit him.

When he was finally able to get up, he noticed what felt like to be soft wet kisses was actually a dripping faucet right above his bed. He looked around to try and find the mess the ghost had made of his room, but the only mess he could find was of his own doing in the crotch area of his sheets. He cleaned himself up a little, got dressed and went over to Mick's where he told you all that he believed what Vince said was true.

"Told you, asshole!" the singer retorted.

"So what do you want to do now?" you asked both of them "With Tommy in the hospital and you two here, the unit's empty right?"

Mick looked at you and said "Oh no Missy! You're not going over there alone!"

"Mick I HAVE to" you told him sincerely "I've been doing research on the building and I think I know who she is...all I have to do is speak her name and she'll be gone" you put a hand on his shoulder "I am not that scared little girl anymore Bobby" you called him by his real name, him reluctantly letting you go.

The unit definitely smelled like a sewer that was for sure. You turned on all the faucets and opened the windows to let the rain in. The howling wind and the metallic scream from the pipes became one-you seeing the ghost in front of your very eyes. She was looking at you not in hatred but curiosity, like she was reading an interesting book. You locked eyes with her and dared not break the stare. "Amelia Grace!" you shouted.

The ghost hollered in pain, a look of surprise overtaking her. You said her name again and she screamed louder. You shouted her name a few more times, bringing her to her knees. You knelt in front of her and grabbed both sides of her head, sending her images of the newspaper clippings you found in various libraries. She stopped screaming, and tears of joy began rolling down her face. Her skin was healing itself so she looked more alive than dead. "John Rimbauer has paid dearly for his misdeeds" you gently told her.

"His house was cursed, claiming his beloved daughter" you went on "his family in ruin. You have been avenged, Amelia. You don't need to linger here anymore..." you gave a soft kiss on her forehead "Go in peace..." she smiled, a heavenly glow engulfed her as she made peace with her death.

The rain stopped, the whole unit soaked but it was warm again. When you came back to Mick's place, you were exhausted and plopped down on your bed without a word. While you were asleep, Mick took the time to tell them about you and your gifts. They believed every word-even Tommy when he came back from the hospital.

They quickly moved their stuff from the unit to Mick's place and you all slept in the living room where there was more area to accommodate more bodies. They didn't want to go back, and you didn't blame them. You kept in touch over the years and you deepened your research to locate Amelia Grace's remains in the sewers. You eventually did and arranged for a proper burial, her epitaph reading "A revolutionary, murdered before her time. May she find comfort knowing her death was not in vain" you felt a warm hand touch yours, you looked up to see Amelia Grace.

"Thank you" she said as she handed you an antique necklace "If I ever had any daughters, I'd want them to be as courageous as you..." she kissed your hand and vanished for the final time.

"Who you talkin' to babe?" your husband Nikki asked, your twin girls Amelia and Grace not far behind him.

"Just an old friend" you assured them, looking back at the grave and closing the book on the case of Amelia Grace for good.

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seeyacowboy · 4 years

Text

Blood of a todoroki part 7.

Dabi x reader - Dabi is touya theory. A.u. O.c. Aged up.

It took about a week to muster up the strength to get out of bed. Since the league wasn’t doing much of anything you and dabi decided to just watch lots of movie and eat as much Thai food for dinner as you could. One night while you two were watching Constantine and mostly talking through it you decided it would be a good idea to throw an idea out there.

“Hey babe, I think we should find an old studio we can train. Probably in a different city in a small town or an empty construction site.” Mumbling through your popcorn chewing and side watching of the movie. “That’s not a bad idea. Let me look into it and ask around.”

“Okay” you smiled.

“You know, you remind me a lot of Constantine.”

Dabi laughs and shakes his head. “What makes you say that?”

“Not only with your attitude, but I feel like you think you’re damned. Almost as if joining the league is making you a suicide and subconsciously are trying to caught a ticket to that train. Ya feel lame?”

“Hmm. That sounds absolutely ridiculous.” He smiles down at you and gives you a kiss on the forehead.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m an atheist anyways” both of you burst out laughing after trying to maintain a serious face.

Two days later dabi was taking you to an old textile factory at the lower end of Japan.

“Dabi, this place is so creep how did you find it?” You said looking around at the ominous fog surrounding the building.

“Oh don’t you worry about it, love.”

Typical dabi response. You just shook your head and kept following behind. He opened the large double doors to reveal huge machines with long tight strings hung from them. It was quite damp and cold but it worked. Hanging your jackets on the machines you decided to go to a room that had sand bags hanging from it. Clearly dabi came in and set this place up.

“Okay, kid.” Dabi looked at you. “We’re gonna work on your water quirk and some combat. You ready?”

You hesitate for a moment thinking if you actually were ready. Dabi put his hand on your shoulder and lightly squeezed “hey look at me.” You brought your eyes up to his. “You got this, kid.”

“You’re right. I got this.”

“Cool. Now turn around and face the wall we’re gonna work on sensory combat. You should be able to sense what’s coming towards you even with your back turned and eyes closed.”

You do as he says. All you can hear is the sound of his combat boots hitting the floor. Deep breath in for 7 seconds, out for 5. Deep breath in for 7 seconds, out for 5 repeating this until you are completely calm. Something was thrown into the air and headed your way. Just as it was going past your ear you raised 2 fingers and caught it by the handle. Turning your body around on your heals and throwing it back his way only to hear a slight hiss of sand hitting the floor. Opening your eyes to see the hanging bag target stabbed with the small knife.

“I said close your eyes, my love. If you wait to see if you hit every target then you leave yourself open to become a target.” You nod and close your eyes again.

Leaving forward pressing your finger tips to the wooden door to gather some moister; you weren’t very good with your water quirk at all because you mostly relied on combat. Since wood soaks up a lot of water you know it’d be a helping hand. Feeling heat to your hip you use your other hand to stop a flying fire knife with a small bubble of water. Using the momentum you made the water turn into pellets causing it to go into every sand bag in the room releasing their sand. Unfortunately you didn’t have control of the knife and it went right into the ceiling. “Well that’s a start.” Dabi said amused.

Xxx

Some weeks later the training has kept up and you have been able to master more of your different quirks. Water, sound amplifing, shape-shifting, cloning; all we’re becoming very familiar to you.

This night was different though, dabi enters through the door of the bar and you follow close behind, everyone is waiting around, immediately their eyes fall on you guys. Shiguraki approaches you angry and your face twists into one of confusion. He’s finger gets in your face as he hisses “why didn’t you tell me your father was endeavor?” He’s almost screaming. Pausing for a moment before letting out a hysterical laugh. Tears start to fall out of your eyes as if its the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. This angrier him as he wraps four out of five of his fingers around your wrist. “Answer me!” He screams at the top of his lungs with a voice so deep you could have mistaken it for someone else. With your free hand you wipe your tears and calm your laughter. “First of all, Shig, you should have done your research before recruiting me. Secondly you would know that endeavor is in no way my father. My father was counterpart and my mother was tracer. Endeavor took in my twin sister and I after they died. To fall endeavor anything close to fatherly would be a shame. All you had to do was ask.” Your eyes are boring into his he throws your hand back at you. “If I had known you were so close to that scum hero I would have never let you in here. How do we know you’re not working for him?” He sat comfortable on a bar stool now.

“Oh fuck you, dude! If I wanted to be a fucking hero than I’d be out there in a crazy ass costume kicking ass right beside him, but I’m not. I’m here with your childish ass training so fucking hard to get one for all and stain out of jail.”

“She does have a point ,Shig.” Spinner said from the couch.

“Y/n has put herself through a lot and didn’t even work with overhaul when he confronted her. How do we know hawks isn’t double crossing us?” Dabi spoke from beside you still.

All shiguraki did was listen before getting up from his seat and walking out of the room. You made sure he left before mummering “fucking little bitch.”

From down the hall you heard a “I heard that!”

You stomped over to the threshold of the hallway and yelled “Good you were suppose to little whiny bitch!”

“Come on babe, lets get some fresh air.” Dabi reached his hand out for you and as you walked over to him it was like everything was in slow motion. You knew the room was divided now.

Somewhere down town on top of a building you both stared at the ocean. “Hey, kid” Dabi said out of nowhere.

“What’s up, babe?”

“What’s American like?” He looked at you through half lidded eyes.

“Well from what I can remember its very different from here. I lived in a small town in New England which is on the east coast. There wasn’t much to do but it was a cool place to be raised. I’ve never cared to much for the city but I don’t mind it so much at headquarters cause it’s now loud. I think the thing I miss most is the oak leaves and the fake season.”

“What the fuck is a fake season?” he lifted a brow.

“A fake season is when it’s winter but it’s really nice out like it’s spring time and then it’ll snow the next week. New England is a tease.”

Dabi smirked “oh so that’s were you get it from, I see.”

“I’m so offended right now” you began to laugh.

Dabi pulled you closer and wrapped his arms around your waist as you both look at the moon hanging slightly above the water, it was a crystal clear night where you could see every star and the moon was super close. Leaning your back into his chest and peppering little kisses to his neck.

“Dabi?”

“Yeah?” He Craned his neck to somewhat look at your face to read your expression.

“You know shouto,auryn, and endeavor are gonna get involved soon right? Once we get stain and all for one out of prison what happens next? What if it goes south?” Your mind always thought of these questions because something never felt right. Why have we been working with only half a plan?

Dabi could see the worry in your eyes. He nuzzled his cheek into yours and softly said “I know they are going to get involved soon. That’s why we have to take out endeavor. I don’t know what’s going to happen with stain and all for one but if anything happens then we split. That’s all we can do.”

“Dabi, auryn and shouto are getting married soon and she’s going to want endeavor to walk her down the aisle.. as sick as that sounds.”

“Endeavor as never been good to either of us so why should we give a -“ just as dabi was about to finish you both heard wings flapping in the air. Turning your heads to look back at the city seeing hawk flying your way and landing on the rooftop.

“Hello,love birds.” Hawks said as he approached the both of you with a smirk on his face like he caught your hands in a cookie jar. What a weird expression to make. Extending your dominant hand to shake his which he gladly takes. “I never got to properly introduce myself. I’m Exemplum.” You said nicely yet firm; you’re still very wary of him given he’s a hero playing both sides, making you a hypothetic. “Oh dear, (y/n), you don’t have to be so formal. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” He leans down to kiss your hand and you shiftly pull it back. “I don’t think she wants the bird flu ,hawks.” Dabi answered for you chuckling. “Hmm.” Was his only response. Looking him over for a second your boyfriend looked the hero over,” what do you want? We know you didn’t just come over her to say hello.” Dabi was becoming hostile. You put yourself between the two to create some distance between them. “I just came to warn that endeavor knows about the software (y/n) broke into. It was his office you were in. He has an idea that it was the league and that your not working alone.” He looked from Dabi to you. You couldn’t help but worry. “Does he know it was me?”

“I don’t know yet. He’s having shouto, your sister and I on the case. He doesn’t have cameras in his office so I think he’s just going on a hunch right now. Does endeavor know where you are, (y/n)?”

“I haven’t talked to or seen him since I moved out. I’m just he would keep tabs on me but no one I know has seen me since the party.”

“Hmm.” Hawks crossed his arms over his chest. “You know just because you’re trying to stay clear of someone doesn’t mean they are trying to stay clear of you. I would watch your back.” He warned. You fray your brows and give him a smug face. “I’d give you the same advice, hawks. I would hate for you to go from hawks to chicken nugget. If that’s all you have to say then I’d like to go back to my lovely evening with my boyfriend. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight then.” He said sweetly; his wings began to flap and he flew away.

Looking over at Dabi with a face he’s never seen before...completely horrified. “Hey, hey look at me” his large rough hands are placed on either side of your face. Pools of soft yet sharp blue eyes staring into your (e/c) ones. “Everything’s going to be fine you understand. It doesn’t matter what happens it’s always going to be you and me like it always has been,kid.” You walk into his chest and wrap your arms around him staying silent as you mind goes back to when you both were young. Even as little kids touya always made you feel important; he always told you, you were his best friend and that one day he was going to marry you. Maybe at the time is was because you were the only person he tolerated but deep down you know it was because he loved you. When your now two person family moved into the todoroki household endeavor had auryn move into the spare bedroom while you had to sleep in the unfinished basement. It was also damp, cold and stuffy down there; you couldn’t argue though it was his house and your parents raised you with respect. Touya would seek in the base after everyone was asleep and give you extra blankets and socks especially in the winter time. Sometimes he would crawl into bed with you just to snuggle and use his quirk to warm you up. Endeavor would only let you out of the room to go to school and the bathroom otherwise he would bring your food down. Since he didn’t know how your quirk worked besides from watching your father who he didn’t necessarily didn’t care for. Everyone could tell he had a thing for your mother and that’s why he treats auryn so well, she was just like her.

Sitting over the edge of the building four legs winging just watching the waves from the distance of the roof top you tapped Dabi’s shoe with yours and he looked at you. Leaning your head on his shoulder and began to reminisce “do you remember the first time you kissed me?”

He chuckled to himself and took a cigarette out of his pocket, putting it up to his scarred lips and lighting it with his finger tip. “Yeah. I do.”

“We were snuggled in my twin size matters and you had given me a coat and wool socks..it was December wasn’t it? Around Christmas time?”

“After christmas.” He said shortly.

“That’s right! You were the only person that got me a gift. An insta Polaroid camera. That’s why we kissed! It was the first picture I took!”

“I’m glad you captured my first kiss on camera.” He kissed the top of your head. Stealing the cigarette out of his hands and taking a drag. “I was your first kiss?”

“Yeah,why are you so surprised?”

“Well cause I knew you had all kinds of friends at school so I figured It would have been one of them.”

“No,Baka” he said jokingly.

“Fine then who has your v-card then?”

“Why so you can hunt them down and kill them?”

“I’m glad you think I’m so talented, but no. I missed out on so much of your life I want to fill the gaps.”

Dabi exhaled harshly you couldn’t tell if it was from smoking the cigarette or because this is not his favorite topic of conversation.

“Her name was yuna . I would see her at the homeless shelter a lot, she would help me steal food and shit. She was 17 and I think she had a drug problem. After it happened I never saw her again.”

“Hmm that’s shitty of her to use you like that.”

“Doesn’t matter your turn to answer the stupid question.”

You swing your legs over the ledge thinking of how to start.

“It was my second year of u.a, shinsou had come to visit me at the coffee shop I played music at every time I was there. I let him take me on a date and we just hung out a lot. It just kind of happened but I decided we were better off as friends and that was good enough for him so we’ve been best friends to this day.”

“Ah I see..heartbreaker”

“What!? No way! He totally understood! And ive heard your track record you could say the same about yourself.”

“Yes, but we are not talking about me right now. Being a guy I know that if it were me I would have been crushed.”

You took his free hand in yours. “Maybe I was waiting for somebody.”

He was slightly shocked for a moment. Dabi had the same expressions all the time: either a devilish grin or a stone face.

“You’ve been waiting for me for 10 years?”

“No one has ever made me feel the way you do,touya. I would have waited my whole life.” When you were serious you used his real name. It made him turn into jelly for a second. “I don’t know if there’s a right time to say this but I love you ,(y/n). Not puppy love. Not our little kid love and most certainly not friend love. I love you and I always have.”

Rubbing your thumb along whatever large knuckles of his you could reach with your tiny one. “I know, touya. I’ve always known. I love you too that’s why we have to jump.”

“What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

You didn’t respond you simply just took his hand as hard as you could and pulled both of you off the ledge of the building. Dabi is screaming at the top of his lungs closing his eyes trying not to envision himself as a pancake when he feels a hard tug on his arm and a reverse affect on gravity. He finally lifted his eye lids to see you floating in air, but you were different. You had huge blue wings coming from your back. You let out a small giggle “where to next, my love?”

#dabi is a todoroki #reader x dabi #dabi bhna #dabi my hero academia #dabi mha #dabi x reader

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lily-blue · 4 years

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CODE Z3RO | CODE 02

characters: BTS & Red Velvet genre: thriller, futuristic au warning: none summary: The twelve most ambitious and promising university students are welcomed in Choego, the world’s first entirely artificial intelligence-driven city, to compete for five job contracts that could change their life. But what if something goes wrong? What if they get trapped? What if the city suddenly turns against them? Can they find a way out before the countdown reaches zero? words: 4,3K tagged: @philosopher-of-fandoms

➼ Chapter Index

Bae Joohyun looked in the mirror in the common bathroom with pure desperation in her eyes while she was trying to arrange the messy locks atop her head in a presentable manner in vain.

‘Come on! You can do this…’ she whispered under her nose out of anger when her shaky hands found the edge of the metal sink along with the support that she needed. As her long fingers clenched around the stern material, her knuckles became white from one minute to another and the girl majoring in Psychology failed to calm her ever so jittery heart. Joohyun’s chest was bouncing like crazy which meant no good as her breathing became heavy. And the fact that the first drops of sweat ran down her temple didn’t help either. She was on the verge of throwing up.

As her right shoulder crashed into the cool wall, she closed her eyes counting to three, four and five. It took all her willpower to overcome her past that seemed to haunt her ever since she’d crossed the threshold of their temporary accommodation. Just like her annoying roommates, she was willing to do anything to get one out of the five contracts the company in charge promised them, yet with every passing moment she became less and less confident that she actually had a chance. With that genius brat who had all the background knowledge this place could have ever needed and the one with bunny teeth who had been aware of the hidden cameras before that powerful woman could even mention them…

Joohyun took a breath trembling like those withered leaves that couldn’t resist the will of the storm then slid along the wall with faint sobs as she tried to whisper a little courage into the void. After all, she was a grown-up woman now and nothing like the street trash, her ex classmates had used to call her. Considering all those years when they had bullied her, it wasn’t a surprise that she felt uncomfortable sharing her bedroom with her rivals. What truly amazed her was the fact that she’d almost fallen asleep before that stupid kiddo next room had shut that damn door a bit louder than she’d supposed to.

Speaking of noises, Joohyun lifted her head up as soon as she noticed the slight change in the atmosphere. Something was off outside of the bathroom’s protecting shelter but the unmistaken sound of someone’s firm order was quiet as if it came from under heavy layers of water. She couldn’t really put her finger on the upcoming problem nor the possible solution of it that indeed was quite troublesome.

Joohyun pinched her arm multiple times so that she could gather enough power to stand up without falling onto her knees. Dizziness still lingered in hear body when she leaned over the sink to wash her face.

The psychology student left the bathroom with fierce eyes following the noises that came from the common area perfectly halfway between the girls’ and the boys’ dorm.

‘What the heck is going on?’ she asked as her feet bumped into the threshold yet no one listened or gave her a detailed explanation of the messy situation. So lack of any better idea, Joohyun chose to head back to her room staying out of Jimin’s way who seemed quite lost with a sleepy Hoseok at his heels. The Sociology student from Seoul National clenched his jaw in fear when the girl accidentally pushed his bag out of his hand.

The Gangnam girl in her room, Sooyoung or whatever she was called, was still asleep when Joohyun’s hand reached the handle absentmindedly playing with the lock before she would have stepped inside. The girl with the cool, American name, the one that didn’t freak her out, sent her a relieved smile then rolled her eyes turning towards the nuisance drooling all over the sheets. Joohyun felt sorry for her but didn’t lift a finger to help her nor the sleepyhead.

‘Wake up! We have to leave,’ Wendy prodded Sooyoung in the ribs chewing her own lips out of frustration. She couldn’t just walk away leaving the girl behind whether or not Seokjin and his sister were right about the simulation that was supposed to start after a hearty breakfast or at least a relaxing nap. This whole situation was so out of the blue just as she expected from a competition. After all, only a handful of them would be able to sign these dream contracts of wealth and acknowledgement. It was only fair to get their chances to prove their worth.

According to Seokjin’s explanation, their first task was simple. They had to get out of the third area of the town or at least the building before the clock would hit three and the electrical grid would be turned off by the scientists watching them from afar. In a real life situation, if they hadn’t gotten out of the dorm or any other building in Choego in time, they would have stuck inside without a functional air exchange system doomed to die in suffocation. They were testing their abilities in emergency.

‘It’s still dark outside, so please do me a favor and fuck off!’ Sooyoung murmured under her nose before she pushed the redhead further away with one of her hands. Then she turned her back on the chaos and pulled the pillow onto her face as a lame attempt of shutting out all the noises coming from the corridor. She couldn’t care less, seriously, since she was absolutely sure that there was already a contract waiting for her classy signature in the upper drawer of that smarty woman’s desk. ‘I need my beauty sleep because this face looks hella gorgeous for a reason. You should try it too instead of those cheap products you use.’

Joohyun almost burst into giggles at Gangnam girl’s sassy reply while she was packing her stuff paying extra attention to her energy bars and water bottles just in case the simulation turned out to be more tiring than they’d thought. Not to mention that there was always a slight chance of them not being able to come back to the closed area until this whole thing was over. She couldn’t be careless even though she was finally satisfied and full of confidence now that she found someone who wasn’t a real match for her.

‘Come on! We’re teammates, don’t you remember?’ Wendy tried to reason as she pulled the blanket off of daddy’s princess throwing the soft textile onto the carpet. She put her hands onto her waist, flames dancing in her eyes, then kicked the wooden frame of the bed three times to got Sooyoung’s attention. She was scary in her own, warm-hearted way. ‘I won’t leave you here, so get your shit together and get up before I stop asking you nicely.’

After a few more grumpy moans, Sooyoung finally realized that she had no other choice left but to follow Wendy’s orders and the fact only made her already irritating personality worse as if it was possible. She changed her clothes with utter care regardless of the pressure that her roommates failed to put on her shoulders then made a high ponytail and also applied some dark blue eyeshadow just to get on their nerves. If Wendy hadn’t insisted on cooperation so badly, Joohyun would have left the room by then without regret washing over her. She had to admit, the redhead seemed to be a strong ally against the others. She needed Wendy’s fearless attitude - at least, until she didn’t find someone better.

When Sooyoung finally finished wasting their precious time with unnecessary things like searching for the world’s sweetest perfume in her flower patterned dressing case or putting a bedside lamp on the threshold to hold up the door that had constantly closed itself while she’d tried to take her bags out, she burst out of the room acting as their leader that boiled both of the girls’ blood. While the redhead’s face became a light shade of crimson, Joohyun’s nails dug crescents deep into her palms.

‘How dares she! That little piece of s…,’ she started with clenched teeth, a wide vein pulsing on her neck. She was more than furious but then she noticed a familiar object on Sooyoung’s bedside table and it cut the air out of her lungs. It was the same, neutral bracelet she had on her left wrist, the one that could open most of the doors in their accomodation along with some others outside of the building. It was more than a nice accessory which made it hard to believe that anyone - including daddy’s little princess too - would actually leave something as important as their master key behind. Yet, it was laying on the bedside table therefore Joohyun chose to take advantage of Sooyoung’s dense personality and put the accessory into her pocket with a satisfied smile playing on her lips. For the first time since they crossed the dorm’s threshold, she was happy to be in the same team as the Gangnam girl.

It took the Psychology major a whole minute to catch up with her roommates but eventually, her shoulder crashed into Wendy’s who greeted her with the same smile she had done barely twenty minutes ago. She didn’t care why the other girl was late, the only thing that mattered was Joohyun finding them in the middle of the mess. For the rest of the way, they stuck together as if they were indeed each other’s best chance although a part of Joohyun knew that without Wendy’s maternal instincts, the redhead would have never stayed by their side. As sad as it sounded, they were both useless - while Joohyun couldn’t help her win, Sooyoung was a real pain in the ass.

‘Holy Versace! Where is it? Aish. It’s supposed to be here!’ the Gangnam girl in her perfect leather jacket, ripped jeans and high heels combo cried out, lips trembling in agony. She looked devastated as if she was fighting with tears and for an ephemeral moment Joohyun almost felt sorry for her. ‘I must left it in my room. It has to be there!’ she came to a conclusion as her left fist crashed into her right palm.

Sooyoung gave her bag to Wendy paying no attention to the number of those bags the girl had already carried then turned her back on them and rushed back to her room regardless of the redhead’s opposition. If one could kill with a single glance, Miss Better Than Everyone Else would have been dead by now.

Wendy’s struggle was obvious, Joohyun could see it in her eyes. She couldn’t decide whether she should have run after her roommate or wait in one place completely clueless therefore she put her weight from one leg to another everytime she made up her mind.

‘Come on! We have to hurry,’ Joohyun cried out wrapping her fingers around the girl’s wrist at the same time as a pastel haired guy grabbed Wendy’s backpack.

‘Thank God, I’ve found you,’ Namjoon said pulling his dumbfounded girlfriend close to his chest. He was still in his pyjamas as if he had come looking for Wendy as soon as he had gotten out of his bed and a part of Joohyun felt bitter being unable to tear her gaze away from the lovebirds. She was twenty-six, three years older than Wendy, yet she’d never had anyone who would have looked at her the way Namjoon looked at his girl.

Chewing on her lips, Joohyun couldn’t help but to consider herself as the unwanted third wheel in a cheesy relationship therefore she felt truly relieved when Namjoon took two bags out of Wendy’s hands then pulled her towards the exit. Being left behind, the Psychology major’s breathing became heavy that didn’t take her by surprise. Whenever anxiety took control over her body, the symptoms appeared. Yet, as she recognized Seokjin’s calm voice from somewhere behind her back, she had the presence of mind to go after Sooyoung. She had to tell her that she’d found her bracelet. Wendy would have been furious if she had found out that she had taken it on purpose.

She arrived at their room’s threshold when Gangnam girl threw her blanket onto the ground finding the limited edition lipstick she’d been looking for and the fact only that she had noticed its absence before the bracelet’s pushed Joohyun to her limits. When the corridor seemed completely empty, she closed their room’s door, getting the lamp out of the way. For a few more seconds, she watched Sooyoung who smiled with satisfaction then ran out of the accommodation.

Jeon Jungkook was one of the last candidates who reached the common area that also meant that he got the ungrateful task to check every single room looking for abandoned fellows. It sucked and was most likely a waste of time but he couldn’t have come up with a proper excuse - as Seulgi did - when Seokjin had asked him to do this little favor for him while he helped the said girl with her belongings. He had to check the girls’ dormitory since the boys’ was already empty. All this trouble for a weak girl and her weak arms.

Fixing both straps of his backpack, Jungkook turned his back on the others with an annoyed face pouting like a child who didn’t get what he wanted. If that idiot roommate of his with his lilac hair and bad attitude hadn’t left his stuff in the way making it impossible for the younger to pack his things, Jungkook would have been the first who made it outside. It was something the engineer would bet his life on unlike on Taehyung’s intentions. That guy was a mystery.

‘You better see that I’m doing this for the team,’ he cursed under his nose reminding himself of all those hidden cameras the company had installed to observe every tiny step they made. He hoped that his cooperative skill was rather an advantage than a negative point written right under his name.

He stood in front of the bathroom’s door knocking on its cool surface when one of the girls ran across the corridor without even noticing his presence. Truth to tell, Jungkook wasn’t any better either since he couldn’t put his finger on the girl’s identity. They were all the same to him with their dark eyes, slim lips and long hairs. They were his rivals, his enemies and those who couldn’t accept the cruel reality were all fools destined to lose. Like Seokjin and his little sister who warned every candidate instead of leaving them behind. If he had been in their shoes, he wouldn’t have bothered with such things.

When he didn’t get any response from the bathroom, Jungkook walked down the corridor kicking an imaginary rock as if he had been on the street near to his family’s home. They lived in the suburbs in a small rooftop house, a flickering lamp pose guiding their way after a rough day at work. Because if there was something Sooyoung was actually right about, it was this place being everything his parents couldn’t afford but Jungkook was ready to change their fate.

As his steps died in front of the double room, the boy found it amusing that its owners had spent a couple of minutes to make the beds arranging the sheets and the blankets that he’d left alone as messy as it’d become while he was sleeping.

‘What a waste of time,’ he said tilting his head to right as he swallowed an inappropriate laughter and let his hand fall back to his side. One room was down and another had left to go.

Scratching his nape out of boredom, it took him six tiny steps and two annoyed sighs to reach the next room on the opposite side of the hallway. Unlike the other, this one wasn’t exactly clean nor empty - creasy sheets on the floor, bedside lamp broken and a girl with her back leaning against the wall - but the fact that Park Sooyoung was the one playing with the handle as if she’d had all the time in the world didn’t get the boy in the mood to play the selfless teammate. He stopped only for a mere minute to check the place behind her figure through the transparent door before he continued his way back to the common area.

Sooyoung didn’t understand what was happening but one thing was for sure, she couldn’t open the damn door without her bracelet. Fucking high-tech security. And that idiot, ugly, little accessory was nowhere to be found.

‘Hello! As you can see, I’m still here! Open the stupid door!’ she screamed into the void addressing her disrespectful words to no one in particular. She was mad at the company, their programme and the simulation that had started way too early for her liking. She prefered long naps and lazy mornings over hectic tasks out of nowhere and also liked her hot americano served with cold milk and sugar before she got out of bed. If only her father hadn’t insisted on putting her onto the list of the candidates! She would have been one of their employees by now.

She snorted when a dark shadow came across her view forcing her gaze to stick on the young boy whom she had called a charity case not so long ago. His features were kind of cute although tiredness dug itself into his appearance not to mention his clothes that were too cheap for Sooyoung’s taste. She hated the idea of begging for a poor guy’s help yet she tugged on the handle with all her might to got Jungkook’s attention. As awful as it sounded, she needed him. Well, his help to get her a girl who could have opened the door to be precise.

‘Hey, you! Help me!’ she screamed over and over again until her throat went dry and the saliva started to taste like iron in her mouth. A part of her - to the Gangnam girl’s honest surprise - was eager to prove her father wrong showing him that she was capable of passing the tests yet it would have been so easy to give up, throwing a tantrum as she always did. Last summer, she’d gotten a new car after she’d cried her eyes out in public. Getting the coolest job on Earth should have been as easy as pie.

When the girl’s hand flinched, Jungkook’s sank into his pockets, his brows knitted to each other with a strange mixture of confusion and annoyance. After all those things the Gangnam girl had said, he would have rather burnt his hands than carrying her designer bags full of unnecessary items like her expensive perfumes and golden accessories. He rolled his eyes then turned his back on the girl, walking back to the common area. By the time his sneakers crossed the dining room, everyone else was outside.

Sooyoung screamed when the boy disappeared and her knees turned into jelly as she fell onto the ground. She was trembling with rage meanwhile her hands slid down the glass leaving some dirty lines behind. She couldn’t believe that no one came back to rescue her when she was everything a guy could look for. She was beautiful and wealthy. Everyone desired a piece of her time.

‘Screw you! Screw you all!’ she whispered under her nose as the first teardrop fell onto her light blue jeans. Her knuckles became white when she clenched both of her shaking palms. The glass felt cold against her skin although Sooyoung’s forehead was burning as if desperation could have literally set her on fire.

But as it was bound to be, eventually the flames of her rage and sorrow died off followed by a couple of salty tears, tiredness sucking out all of the Gangnam girl’s energy. By the time she quitted playing with the handle, her eyes became heavy walking on the edge of falling asleep. Yet, her entire body twitched when the clock finally hit the next hour and the super modern building ran out of juice. As the silence melted into the darkness, Sooyoung felt nothing but loneliness.

Jungkook on the other hand was surrounded with people as his arm leaned against the door that had shut behind his back. He was panting although he couldn’t have been happier as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, smiling like an idiot. After all, he had done it! Regardless of Seokjin’s tiresome orders, he’d indeed completed the first phase and had gotten out of the dorm within their limited period of time. Thus unlike daddy’s little princess who had made a mockery out of his financial state in front of everyone, Jungkook was still in the game.

‘Hah! Who’s the pitiful now?’ he asked in a voice so faint that his question was barely above a whisper. He didn’t mean to be rude since that kind of behaviour wasn’t exactly his cup of tea but he hated when someone looked down on him simply because he couldn’t afford expensive clothes and fancy dinners and Sooyoung’s failure truly pleased his soul. It felt as if the universe had been in balance once again giving a little piece of bread back to those who worked hard enough to earn its kindness.

He sat down on the stairs far away from the others who were busy to find out what was this situation all about and what could have been the next task on the company’s list. If he had heard correctly, the guy in the fullcap insisted on staying in one place while the young heir of the Park family wanted to keep going. Considering the disfuncional public lighting, he personally was on Jimin’s side although Hoseok was right about the risks of an unknown area. If the scientists were measuring their abilities in emergency, sooner or later they had to make some tough decisions or else they would lose.

‘Is everybody here?’ Seokjin asked after he tousled his sister’s hair, sending her an encouraging smile. He stood up from the base of the nearest lamp pose then looked around in the dark, observing the groups that had been formed during the mess. Other than Jungkook, Yoongi was the only one who didn’t look for unnecessary company as he was sitting on his own a few metres from the wall. He stared back at the younger with his characteristic, emotionless gaze although when their eyes finally met, he was the one who turned away.

Jungkook snorted before he leaned his head against the concrete facing the bottom of the first floor’s balcony. What could he say, even a blind person could have told that he tried to avoid Seokjin’s question on purpose.

‘Sooyoung’s still missing,’ one of the girls declared out of the blue and to Jungkook’s honest surprise, there was concern in the smooth velvet of her voice as if she had been truly worried about the gossip girl with her unbearable attitude. Putting his weight onto both of his elbows, Jungkook looked at the redhead ever so confused, brows knitted to each other with disbelief. ‘She left something in our room so she ran back and…’ she rambled and her hands were living their own lives as they fidgeted with the hem of her tee.

It didn’t take long, the boy lost his interest in no time even though his gaze stuck on the scene when Seokjin shot a disappointed glance at him. Jungkook gulped when the older managed to decipher the details and caught him red-handed. Both of his ears became tomato red the moment Seokjin’s shoulders tensed up, nails digging into his own flesh.

‘You’re right,’ Jungkook agreed on the fact that Sooyoung had gone back to her room in order to find something really precious although he truly doubted that anything in that damn place could have been more valuable than the contracts they were all fighting for. He rolled his eyes at the thought then stood up and walked towards the biggest group including Wendy and Seokjin. ‘She seemed pretty busy even asking for my help to carry her stuff.’

He stopped right in front of the girl after all it was her whom he was talking to. Then he took a deep breath as if he could have sucked some confidence out of the cool air.

‘And?’

‘And as you can see, she ran out of time,’ he replied as he crossed his arms in front of his chest that was bouncing like crazy. He couldn’t let a girl make him unsure of himself, he couldn’t let her put all the blame on him when Sooyoung was the one who had chosen an object over their task. Jungkook lifted his chin up with a loud snort before he continued. ‘I’m not her puppet, it’s not my problem.’

And not my fault either, a tiny voice added whispering in his head.

‘You selfish little…’ Wendy screamed pointing at the boy’s back when he was ready to leave. If Namjoon hadn’t wrapped his arms around her petite figure, she would have surely gone after Jungkook to punch him in the face.

‘He’s right,’ a deep voice said on the boy’s right and Jungkook didn’t really know how to feel about Taehyung’s statement. It was true that he felt grateful for him for taking his side but it didn’t change the fact that something was off with him. A person like the guy with the lilac hair, a person who acted all mysterious meant no good. In Jungkook’s opinion, he could have been more dangerous than the guy with his Computer Science degree and gaze as cold as ice. ‘It’s a competition. We’re better off without her.’

Taehyung’s claim was followed by dead silence. No one could find the right words to say hence no one dared to speak. And it was worse than any lecture Jungkook had ever gotten.

➼ chapter III.

#bts scenarios #red velvet #ssbyme #thriller #code zero #futuristic au

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unholyhelbiglinked · 5 years

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Camp BeaverBrook | 018

READ FROM THE START | AO3 LINK

Emily’s grasp was thick and domineering. Bloodied fingers dug into her side hard enough to leave little purple moons against clammy skin. Aubrey didn’t mind too much- she figured that was a good sign. Maybe she hadn’t lost too much blood. Maybe the fact that she was so cold wasn’t due to a slowly flickering flame- maybe it was just the frigid weather.

The moonlight leads the way, she can’t decide if that’s a God sent or not. They can see what’s in front of them as clear as day: The way little crystals of ice form on Beca’s ice-cold hair. The way A bruise wraps its deathly hand around Chloe’s neck. The wet blood that dripped around Emily’s lips. Who deserved justice more?

There was an eerie calm that had fallen over the camp. The campers had left- the counselors that were smart enough to follow were probably sitting in a warm diner right about now, or one of the darkened hotels that presented itself along the interstate. None of the name brand stuff that offered breakfast, the places where you would be lucky enough to find a room without a switch that made the beds vibrate.

She couldn’t hear any crickets, though. None of them could. That was a sign of danger and everyone knew it.

When she was younger, the house two blocks over caught on fire. Plumes of toxic smoke floated into the sky and the decaying scent of rotting wood being enflamed filled Aubrey’s lungs as she rode her bike around the corner and stopped just short of getting hit by an ambulance with roaring sirens.

She noticed a lot that day, a lot of noise that was impossible to drown out. But one thing that did hit her was the silence of the morning birds that sat on the powerlines and watched a family home destroyed in utter silence. Maybe it was out of respect, or maybe it was out of fear.

She hugged Emily closer at the memory and adjusted her fingers against her hip. Chloe held wordlessly onto the other side While Beca walked ahead of them all, her fingers on a trigger that she probably didn’t even know how to shoot. It made Aubrey feel uneasy.

Every time she blinked; she swore she felt it. Felt the wood under her fingertips as she pushed into the cabin that she had signed her final paperwork in. But it wasn’t just a cabin, it was Gail’s home. She braved the winters up here- felt safe up here. Until someone, Beca, maybe, stormed in and shot her between the eyes. A mercy killing. The blood dripped from her nose like cherry syrup.

“She couldn’t have been in two places at once.” Emily’s voice carried with the wind.

“Huh?”

“Beca… fuck, she uh, she was with Chloe and me. It’s not humanly possible for her to get across the camp in that amount of time. To blow up the shed… to strangle Chloe. She’s right, there are two of them and she’s not either.”

Aubrey frowned. She nearly failed statistics in her junior year. Not due to lack of trying, just because the logic of it all would throw her off from the equation. It was hard for her to admit that she was wrong, even harder when it was some snot-nosed counselor that pushed her buttons every single chance she got. She decided to focus on the old car in front of them instead. Its doors closed and something of a dummy leaning against the driver side window.

He almost looked fake and blue under the full moon. His eyes were closed, and that same dried brown liquid was spilled from his throat. Beca let out something like a grunt as she pressed her shirt sleeve against her lips with her free hand. Aubrey could smell it too. The blood and tobacco.

“Someone help me here,” Beca said, pulling open the door with conviction. Hesitation if not for survival. “He’s a heavy dude.”

Aubrey wordlessly leaned Emily against the hood of the car. Chloe instantly kneeling to adjust the strip of fabric that was keeping the young girl from fading out completely. It was soaked to the point of being pitch, like the sky.

“What was he like?” She nearly choked on the laden air as she grasped the other side of the fallen officer. His badge was luminescent in the moonlight. Beca edged herself around him, letting him crash to the ground in a heap of weight.

“He was a dick. A real pain in my ass who smoked enough to make up for a textile. But now I can see why he did it.” Beca placed her knee against the now empty drivers’ seat, the leather cold as she searched around in the scare visibility for something, anything, that resembled keys. “They’re not here.”

“What?” Aubrey asked.

“You heard me, they’re not here. I swear to god I left them in the center consul when I grabbed the gun but-“

“Don’t you know how to like… hop a car or something?” Emily asked from the front of the hood.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. I went from tagging walls to Grand Theft Auto, Emily.”

Chloe shot a deathly glare from her perch next to the wounded camper and Beca slightly coward under it before she dragged her fingertips around the console once more. No keys with a fuzzy white rabbits’ foot on it. Nothing but ash that stained the grooves in her fingertips a dark grey.

“Do you need some light?”

Aubrey’s chest seized, her heart in the throat and a cold sweat instantly beading against her skin. that voice, a voice, that she recognized whole-heartedly but never expected to become privy to while they searched a dead man’s car for a set of keys that may or may not start an El Dorado whose gas tank was probably on empty.

Beca Mitchell apparently held the same affinity for the situation. Her hand quickly wrapped around the weapon with a dull click as she whipped around and pointed the weapon dead in the direction of the newcomer: Jesse Swanson.

Brown eyes were wide, and fingers twitched in the cold of the night. He wore a dark flannel over his yellow camp shirt. That stupid little green beaver glared at them, almost mocked them. “Whoa, Jesus Maverick, I thought you had never seen Top Gun.”

Beca glanced sparingly at the other girls as she adjusted her stance, shoving the weapon back into the hem of her pants. “You can’t sneak up on a someone like that dude. Not now. What are you even doing here? I thought you would have left by now?”

“And miss the genuine chance to be a part of something this big? Haven’t you ever seen Sleepaway Camp?” He said excitedly. Almost with pure glee. “there’s no way I’m passing up that chance… where’d you get a gun anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve got that light?”

Jesse nodded and rounded the other side of the car before he pulled the door open with a long creak. Aubrey stepped to the side, her arms crossed over her chest, part of her wanted to pull the warmth in. The other part thought that if she held tight enough maybe it would keep her bones from falling into a pile on the soft grassy floor like an old Steamboat Mickey cartoon.

He flipped open his chrome zippo and it gave an instant orange glow to the car. Beca could see now that it had more to offer than just ash. There was a half-smoked cigar and a few ketchup packets that had yet to be unopened. She never took Wilken’s as the one to get fast food, but she couldn’t’ blame him.

She glanced up, frowning as the hot glow shaded half of her face in ghostly shadows that screamed in the night. “I don’t see them.”

She hadn’t noticed it before. The night dark and her heart echoing in her ears like a steel drum. The brown scratches against the edge of his cheek. Cutting across clear skin that was beading with cool moisture. A bruise stretched around them like a marking- a brand. A dead give-away.

Beca mumbled a few profanities before she stumbled back from the car altogether. It was useless anyway. The keys were gone, probably shoved into someone’s pocket. It was nothing but a barrier. Aubrey nearly caught her, but Beca was quick, once again grasping for the gun- breath thick with the scent of blood that seeped into the soil like water. She didn’t pull it, not just yet.

“What happened to your face?” She asked, the girls watching from the hood.

He laughed, scoffed really. “What?”

“Your cheek. It’s scratched. What happened?”

Jesse glanced around; four blinking eyes boring into his. His fingers reached up to the welt, barely noticeable when the light from the zippo vanished in his movements. “I work in a kitchen, Beca. I nicked it is all, no big deal.”

Beca tightened her grip around the gun. She was fast. It was somewhat natural of her now, to pull it- to have the adrenaline rush through her veins. Fast was something she had always been: Fast with excuses and fast when it came to dodging the local law enforcement through city streets.

Jesse was faster. Her pulled Chloe flush against his body as she let out a sharp scream, as much as she could muster. He moved her arm against her chest, keeping her in one place with the tip of a hunting knife against the edge of her throat- once more in peril. The steel blinding against a browning bruise. Emily stumbled into Aubrey, pressing her fingers against her lips.

“It was you at the lake-“She said, voice tight. “You tried to drown me!”

“Yeah, I did. And maybe if I had you’d have a better chance at finding your keys.”

“Why?!” Beca yelled over his last words. Tears were threatening to boil over. They were dripping down Chloe’s muddied cheeks in clean lines. Her fingers dug into Jesse’s arm, struggling to keep it from pressing too hard. “Why are you doing this? Tell me or I’ll shoot!”

“You’re not that good of a shot, Mitchell, don’t fool yourself.” He hissed; words reaped with poison. “I’ll shove this blade into her carotid artery before you even have a chance. She’ll bleed out just like your mall cop did.”

Beca sniffed, pulling in as much oxygen she could as she pushed the base of her palms against her forehead out of frustration, the gun pointed to the sky for just a moment before it was aimed back at its target. Her eyes were red, the tears finally spilling over and dripping past her chin.

“Do it,” Chloe choked out. “Beca, it has… it has to stop. It’s okay, look at me.”

She struggled, swallowed in a gulp of cold forest air. Chloe’s eyes looked bluer than they ever had before. Maybe it was the dull moonlight or the darkness of Jesse shielding her from the rest of the world. But there was honesty there. It was warm. The only warmth she had felt all night.

Her voice was one with the camp, a demand. “Do it.”

Beca let out a scream of frustration, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe Beale #Aubrey Posen #Emily Junk #Bechloe #Junksen

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neverwatchedonepiece · 5 years

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609-610: "Luffy Dies from Exposure?! The Spine Chilling Snow Woman Monet" and "Fists Collide! a Battle of the Two Vice Admirals!"

Surrounded by trash, unsure of location or direction. Too real, Luffy. Too real.

I feel like a broken record at the moment but Punk Hazard really is delivering.

Across 609 and 610, we had Law vs Vergo with a surprise interruption by Smoker. Caesar was the subject of unexpected character development. Even Luffy vs Monet had a twist, with Luffy falling into a trash compactor and meeting a tiny talking dragon.

I bet that’s Foxfire’s son. The little dragon had a kid’s voice.

I’m just glad the big dragon the Strawhats roasted wasn’t Momonosuke (@mrkashkiet, I am looking at you sternly. xD)

Law Just Cannot Quit Smoking

And does not want to.

The action picked up with Vergo hoofing it to the SAD Room. Speed lines ahoy!

Inside, Law slowly drew his sword in front of a vast tank of SAD Gas. Not sure what he was planning to do, but let’s not dwell on it, in case his plan was literally explosive.

Vergo appeared at the door. “I feel like my hand has been bitten by my own dog. This is too much even for a mischievous child. You were always too smart for your own good. People like you tend to die young.”

You know, I’m not keen on stoic villain types but I’ve got to admit that Vergo has some killer lines.

“It would be easiest to crush your heart but I won’t do that. I’ll torment you slowly as I please and warp your smart ass face with fear.”

Like I said, good lines.

He wailed on Law with grim purpose to the point I found myself shouting, “Come on, Law! ROOM YOURSELF OUT OF THERE!” Law was not having a fun time. (Dare I say, he was SAD?)

But his instinct for shit-talking was irrepressible. “Are you guys frustrated because your scheme is coming crashing down? Is this thing that important to you?”

Well, yeah... If Caesar is *the only person* who can make whatever it is that Doflamingo wants, then SAD must be profitable. Profits before pals seems to be Doflamingo’s modus operandi, but I don’t get the feeling Law is all that surprised Vergo is trying to kill him.

Law did fight back. There was an attempt. He tried to Room his heart back. But Vergo is fast and snatched Law’s heart from the air.

The worst thing, though? Vergo punched Law so hard he lost his hat. That is not cool. It must have riled Law enough for him to try his (awesome) Counter Shock attack. It was big, flashy and high voltage, but it only left Vergo lightly toasted.

Vergo must have decided to kill Law then because he said, “I have a message from Joker. He said, ‘What a shame.’”

Law was weirdly zen about the whole situation. “Oh, well. It didn’t work. I was pretty sure I could take my heart back from Caesar, but I didn’t expect you here, Vergo.”

The lack of -san honorific was the last straw for Vergo. He squeezed Law’s heart like a stress ball. Toei’s red filter descended. Soul-shredding pain was experienced. Law screamed a lot. As you would if your heart was being squeezed by a maniac.

Then, a shaft of light descended from the vaulted heavens.

Except not really because it was Smoker.

It’s almost the same thing.

Vergo was typically cool about the interruption. “I’m in the middle of something. Does it have to be now, Vice-Admiral Smoker?”

And I did a backflip. Yes. Excellent interruption. Great timing, Smoker! Now stop being so fixated on the Big Tanks That Go “Blort” and execute your glorious revenge!

Really, now I think about it, Vergo is almost as bad as Caesar. When Smoker called Vergo out on his deceit and told him not to tell the G5 Men as he was a father figure to them, Vergo said, “Don’t tell me you actually care about those guys? I’m a base commander. I can do whatever I want to my no-good subordinates.” Another one who treats other people as disposable pawns.

Unsurprisingly, Smoker and Vergo came to blows. Smoker seems to be having more luck than Law, but then Vergo does not have Smoker’s heart in a box. What I’d like to happen is Smoker retrieving Law’s heart and they tag-team Vergo into oblivion.

That sounded wrong. But you get what I mean.

Star Wars Episode IV: A New Rubbery Hope

How did Luffy end up in the Death Star’s trash compactor?

His battle with a bird woman from Hoth went south. Literally.

And I cannot believe I am about to say this, but I kind of wish Luffy’s fight with Monet was a little bit longer. Her powers are great. Her self-awareness and cunning are too.

She maintained those ten layer kamakura walls without breaking a sweat. When Luffy smashed one layer, she wrapped another around her frozen prison without missing a beat. Luffy knew she was stalling for time and said he’d just break every layer quicker than she could replace them.

“I bet,” she said. Then swept up behind Luffy and, in an oddly flirty manner, whispered in his ear, “I don’t think I’ll win if I fight you, but the strongest isn’t always the winner in a fight.”

Then she grabbed him and wrapped him, literally, in winter’s embrace.

That hypothermia power was quite cool (no pun intended). Paired with those desolate, snowy vistas and her eerily calm voice urging Luffy to let go, to sleep, relax and let it be, Monet’s Devil Fruit seems pretty strong to me.

But just as Luffy was about to pass out, Zoro’s voice - the very warning he yelled at Luffy a couple of episodes ago - cut through the darkness. “THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING OF THE NEW WORLD!”

I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the blue filtered haki moments. When he sprang up and let loose that Jet Spear attack, I cheered.

Then he fell through the floor into a garbage chute and I laughed.

It was cool, though. He’s rubber. He’d bounce. And sure enough, it wasn’t long before he was raking through broken gadgets for food. At which point a tiny dragon spoke to him and that is where the story ended.

I am now 75% sure that tiny dragon is Momonosuke. It had a kid’s voice. Probably should be a higher percentage than that but I like to hedge my bets, haha.

Chopper Looks Like Every Harried Substitute Teacher Ever

While Luffy was readjusting to life in a trash compactor with a small talking dragon, Monet flapped away to tick off another box on the never ending to do list: securing the Addicted Experiment Kiddies.

Said kiddies were knocking lumps out of Chopper with their ferocious addict strength. He could not restrain them without hurting them. He tried to convince them not to eat the candy. “I know it’s hard but you have to endure it!”

The thing is, Chopper was dealing with a double helping of trouble here. Not only are they kids, who are naturally more self-centred due to their developing brains. They are also addicts who are so far down the rabbit hole of whatever drug Caesar was peddling they’ll do anything for a fix.

When Chopper’s rumble ball wore off, the kids trampled him and thundered straight for the Biscuit Room, where Mocha was waiting alone.

Luckily, he was picked up by Nami, Zoro, Usopp, Robin, Brook and Foxfire. (Do not remember Brownbeard hanging around. Did he leave or did he just not have any lines?)

Robin tried to restrain the kids. That was interesting for two reasons: one, I didn’t know Robin could feel damage sustained by her extra hands, and two, she asked Usopp and Brook to try and find a pair of Sea Prism Stone cuffs because Luffy had asked her to. (I bet his plan is to cuff Caesar!)

The kids charged Mocha, who tried to tell them the candy was evil! Then Monet whirled into the room on a frosty zephyr. (The best part of this entrance was when Usopp shouted: “I TOLD YOU THERE WAS A BIRD WOMAN!” He was finally vindicated.)

Yay, thought Mocha. It’s Monet-san. She’s lovely!

Nooooope. Monet told her, in a sweet, ever-so-reasonable voice that it wasn’t nice to keep all the candy for herself. Mocha should share it with the others, like always. Mocha’s little face when she sensed betrayal was just heart-wrenching. “Why?” she whispered.

Because Monet is a nasty piece of work just like Caesar? Just a thought.

Not sure what’s going to happen here. There are a *lot* of Strawhats in the room, so I’m guessing Monet will be defeated by them. Then they’ll push through, deliver the cuffs and - BAM - we have one angry, kidnapped scientist.

Sanji Acquires Unexpected Fans

This was a short scene but the fact that Sanji has a cadre of devoted fans in the G5 is hilarious. Yeah, he claims he doesn’t want their approval. And he probably doesn’t.

But Sanji cannot stop himself running back to save the poor saps who can be saved.

This is the Sanji I like: surly on the outside with a golden heart on the inside. More, please!

And the Academy Award for Best Actor goes to . . .

CAESAR CLOWN!

Seriously.

The yarns this guy can spin could crush the GDP of a small textile-dependent country.

Caesar should run for office somewhere. Then he could appoint himself head of the science department.

For that is exactly what has been bugging him for years, it seems. He wants Vegapunk’s job.

Well... maybe not the job. (He’s getting by just fine thanks to pirates. A Government job would ruin that). It’s the fame and kudos. That’s what he’s after.

Plus he has a weird goal: to achieve world peace by obliterating all sources of conflict - collateral damage be damned. Unless he’s lying about that. Given his oscar-winning performance, that would not surprise me.

The action picked up with Caesar caesaring through a pipe and landing outside the Secret Room (I laughed when I realised everyone on Punk Hazard literally calls it the Secret Room).

He was bitching about having to enter the room because it was Vegapunk’s old office. Still, he claimed it was the only place where he could “pull it off”. (I am unsure why he had to go to Vegapunk’s old office just to close some doors, but I’ll chalk it up to plot and say no more.)

He promised to make Luffy, the Strawhats, G5 and Trafalgar Law pay for ruining his plan. It was all their fault! The experiment could have been a great show - everything perfect and beautiful and befitting of the world’s greatest scientist (Vegapunk says hi!) But they screwed it up. He couldn’t let the Strawhats do as they liked. They’d pushed it a little too far and he has Joker on his back now.

He ordered a minion to close the gates to Buildings C and D. This would lure all survivors into one narrow room. His plan? Trap them in the bottleneck and pump the room full of his poison gas through the air vents. He would broadcast it as a snuff movie for the brokers. That would show them what he was really made of!

But the minions hang on his every word and they caught one small discrepancy.

“Um... did you say that *you* had created the poison gas, Master?”

Caesar’s haughty reply was, “Yes, I did.”

“But it’s like Vegapunk’s gas. It freaks us out.” Understandably, the minions probably have ptsd from four years ago.

The moment when Caesar realised he’d let his ego run away with him and opened his big mouth was glorious. How could he spin this? How? The animators did a great job here. You could see the evil, conniving cogs turning in his mind.

Then he broke out his Oscar winning performance.

“This is . . . an avenging battle of science. My people! That day, I tried to stop the mad scientist, Vegapunk. No! If such a weapon exploded, what would happen to the people on the island?” Caesar even threw in a melodramatic “YAMEROOOOO, VEGAPUNK!” for some extra emotional sparkle.

“But the accident happened. And he still lords if over us as the head of the science department of the Marines. and he’s considered the world’s greatest scientist. I cannot tolerate it! He’s the cruel man who hurt you all! Do you think it’s right that people still call him the number one scientist? That’s why I want to prove them all wrong. I didn’t want to make a weapon of mass destruction! But I want to show them that there is a greater scientist here. That I am the greatest scientist in the world! When the Marines acknowledge it and when I become head of the science department, my dream will come true. I can use my scientific knowledge to bring peace to the world!”

I honestly had to stop myself giving Caesar a standing ovation. What a performance that was.

You know, it’s weird. Every lie Caesar told there has a basis in truth. That’s the most dangerous liar right there because the lies they tell are more believable. Does the Gas-Gas Fruit confer gaslighting powers too? Because Caesar is a hellishly efficient manipulator.

And while Caesar was congratulating himself, a flashback happened!

Caesar is Prime Material for /r/IAmVerySmart

Caesar with a bob was weird. I’m guessing when he moved to Punk Hazard, there was a lack of stylists, so he just grew his hair out. That hair you see right now? That is four years of growth.

At any rate, Caesar was doing something a bit more important back in Vegapunk’s lab. He was debating morality with some other scientists. They begged him to stop his experiment. If it exploded, it would kill everyone on the island.

Caesar was typically receptive to criticism. “STFU, boneheads! Where do you think you are? This is a Marine research facility. They want to kill as many pirates as the can. What they need is a weapon that will do it for them.”

“But they don’t want one that will also kill civilians!”

Caesar’s rebuttal? “It’s called collateral damage! If we blow away everything, we can bring peace to the world.” (Does he genuinely believe that? That’s a properly depressing view of the world he holds there, if true.)

“You’re so...”

Caesar had a, “I’m gonna stop you right there” moment. They wanted to say he was cruel? What a joke. They were using prisoners as guinea pigs as if they were trash. What was the difference? (Fair point, Caesar.) Moreover, Admiral Sengoku was too soft, but Akainu, if he was in charge, *he* would want a weapon Caesar made. (Also interesting. I hope Caesar never decides to change sides again. He would be dangerous in Akainu’s hands.)

He went off on one about how Vegapunk had failed to turn people into giants again. Caesar knows you can’t turn people into giants in a short period of time unless you use magic, so had suggested Vegapunk just kidnap some kids and feed them drugs until something worked. What a lovely idea, Caesar! xD

The flash forward revealed Caesar’s “William Birkin Moment”.

Just as he made a significant discovery, Marines burst in and cuffed him with sea prism stone. Vegapunk himself came to see off his old colleague. I was ONE HUNDRED PERCENT HYPED for about half a second. But there was no face.

Blue balled. Again. xD

Caesar was summarily dismissed from the Science Department. “Your eccentric behaviour is intolerable and I cannot protect you anymore, Caesar.”

Interesting that what the rest of the scientists did was viewed as fine and dandy, but Caesar taking it a step further was regarded as “eccentric”. First off, eccentric is a gross understatement. Secondly, what they’re doing is pretty evil too. Caesar is just overtly, unashamedly amoral. They hide it better.

Suffering such a humiliation, Caesar had his “SCREW YOU!” moment and pushed the big red button. Punk Hazard went up in a Mighty Kaboom-Boom Cloud.

Still wondering how they all survived that, but I will chalk it up to plot and say no more.

Of course, after Caesar’s theatrics, his minions fell over themselves to apologise. Sorry, Master! You are the saviour, after all.

“Thank you... thank you all,” Caesar simpered, while inside he called them unintelligent fools. So easily manipulated. Dumb as bricks.

This guy needs taking down several pegs. Maybe an entire cloakroom rack.

Luffy, please oblige asap.

Caesar tells a rip-roaring, thigh-slapper of a yo momma joke.

(No one laughed.)

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kittensartswriting · 6 years

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Prologue: The Fall of cor Mantgamia

This is the prologue from The Bear Castle! First I thought about dividing it to three parts but ended up not doing that as it wasn’t THAT long after all.

Tagging @madmooninc and @teacup-universes! If you want to be tagged too, or don’t want to be tagged on the future, inform me! I’ll be very happy to tag others too :)

On the first autumn morning of frost of the year 495 begun the Fall of cor Mantgamias, who had ruled Cabalusia for a millennia. On that morning on top of an ages old grass covered barrow stood Julius cor Mantgamia before a mossy, yet so terrifyingly vivid, stone bear. Julius looked to the quartz eyes of the three meters tall bear, and the bear looked back. Around them on the field mist crept from the river with cautious steps. It evaded the barrow, perhaps wary of the bear guarding it. Flowers of frost coated the barrow in white veil like King’s star-flowers every spring. The first light of the sun had already brightened the firmament forged from ice. Rotten leaves and overripe berries smelled sweet. The world was silently dying so it could born again next spring.

This time Julius had no time to enjoy the autumn landscape. Instead more pressing things needed his attention. The letter he clenched in his only hand told about the matter that was serious by nature. He had come to the graves of his forefathers and -mothers, where his own father laid too, to seek answers.

“What would you do, father?” he asked aloud looking at the bear statue, that stood quietly before him. But he knew the answer already. Father always knew what to do. He had been so sure about what he believed in and never wavered, even when it meant dirtying his hands. Julius didn’t agree with father about many things but he respected his ability to make calculative and effective decisions. That was what he needed; help to make the right decision in a situation where only were wrong options.

Besides the respect Julius felt very little towards his father. Long after father’s death, Julius had both hated and loved him, but after years had passed he had learned to take a step back and respect him as a leader. It didn’t mean he would forget the funeral of his older brother and the look father gave as their eyes met. Then he knew he should have been the one in the coffin, not Faerathos. But he did understand why father didn’t see him fit to be the heir. He was soft and gentle, when Faerathos had been strong and fierce, just like father. Standing one’s ground and making hard decisions were most important features of a leader if asked from father. Sometimes, when the situation was exceptionally challenging, Julius still found himself failing in the latter.

Now the situation was exceptionally challenging. He knew what father would have done, but he lacked the determination. He was reluctant to start a civil war. And father would have done it for different reasons, not for his children and grandchildren. No, he would have started the war out of spite, to show he was the winner. It was the winning move. The question was, would he let his people die for his family? Cabalusians were not happy with Civitas or the Empress, but it didn’t mean they wanted to die for it. The truth was that he didn’t want to dirty his hands this way, but he neither wanted to watch by when his siblings died, not again. He saw father’s disgusted and disappointed eyes, as he shook his head and said: “If you cannot do the right decision, it is your clan, who will pay, and in your hands is their blood.”

One thing was sure, no one won battles by standing on a barrow. Julius had calmed down and it was time for action now. He made final look to the eyes of the bear and couldn’t help but feel the childhood fear tingling in his back. It was easy to imagine father’s soul rest in this ages old symbol of cor Mantgamia. Julius himself didn’t feel so comfortable carrying his family crest. After tearing his gaze from the protector of the barrow he turned to the stony castle, rising on a small island in the middle of a broad river. Most notable thing was almost 50 meters long pitch-black tower rising on the highest top of the island. The castle was old in tired, but it still managed to stand tall after long centuries. Cor Mantgamias weren’t the first ones to build the castle. The Black Tower was a reminder of the times when Ahinians had the control of these lands.

The morning was still young, but the courtyard was already full of bustle when Julius came in from the southern gate. “Your grace”, hailed the gate guards and bowed. Julius nodded back and went briskly past. Without stopping he entered the palace, climbed up granite stairs and stopped before the door of his wife’s chamber. He knocked, but gained no answer, then knocked again. This time there was sound of moving and then a “Step in”. Julius obeyed. In the chamber his wife had got up to sit on her bed. Like other rooms in the palace, the room had high sealing and it would have been well lit by long windows, if the curtains were open. The room was almost ascetic despite the richly embroiled wall papers and textiles.

Duchess Rigantona was still very handsome woman in her forties, although that was not the reason why their marriage was quite happy. Actually it was a loveless marriage, but they still respected each other and they made a very good team to tackle the political game of the Empire. Rigantona was much like his father. She was also cool and rational, even insensitive, but unlike the late duke, she despised traditions and stiffness. That was the reason why Julius so trusted her advice.

“News, I suppose?” she asked cutting the chitchat.

He nodded and gave her the letter. “Caerelus send this from Civitas. It reached me only few moments ago. The situation seems just as dire as you predicted.” He sat down on a chair next to the bed. Rigantona’s eyes jumped from line to line in a quick pace. A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows to indicate that she was processing information intensely. The silence continued for few minutes until she had read the letter multiple times.

“As I thought, Caerelus must be imprisoned at this point. But this letter leads us to believe that he managed to find out something before that…” Her eyes looked somewhere through Julius. Suddenly they fixated into his. “By imprisoning your brother the Empress has revealed her intentions. It was always to execute your sister and her son, but now the Empress has to include your brother too into the execution. They will surely not get a fair trial. If she really did murder Emperor Maximus, she will do anything to keep it hidden. But she knows she has left us no options and she has to deal with all of us. In the worst case scenario her troops are already in their way.”

Rigantona said out loud what Julius had been afraid to hear. It was something he didn’t want to believe, but he had to, for the sake of every one. “Surely she hasn’t started the mobilization, we would have heard of it. We have still time to prepare.”

“If I was the empress, I would send a small – let’s say a few dozen men strong – elite troop ahead. Assassins. They would get here unnoticed before we could assemble our troops. I would bid them to sneak inside the castle walls in secret where they could strike deadly yet swiftly after the night has fallen. They would eliminate everyone inside, end your family line and cut the command. And then I would send my troops to secure the area. It should be easy after command center had fallen.” Rigantona didn’t waver. A cold stir fell down Julius’ spine when he looked into the emotionless eyes of his wife.

“I am certainly glad that you’re not the empress”, he said and let out a nervous laugh. “I assume that your answer to the situation is that we strike fast before they do, claim notable areas and trade them for my imprisoned family?”

“No, Julius, -” There was serious look in her eyes as she shook her head. “- you have to understand one thing. They are lost to us. Even if you won battles and the Empress kept them alive for a while for negotiations, she simple cannot leave them alive. For her it is about life and death. She needs to get the scapegoats of the Maximus’ murder dead and buried. I will make this crystal clear for you: Nothing will save Caerelus, Cassia or Amatus. They are as good as death. The question is will we survive.”

Julius grasped the stump of his hand. It always itched when he tried to clench his non-existing hand into a fist. She was right of course. For last weeks he hadn’t been able to face the possibility that his only remaining sister and her son could die. And now his little brother’s life was also on the line. It was still hard to face the reality, but necessary for survival. “Then what do you suggest?” He raised his beaten look into his wife. Maybe she saw his sorrow, as there were remains of rare empathy in her eyes.

“Send the children to Loches in care of my brother, suggest to your brother to do the same. I will send an express letter in advance. In that I will urge him to prepare a ship for the children, so they can be sent to South-Dirahin. We have to prepare for the worst. The Empress knows she has driven as into a corner. She will say our uprising is treason. We will be the enemy of the Empire. And she will use as justification for massacring us. We are running against time. Our only chance is to prepare in time for her attack. If we are too slow she has our bodies and evidence of our treason. The problem is, she has time on her side. Gods know how many days she’s had time for preparing. And for that we need something else. An ally. The only possibility is the North.”

Julius narrowed his eyes. “Dir’ahin?”

She nodded. “She will not dare to suspect that we would make such an alliance. And they are the bitterest enemies of the Empire, and for them it would be perfect if Cabalusia would fall into chaos. It doesn’t matter how we feel about the Ahinians or how long we have waged war against them, if we want to survive this.”

There was a brief silent when he bit his nails. “I suppose we should be quick about it?”

“Absolutely. There is no time to waste. It is all or nothing.”

He nodded fallen in thoughts. Rigantona may have been right about alliance with Ahinians, but there was the other thing to consider; Cabalusians had fought with Ahinians the whole Fourth Age and longer, even before the reign of cor Mantgamias. His clan, soldiers and the whole people would be enraged of even the thought and he needed their support more than ever. Rigantona wouldn’t understand. For her absurdity and emotionality of humans were unfamiliar and strange.

“Rigantona, I want you to make contact with Ahinians, in secret. They trust women more than men and no Cabalusian – no one – will trust them”, Julius explained carefully. Her annoyance grew immediately. She was about to demand, why would he say that people wouldn’t take the most rational way out. “Truth to be told, I do not trust them either, not a bit. But I trust your judgement. You will go to Loches with children and head to the North. There you can establish negotiations with them”, he said before she could speak her mind and then stood up. “You should get to arranging your departure. I’ll wake the others and inform them. We have to start mobilization as soon as possible. Let’s hope the hour is not too late.”

In the gracefully paneled study sat Julius. He leaned against the armchair, upholstered with velvet, with the stump of his hand and slowly smoked his pipe. His eyes rested in the coat of arms of cor Mantgamias, hanging on the wall behind a worktable; black standing bear against cobalt blue field. Two shiny arming swords from the Third Age crossed each other behind the coat of arms. “Fight with honor, shield with strength” was written in the arms with ancient Algonian. Is this honor? Do I have the strength to defend?

A knock on the door interrupted Julius’ thoughts. “Come in”, he said.

A young male servant stepped in and bowed deeply. “Your grace, lord Ignatus cor Mantgamia, count Geroen cor Mantgamia, sir Caiside cor Mantgamia, sir Quirinus cor Mantgamia and sir Sparrowhawk.” The servant bowed again and stepped aside. Julius’ brother, uncle and cousins and lastly Marcus stepped in. Marcus seemed small in the side of cor Mantgamias, who were known for their length.

“Have you gained new information? Is that why you summoned us?” Geroen, Julius’ uncle, asked with his bass voice. All of them had weary and worried expressions, only exception being Caiside, who was particularly bad at waking up in the mornings, and seemed only sleepy.

Julius nodded and waved in direction of table where the letter was laying. Geroe stepped next to table, his sons following, and took the letter. “Read it out loud, please”, Julius said. Geroe took a magnifier from his pocket even though he already had classes on. An eye sickness had left him half blind. He read slowly while his younger son, Quirinus, stirred restlessly next to him.

“Father, allow me”, he said at last and picked the letter without waiting for respond. Marcus stayed next to the door, while Ignatus stepped closer. “Dear brother, I have to write shortly this time. An arrest warrant has been made for me and I’m afraid the forces are already coming for me. I tried to unveil the truth in the limits of the law and show them that they have made a terrible mistake in respect to our sister, but I understand now. It was not a mistake, for it was all according to her plan. I found about terrible truth behind all this, but I cannot tell more in the letter. There is no justice here. It seems like nothing can keep them from executing me too. Maybe I was too naïve. Forgive me. Please ask forgiveness from Ignatus and mother for me. I have to send the letter before it’s too late. Farewell.”

Deep silence followed. It took a while for the words to truly sink. Suddenly it all seemed more real for Julius after hearing someone else read the letter. Breathing grew heavy. For a moment his eyes met with Marcus. The only working hawk-eye studied Julius and a concerned wrinkle appeared in his forehead. Julius turned from the intensive gaze to observe others. Furrows of Geroe’s face deepened; disbelief and rage twisted Quirinus’ expressions; sleep was gone from Caiside’s eyes, replaced by shock; Ignatus seemed emotionless, but his eyes were burning. They all had tried to persuade Caerelus to return to Cabalusia, but he had been unwavering in his conviction. He insisted always doing things the right and honorable way. How could someone destroy something so pure?

Quirinus was first to break the silence. “We cannot let them do what they want! We are the cor Mantgamias! Empress or not, there are rules one cannot break!” Others glanced at Julius, who stayed quiet.

“Quirinus is right, this is unacceptable”, Ignatus said. “Our sister, our brother. And Amatus. He is the rightful heir. We should have gathered our troops and demanded Amatus and Cassia’s liberation a long time ago.”

Julius shook his head. “You know full well that it would have caused a civil war. That is not something we can start with light reasons.”

Ignatus’ expression tightened. They glared into each other’s eyes, both unwavering and defiant. “Are you saying that our sister and her son’s execution is not heavy reason?”

“Yes”, Julius said. “It is to our people, to every Cabalusian bystander, who would be caught in the war. They have Angusian roots and spouses. They do not care, if one heir is switched to another. It won’t change their life even if they hated Angusia for it, but a civil war will change everything for them. They are our people, Ignatus.”

“So we let the Emeretiuses do what they want? And what then, when they come to kill us? Your children?”

Geroen stepped between them. “This is not time to quarrel. We have to make decisions. I’m sure we can all agree, that the situation is inflammable. The Empress will not step back – that is a fact.” It was hard to resist his tranquil soft voice.

Julius nodded. “We have come to the point, where war is inevitable.” He took the time to look every one of them in the eyes. Then he took a moment of break, placed his pipe on the side table and stood up. “The Empress doesn’t want a civil war here, because Cabalusia is important for the logistics of the Ahinian war. She wants this to stop before it really begins so she will strike swiftly and precisely. Like Ignatus said, she will come for us to disable the command center. Our only hope is separation from the Empire.”

Everyone looked at each other, searching for answers. It was easy to see what they were thinking. A small glimmer of hope awakened. Was it possible? For the first time after the Empire was formed, for the first time in five hundred years, Cabalusia would become independent again? It was almost too unreal to think, and Julius wouldn’t let them. “Our defenses are down. At the moment we have only my regular house guard, twenty men standing at watch. It won’t be enough if the Empress launches a big assassination attack. That could happen one of these days. We have to gather troops as fast as possible to shield us or the battle is lost. I will need you all to write to your retainers and soldiers, and ask them to take up their arms. Letters won’t be enough. You Iganatus, must leave to gather as much forces as you can. They will answer when a cor Mantgamia is putting trust on them.” He continued telling them about the plan to get the children and wives away. They thought about sending their mother away too, but they were sure she wouldn’t have any of that. He didn’t mention about Ahinians. Neither did he stress that Cassia, Caerelus and Amatus was already lost to them. They needed hope.

After others had left to make hasty letters, Marcus lingered behind. “Call all my house guards to the castle”, Julius said to him. “Tell them it is highest emergency level. Tell them to get ready for an attack, especially at night. If someone refuses to fight against the Empire, they are to be imprisoned.”

“Sure.” Marcus nodded. His amber eye pieced through Julius. For a moment he studied his expressions. “They can’t be saved, can they? She’d never let them go. The Empress I mean.”

Julius drew a deep breath. Heavy burden hanged on his shoulders. “We have lost them.” It hurt to admit that. “There are not much of us siblings left anymore. First went Faerathos, then Clementia and now this…” They both lowered their eyes on the ground. The silence lasted for many long seconds. Without looking at each other, they were thinking about the same thing; the day when young beautiful Clementia died and they almost killed each other. “Let us go, we have a lot to do and little time”, Julius broke the silence.

How long had it been? The last time Rigantona had seen her brother? Maybe five years. Longer. Fiolew hadn’t yet been born and Valeri was very small. She did remember what her brother looked like; a cheerful man, with golden brown curls, always messy. Still she couldn’t form a picture of him on her head. It had been too long. Not that she missed home, a port city that smelled like ocean, nor was she so sentimental that she would have missed her family. It was only the conscience that bothered her, for she knew that others, especially her brother, were just that sentimental. In spite of all, she waited to see again her old home city, its narrow winding streets and the shore, where lingered the odor of fishes.

Carriages rattled against the cobblestone, when they crossed Fael River along the southern bridge. Children and the nanny, Miss Felina, marveled the last rays of the setting sun, which stained thin clouds with crimson.

“Will there be war?” Cassia, named after her aunt, asked suddenly and looked at her mother with earnest eyes of a child.

Rigantona nodded. “The independence war of Cabalusia. That is why we are going away. War is not a place for women and children.”

Valeri didn’t seem pleased. “We should be helping papa”, he said furrowing sternly. Rigantona couldn’t understand boys sometimes, not even her own. She wondered where the anger came from. Faerathos had always been calm and gentle, but Valeri was so angry all the time. “I could help father”, he added.

“11-years-old boy is more of a burden than help. We help best by leaving.” Rigantona tried to sound gentle.

“I can fight! Marcus thought me to use sword!” Valeri said raising his voice. He crossed his arms in rebelling and stern eyes narrowed. Even though he looked so much like her brother, Valeri didn’t have his balmy character.

“This conversation is fruitless. We are already going away and that is for the best.” Rigantona couldn’t stang for mindless insisting. When debating with children one couldn’t win by good argumentation, rather stubborn harping was the way to win.

For a moment Valeri seemed like he would continue protesting, but his little brother interrupted by pointing over the river to the castle and cheerfully shouting: “They’re fighting!” Rigantona turned to window and saw that Fiolew had been right, even though he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. On the bridge they had crossed a moment ago, fought at least ten men. It was hard to see so far even if the bridge was lighted. She knocked on the shutter of the chauffeur. “Mister Donne! Please halt!” The carriages stopped and also the carriages behind them, where sat Ignatus’ family and Faerathos. “Stay in the cart!” she commanded her children and stepped outside.

She took small opera glasses from the pocket of her cloak and spied over to the bridge. Now when the clatter of horses’ hoofs and jolting of the carriages didn’t overpower all other noises, she heard the gunshots. Somewhere inside the castle walls the glow of flames danced against buildings. On the bridge soldiers were fighting amongst themselves. No, assassins dressed as soldiers were fighting the castle guard. It must have been a diversion to get soldiers of castle in outside of the wall. All was clear now. They were helplessly late. Even before the letter they had already been late. The assassins of the Empress had infiltrated the castle guard. Who knows how far the treachery reached. Now they were attacking everywhere at the same time, trying not to let anyone escape. Soon the resistance would be crushed and cor Mantgamia would be no more. Someone from the imperial family would be nominated as the duke of Cabalusia, probably the brother of the late emperor. Something heavy, perhaps the realization, had fallen on the bottom of Rigantona’s stomach.

“Mama”, Tacita squeaked from the carriages. “There are men on the edge of the forest. They are coming our way. Are they bad?”

Ignatus’ wife peaked from the hinder carriage probably wondering what Rigantona was doing. “Close the door!” Rigantona shouted to her and ran inside her on cart, wrenched open the shutter and said with hurry: “Forward. As fast as you can make the horses gallop.”

Whip snapped and the carriages jerked into motion. She evaded startled eyes of her children and turned to look from the small rear window to the raiders, who neared them by the minute. Fiolew sobbed as Miss Felina hushed and stroked his hair. All of them had their eyes on her and she recognized the same fear in them that gripped her too. It was a matter of time when the raiders would catch up. Four horses dragging carriages would never outrun saddle horses, even if they were the most pure blooded Cabalusian horses of all. She drew a pistol out of her purse and loaded it with a bullet.

Questions filled her mind as the silence prolonged. How exactly they were here already? The Empress wouldn’t have surely predicted this all? Maybe the letter was only her deception, to draw cor Mantgamias out so she could destroy them with excuse? Or maybe… No. Rigantona shook the thoughts of her head. Speculation was futile at this point, with these probabilities she would never know. But she wouldn’t accept her death easily, for a woman of cor Mantgamia wouldn’t go without a fight.

She broke the rear glass with the handle of the pistol. Tacita and Miss Felina squealed, Fiolew cried. Rigantona closed her eyes, took a deep breath and then aimed to the two raiders, who hunted them with rifles in their hands. Now they were so close, that she saw the foam in mouths of the horses and the blue uniforms of Bear Castle on the riders. Carriages speeded fast, so wind resistance would be a notable factor. If they’d just get a little closer… Now! She pulled the trigger and it went off with ear stunning bang. One of the horses fell down.

She did it. She actually did it.

“Mama! You hit it!” Valeri shouted with awe in his voice. She released her breath and couldn’t help but smile. The heavy weight of fear lifted a little. They looked at each other, uncertain if it was too early to rejoice. At least now they had hope. If she’d only manage to hit the last one…

In the corner of her eye, she saw the last rider aiming at them with his rifle. She didn’t hear the shot from the noises of the carriages and the tinnitus ringing in her ears. When the bullet pierced her neck she had only time to see blood glucking on her cloak and to think how stupid she was to not duck her head after shooting.

#fall and rise of cor mantgamia #the bear castle #my writing #prologue #high fantasy #fantasy #my wips #creative writing #amwritig

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contre-qui · 3 years

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Book 6 of 2021: The Birth of Venus

The Birth of Venus by Sarah Dunant

(paperback, 391 pages, historical fiction, romance, adult)

I am like Icarus without wings. But the desire to fly was very strong in me. I think I was always looking for a Daedalus. (11)

I didn't really enjoy this book, but I feel I should also mention I wasn't aware that this book was extremely historical romance, and focused a lot on a very specific point in history I know basically nothing about. Also I think the blurb was kind of misleading because it sort of implies one of the characters is a famous artist but he's not there yet when the book takes place, and that's just not the case at all.

First things first: the title makes no sense. The actual painting The Birth of Venus - the one everyone knows - was painted at least ten years before this book takes place and has no relevance to the plot or characters. Again, I think it was misleading because the title paired with the blurb made me think this mysterious young artist was going to be someone like Botticelli (who painted the big famous painting), and he just wasn't. He was just a random artist who wasn't famous and didn't do anything big. I think that's still a cool premise because I like reading about 'normal' or 'forgotten' people from history, but honestly this guy was so irrelevant I couldn't even tell you his name. I think they only use his name once or twice, anyways. I think Dunant could have done a lot with the anonymity of this painter and what that meant for him and for the main character, but she just didn't because the book wasn't really about him and he was more of a plot device than an actual character anyways, in my opinion.

The Birth of Venus is about teenage Alessandra, the daughter of a wealthy textile merchant in 1490s Florence. When we first meet her, Alessandra is resisting the idea of marriage and is only getting out of it because she hasn't started menstruating yet. Her father hires a promising young artist to paint their family's chapel walls, and Alessandra - who draws in secret - is immediately intrigued. She tries to to convince him to teach her how to paint, but he refuses because of the impropriety of the request. Eventually, Alessandra begins menstruating, but the political climate of Florence is becoming charged and dangerous, especially for unmarried women. Faced with a difficult decision - marriage or a convent - Alessandra agrees to marry a slightly older man who seems interested in her intellect more than her looks. On their wedding night, however, she discovers her husband is gay and she is to be his beard now that the Catholic Church is looking more closely at its parishioners. Alessandra also discovers that her husband has been maintaining a long-term relationship with one of her older brothers, who she also did not know was gay. The political climate continues to tighten, Alessandra has to figure out her opinions on her husband and brother's particular sin, and she continues to think of the artist in her father's home.

This keeps happening to me, but this was such an interesting premise with such a disappointing execution. I get that it's historically accurate or whatever, but I'm honestly so tired to reading about straight people trying to figure out if queerness is a sin. It just sucks to read, and the way queerness is presented in this book was just odd. Alessandra never came to any definitive conclusions about it - which is fine - but I could have used a little less of the vague villainization of queer people and the way it felt like her husband was taking advantage of her. Everyone sort of 'assumed' Alessandra knew about her brother, and they paint it as this phase they expected him to grow out of once he got married. Because of that, Alessandra is presented as this innocent and clueless teenager who is startled by queer sexuality. Honestly, it's tiring. It felt like some straight lady patting herself on the back for representation. This book was written for straight people, and that is so obvious. Her husband gives Alessandra permission to see other men, as he does, as long as she's quiet about it - and that feels like some straight lady fantasy for women who aren't happy in their marriages and would rather pursue some grungy young artist than their husbands. It was annoying, and I don't like having my community debated, even if it is thinly veiled as historical accuracy.

I was also super turned off by an uncomfortably graphic description of Alessandra's wedding night (meant to be uncomfortable I'm sure, but just kind of unnecessary in my opinion) and by an equally graphic description of Alessandra later giving birth. I get it, these things are part of life and weren't very pretty, especially in that time period. But I think Dunant could have given the reader the same sense of discomfort and frightened urgency, respectively, without the graphic descriptors. They were just really gross and hard to read for me, personally.

Let's not even get into Alessandra's maid, a Black woman whose portrayal gives me mixed feelings.

The book was also a little more historical than I expected, which was kind of interesting to read about because I'm not super familiar with Savonarola's rise to power in Florence and the subsequent religious and political fallout, but it was pretty dry. As much as some of the impacts did affect Alessandra, she was upper class so it wasn't that big of a deal for her. And though her father's business was heavily impacted, she was out of the house pretty quickly when things started going downhill, so she missed most of those ramifications. I don't think the artist really added that much to the story if I'm being honest. His inclusion felt like straight woman fantasy about cheating on their husbands or pursuing some secret passion for art or something. It was weird. And the conclusion of the novel with his impact on Alessandra's life felt kind of random with where the book had been going. I just wasn't that impressed.

Trigger warnings for weird/homophobic descriptions of queerness and queer relationships, heavy Catholicism and older Catholic teachings, murder, descriptions of murdered bodies, self-injury, injury mentions of blood, medical care, illness/vomiting, pregnancy, graphic descriptions of uncomfortable sex, graphic descriptions of childbirth, and mentions of racism and slavery.

My overall opinion: This book was not written for me, and that was abundantly clear throughout the entire thing.

#contrespeaks #books of 2021 #bookblr #the birth of venus #sarah dunant #historical fiction #romance #historical romance #book reviews #mini book reviews #booklr

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sippin-on-red-wine · 6 years

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Frenzy | A One-Shot

Title: Frenzy Author: @sippin-on-red-wine Rating: Mature Word Count: 6,241 (Get Cozy) Author’s Note: Another one-shot born from a few different requests. If this was your request and I satisfied your, um, needs… drop me a line!

As always, feedback of any kind is appreciated. It really inspires your girl here!

You cursed under your breath as you collected your luggage from the carousel, angrily wheeling it out toward the airport entrance in hopes of flagging a cab.

Your flights had been delayed due to bad weather. You were supposed to be here hours ago, should have had plenty of time to get to Ed’s New York flat and get… reacquainted before needing to head out to this party. You had called and spoken to him during your layover and he had genuinely pouted into the phone – you’d been apart for quite some time, and you were both bursting at the seams to be together again. He insisted you skip the party, then, and just take the night to yourselves. But she was one of his best friends, and you knew Ed would regret not going. “Baby,” you had told him, “We’ve got a little more than two weeks together once I get there. Just go to the party and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can, okay?” And after a little more convincing, and a hint at all the hot hanky panky you’d have for the next two weeks, he reluctantly agreed.

So here you were, wheeling your baggage through the crowded airport, desperate for a quick shower and a bite to eat. You hail a cab and travel to Ed’s flat, the one he keeps for when he’s here in the city. You’ve got your own key, and so you let yourself in; exhausted, starving, and feeling a little dead inside from having spent the entire day sitting around airports instead of in Ed’s arms.

You drop all your bags in the foyer of the modern apartment. You fell in love with the space the first time Ed brought you here - it had that cool, trendy vibe, but it wasn’t all whites and grays and metals (like most ‘modern’ interiors. It was warm, earthy tones - some wood and brick, yes, but soft textiles thrown in as well, and beautiful artwork adorning every surface (thanks to Ed’s father). There was a massive stone fireplace in the living area, yellow-toned lighting in every room and the overall effect was quite cozy.

Making a beeline for the fridge (need food), you find that Ed had taken the time to stock all of your favorites: you find several bottles of your favorite Rosé chilling; different cheeses, cherry tomatoes, grapes & strawberries. You pull out a little of everything, including the wine, and get to work making a quick snack plate that you plan to devour as you get ready for the party.

You kick off your jeans, abandoning them on the floor in the kitchen, making a mental note to pick them back up before you head out. Ed had the apartment cleaned spotlessly. Your heart kind of swells, beating down the grumpiness you’ve been holding onto from a frustrating day of traveling. You picture him, gathering up your favorite foods and wine, meticulously cleaning up the apartment, excited for your arrival.

It’s been weeks since you’ve held that sexy, sweet man in your arms. Fuck the snacks, need to get my ass in gear, you muse as you head into the master bedroom’s walk-in closet. You have a small wardrobe here, and so you quickly browse through for something to wear to the party. Your slightly sour attitude has you favoring something sassy; so you opt for an old rock band t-shirt dress, a black choker, distressed denim jacket and these gorgeous over-the-knee boots in a deep crimson color. You head into the bathroom, throwing on a winged eyeliner and a nude lipstick. You toss your long hair up into a high pony and your look is complete.

PING! Your cell goes off. It’s Ed, of course, checking in on your whereabouts.

*If you’re not here by midnight, I’m coming home. I turn into a pumpkin at midnight. I already have pumpkin-coloured hair so let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Love you x

You chuckle, grabbing a handful of grapes left from your snack plate and head toward the elevator. Down, down, down to ground level and you’re hailing a cab. “Greenwich Hotel, please,” you tell the driver as you pull your phone out to tap back a response to Ed. You reconsider, however, deleting the message and opting for the element of surprise.

The ride over to the Greenwich gives you time to catch your breath for what feels like the first time all day. You sigh as you watch the blur of storefronts and streetlights and people littering the sidewalks. Butterflies float in your tummy at the thought of seeing Ed again. Personally, you would have preferred to spend your first night back in town at home, alone, with him. With little to no clothing involved.

But alas, your cab is pulling up in front of the corner brick building that is the Greenich Hotel. You tip generously as you exit, spilling out onto the New York street. You quickly nip into the hotel, giving your name to the PR person handling the event, and are whisked into the elevator and up to the seventh (and top) floor.

It’s really beautiful, all arched doorways and glass-pane partitions. The space is large, but flows well; it must be the entire expanse of this floor? There’s a courtyard set in the center of the floor, large stone arch ways lining the perimeter. And that’s where you spot Ed, he’s sort of hard to miss after all. You saunter through one of the arches onto the little terrace; paved with large flat stones, ivy crawling up the cream colored brick. There are strings of lights out here, the terrace peppered with idyllic mis-matched patio furniture.

Ed is talking BIG with his hands, obviously excited about whatever the topic of choice is. You don’t recognize the man he’s engaged in conversation with, though many of the other party guests have already caught your eye, various musicians and Hollywood-types. You do nothing more than shrug a shoulder at them, though – you’ve found your target. You lean up against the brick for a minute or so, just admiring him from afar. He’s got on a gorgeous blue button-up plaid shirt, the top two buttons are undone, and you can just see the lion tat on his chest peeking through. His hair is long, almost too long – and he’s got the scruffy face to match. His sleeves are cuffed back on his forearms a bit, and he’s got a highball glass in his hand.

It’s perfect timing, the conversation seems to be dying down a bit, and you choose that moment to walk stealthily up behind him. The man he’s talking to sees you coming, and does you a solid by not acknowledging your presence.

You smell him before he’s technically within your reach, that familiar scent of his favorite cologne wafting up and tickling your senses. You pause for a beat to revel in the scent, and some of the memories associated with it. It’s so indelibly Ed.

Your hands connect with his hips as you tuck your head up behind his right ear and whisper, “Hi baby,” and you expect him to jump out of his skin a bit, but it’s almost like his body instinctively knows your touch, knew it before your hands were even technically on him. He spins around, pulling you into an embrace, his bewitching blue eyes affixed on your face, drinking you in.

He releases you briefly, extending a hand out to the man he was talking to before. “Sorry, mate, can we catch up in a bit?” and of the man has a twinkle in his eye as he responds, “Of course,” before patting Ed on the shoulder and walking away.

Ed sets his cocktail down on a nearby bench and holds his hands out to clasp yours, drawing you into his body. His hands push down your back until they rest on your ass, yours naturally go up and around his neck as he pulls you in for a kiss.

“I’ve missed you, love,” he purrs into your ear when your lips finally break apart. “And may I say? You look good enough to eat.”

Is your golden boy complimenting your appearance, or prefacing the sexy times to come? Both, you decide, as you flash him a dazzling smile and ruffle your hands through his fluffy curls.

“Looking pretty dapper, yourself, Teddy.” You reply, tugging gently on the few inches of his shirt that are agape at the top. He knows full-well how much you love when he wears his shirt like this; maybe because you’ve told him so - oh, maybe about a hundred times? You’re thinking it’s by no accident that he’s dressed himself that way tonight.

“I see you stopped at home to change?” he asks, and your heart flutters at the word home. He’d had the apartment before the two of you have even met, but he just drops the word so nonchalantly, like of course it’s your home, too. “Those boots look much more impressive on these legs than they do sitting on the shelf, I must say,” his hands running over the divide where flesh meets suede, a few inches above your knees.

“Why, thank you. And yes, I tornado-ripped through the apartment quickly – sorry, I’ve just remembered that I left my pants on the kitchen floor,” you say with a frown, upset with yourself that you’d mussed the flat up after he had painstakingly made everything perfect for you.

A blonde eyebrow cocks up on his face, sudden interest blooming over his features. “You took your pants off in the kitchen? Without me?”

You laugh, reaching up to push a stray cinnamon-gold tendril from his forehead, his hands still openly grabbing your ass. “You’ve nothing to be jealous about Teddy, I just needed some snacks and a quick gulp of Rosé – thank you, for those, by the way.”

“Anything for my girl,” he says with a sly grin before lowering his lips down to yours again. “Can I get you something to drink?”

You nod, and he leads you by the hand over to the long bar that lines one of the oak shiplapped walls, crossing under the big stone archway again.

He catches the bartender’s eye right away, and he quickly orders two vodka-sodas, one with lime – “EXTRA lime for the lady, please!” He exclaims, and you can’t help but beam. The travel delays and irritation and exhaustion all flood away. He cherishes you, there’s no other word for it. You wonder what you did to deserve someone like him.

Your bodies are angled into each other’s as you wait at the bar for your drinks. Ed’s leaning on his left elbow, while his right hand rests firmly on your hip.

“So glad you’re here, love.” He says, daydream-like.

You lean into his body, acutely aware of your breasts pressing into his chest, and you leave a soft kiss on his cheek. “Me, too, baby.”

You collect your drinks and walk away from the bar. Ed falls behind you and you can practically feel his eyes drinking in your appearance. And to be honest, you are feeling yourself tonight. Kind of surprising given the day you’ve had, not to mention that you kind of just… whipped everything together, slapped on some eyeliner and tugged your hair up into a ponytail. Must be the boots, you muse, and walk out to the dance floor.

Ed trails closely behind you as you weave in and around some of the partygoers to get to the center of the crowd, thick bass pumping in the air all around you. You take a long swallow of your vodka-soda, and spin around to face him. You feel like he may regret the drink he’s currently holding, because it means he can only get one hand on you properly. But he makes the best of it, pulling your waist in with his free hand, your legs intertwining with his so that his left leg is tucked neatly between both of your boot-clad ones as your hand floats to his lower back to hold him extra close.

Your hips are pressed together, swaying in time with the music. Ed tilts his head down to yours until you are forehead-to-forehead, and you want to close the rest of the distance and place your lips on his – but you resist. His hold on your lower back drops a little further south, Ed grabs a handful of your booty as he pushes your pelvis in even closer to his body and your t-shirt dress rides up a bit until your lace panties are pressing up against the rough denim of his thigh and oh, holy shit your clit is grinding against him.

Does he realize? Was that intentional? You’re not sure, until you see the sly grin paint across his face. “Feel good?” he mouths at you, the loud dance music drowning out any chance of hearing his voice. You nod, both arms wrapped around his waist as you press yourself into his thigh, the delicious friction building a fire low in your belly. To anyone else, it just looks like you’re dancing.

You feel his erection press into your left thigh and God, how you wish you were somewhere private right now.

But you’re far from that, literally surrounded by sweaty bodies on all sides. Ed’s strawberry lips are parted, his eyes transfixed on your face as he watches for your reaction. You try not to give anything away – you don’t think anyone would notice, but still…

The song changes, but the beat stays the same, and Ed’s hand on your ass encourages you to ride the hell out of his thigh, you can feel your lace panties dampen, feel the course denim through the mesh parts of them, you’re rubbing your clit against his leg, up and down, up and down. You bite your bottom lip, glancing down at his thigh between your legs, the hem of your dress pushed up slightly as you see just a tiny glimpse of your panties, the point of action, the epicenter of the pleasure that’s coursing through you right now. It had been WEEKS since you had felt his touch – maybe if it hadn’t, you wouldn’t be close to climaxing right here on the dance floor, in the center of the crowd.

But, alas - you are. And Ed knows it, he can read it on your face, in your body language, the tension in your torso where he’s got an arm wrapped around. You snake your left hand up to the bit of flesh peeking out where his top buttons are undone, lightly scratching over the lions mane as you keep grinding onto him, the sensations making you a bit dizzy. You root your hand in the dampened curls at the nape of his neck, pulling his head down slightly so that your lips are pressed to his ears and you still nearly have to shout for him to hear, “Gonna come, Teddy.”

But the message is bright & clear, his mouth pressed to your ear as well, and his hand helps rock your body against his in just the right rhythm, until you’re climbing – your legs go fuzzy and you suck in a sharp breath and hold it there, frantically grinding against him for those last few delicious seconds until it all come crashing down and you can’t help but cry out, into his ear, the sound going unnoticed by all those around you.

He takes your jaw in his hand and pulls your lips to his mouth, his tongue pushing in, cold from the ice in his cocktail. He kisses you slowly, helping you come down from your naughty high. When your lips pull apart, his twist up into a very smug-looking grin. He’s clearly pleased with himself.

You finish out that song on the dance floor, blissed-out to the max, before he takes you by the hand and leads you away, back outside to the courtyard, under the strings of yellow lights.

However risky and naughty that orgasm was, it doesn’t offer you much relief. You’d like to get your hands on his bare skin, trace the edges of his tattoos one by one until he’s begging you for more. Poor boy, you think as you realize his erection is still evident behind the fly of his jeans, even with as little light as there is out here. You’re thinking that, at this point, it shouldn’t take much convincing for you two to get the hell out of here and get properly reacquainted.

But your plan is thwarted as you pass a group of six or seven people, gathered around a bar-height table, a deep stone ledge surrounding the glass rectangle filled with those glass fire-stones, flames flickering and dancing over them. They call out to Ed, “Hey! Come have a drink with us!” and he glances sideways at you, as if to say, “Just for a minute?”

You join them at the table, Ed offering you the last barstool. You politely decline, insisting you’d rather stand – but you’ve got other ideas in mind. You sidle up to the little bar and Ed introduces you to everyone there, though you recognize a few. He stands just behind you, wrapping his arm around your body to keep you pressed close to him. The group was previously engrossed in a deep conversation about some new movie that’s coming out, and you try to look interested and engaged in the conversation… which is a hard thing to do when all you can picture is the way Ed’s hair will be peeking out between your thighs later…..

You discreetly tuck a hand down behind you, shielded from view by the height of the bar and cup his erection, which has not lost any momentum since leaving the dance floor behind. You give him a decent squeeze and he’s mid-sentence, talking about what’s-his-face in the upcoming whatever-movie-it-is. Ed literally gulps in the middle of a word, but recovers quickly.

You step out in front of him, wedging your ass up against his groin, kind of pushing back on him. Someone at the other end of the table is talking now, the attention shifted down that way, and Ed just takes a moment to wrap both arms around you and breathe softly into your hair as he subtly pushes his erection up against your ass…

“Why don’t you say we get out of here, love?”

In reality, the apartment was a short cab ride away. But in your current state, reunited after weeks and having had a naughty moment in a very public place, the cab ride feels like a LIFETIME.

You wanted to straddle the hell out of him in the backseat of the taxi, but you were both showing a miraculous amount of will-power. You’re scooched apart as far as you can be, both of you pressing your bodies up against the doors on either side.

“I’m sorry you had a bad travel day, lovey,” he murmurs, the hormonal need just dripping off of him.

“Worth it, Teddy….”

“Are you terribly tired?”

“Not. In. The. Slightest.”

“Good… I’ve got big plans to celebrate your homecoming,” he reaches out to trail his fingers down your thigh. “All. Night. Long, baby.”

Ed seems awfully distracted by your hand, currently tucked down the front of his pants, squeezing and stroking his erection over top of his boxer briefs as he’s fuddling with the lock on the door, trying at least three different keys before finally getting the right one.

You’re no more than barely inside when Ed kicks the door shut behind him and immediately drops to the floor in front of you, ripping your panties down from under your dress.

He’s backed you up against the wall, nudging himself between your boot-clad legs before he dives into your pussy, sucking on your lips and nudging your clit with his nose as you literally gasp for air, shaky on your feet, and you try to sound convincing as you mutter, “Take me to bed, Teddy.”

But apparently, he’s got other plans.

“Not yet, sweetheart… but I will fuck you on every surface of this damn apartment on the WAY to bed.”

Oh.

He’s up on his feet, shedding his jeans before he spins you around by the shoulders. “Hands on the wall, spread these thighs for me, love….” his voice is low and husky know and sounds low-key dangerous.

But you do exactly as he says, fingers splayed out on the wall, legs spread apart and you push your ass out toward him as he bunches your dress up around your waist and without any warning, he’s there, his stiff cock aligning with your entrance and pushing in - no foreplay, no lead-up (unless you count the last couple of hours at the party, which you do).

“Ed!” you cry out as he shifts all the way inside of you, you’re up on your tiptoes and his hands are grabbing at the flesh of that place where hips-meet-ass and he rocks up inside of you, grunting and groaning. “Fuck me, baby,” you spit.

He takes your words to heart, thrusting more vigorously up into you and he smacks your ass. “Like this, baby girl?” he asks, and you just moan in reply.

A few strokes later and he pulls out, turning you back to face him. His eyes are laser focused on your face and you reach for him, pulling him into a kiss as he grabs two handfuls of ass and hoists you up, your arms and legs wrapping around him for stability as he carries you into the living room.

He sets you down, flipping you back around and bending you over the back of the sofa, lining up again with your slick entrance before he thrusts his cock up inside of you. You reach down and brace yourself on the couch cushions as he finds his rhythm, those sexy-as-hell growly moans falling from his mouth again almost instantly.

“So tight for me, love…”

You spy the high-back chair with matching ottoman at the other side of the room and a brilliant idea blooms in your mind.

“Teddy? Can we…?” You ask, pointing over to the chair. He tucks a hand over your stomach and pulls you back upright, pulling out of your wet pussy as he growls his approval at you.

You cross the room and shift the ottoman, turning it sideways lengthwise, and pushing it up to the edge of the chair. You push Ed down onto the little makeshift bed so that he’s lying flat on his back, the ottoman supporting his body from his ass and up, his feet flat on the floor.

“C’mere, baby….” He coos, slipping his fingers into yours as you straddle him, reaching down to grip his thick cock, guiding it into you. You sink down on him, taking him in slowly, his mouth spewing soft little ahhs and mmms as you start to raise and lower yourself off of him, your feet both planted firmly on the floor.

While his jeans were shed in the hallway, he’s still got his damn button-up shirt on. Must fix that.

Ed has been manhandling you this whole time and so you figure it’s time for a little payback. You sink down on his shaft, rocking and tilting your hips as you rip his shirt open - little buttons popping off and flying in either direction, the look on Ed’s face is just ace as soon as he realizes what you’ve done. He approves.

His chest is fully exposed now and you celebrate by lightly dragging your nails down his entire torso. He grabs at your hips once again to get you back into your rhythm, which you find in no time. You’re coming down on him pretty hard, and the sounds of skin colliding with skin and breaths and moans fill the room and echo off the walls.

You find your pace and really get in tune with it, your bodies working in perfect synchronization as you revel in the feeling of being in control – and being filled to the brim. It’s exactly what you’ve been craving after all these weeks apart, and the slow burn of the night at the party. Your confidence is soaring.

“Do you like it when I ride you like this, Teddy?”

“Jesus – fuck, yes,” he pants out.

“Tell me.”

“…feels so fucking good, baby girl…”

His words encourage you and you increase your speed, leaning down into your hands which are placed on his chest, right over the great lion in all his beauty.

Ed’s holding his breath, his eyes are closed, “w-wait, slower, slow down, I don’t … wanna… not yet,” he’s gasping, trying to fight off his impending orgasm.

“Just come for me, Teddy.”

“Not – yet –,” he insists, and his hands on your hips are actually trying to slow you down now. But you’ve already gotten one orgasm tonight, and poor Ed has been on edge all evening. After being away from each other for a few weeks, you were certain he really needed that release.

And so you push his hands away from you, pinning his arms back like he does so often to you, your small hands holding down his biceps are surely no true strength-match, but it gets the point across that you have no intentions of slowing and the realization spreads over his face and it’s not but four or five thrusts later and he’s crying out your name, pushing his hips up into you as hard as he can.

You slow your movements, releasing his arms and he immediately reaches for you and draws you down into his chest. You’re both breathing heavily, and Ed pulls your t-shirt up further so that a bit of your belly is exposed and you’re pressing skin-to-skin as he kisses your forehead.

“Love, I’m sorry, I thought I could hold out longer…”

“Shhh, Teddy, it’s –”

“It’s not ‘OK’, I didn’t even get you off yet,” he grumbles.

“I already did, earlier, at the party,” you protest.

“You deserve better than that, love… come on, let’s go to bed, I’ve got something for you…”

Ed sits you down on the edge of the bed, kneeling on the ground before you as he unzips each of your tall boots, peeling them away and freeing your legs. He laughs at your Mickey Mouse socks, “You goof,” he chuckles before he takes each of those off, too. He shrugs off his button up shirt - what’s left of it, anyway. He rises up from the floor, grabbing at the hem of your t-shirt dress and lifting it up and over your head, discarding it casually on the plush carpeting. Another quick beat passes and he’s unclasped your bra, unthreading it from your arms.

“Go on then, get up on the bed properly, love. Get comfy,” he gives you a peck on the forehead and you scoot up to the center of the bed, tons of pillows propping you up. Ed adjusts the lighting, keeping it pretty dim, and disappears briefly into the walk-in closet (giving you a great view of his little round tush).

He comes back holding a little black box and you start to get butterflies low in your belly. Is that…?

Ed crawls up toward you on the bed, black satin box in tow.

“Come here, kitten,” he sets the box down and lowers his body onto yours, his lips finding your mouth and leaving a soft, sensual kiss there as his hand runs down your stomach, over your hip bones, trailing over your slit before he sinks a single finger inside. “Can I play with you?” He asks, that signature smirk on his face.

“Ya-huh,” it pops out of your mouth before you realize it’s probably not the sexiest option.

“Excellent,” he sits back on his heels and pulls your pelvis up into his lap so that it’s at an upward angle. You adjust your pillows slightly until you’re perfectly relaxed and comfortable.

He traced the outline of your slit, admiring what is now fully on display for him.

“Look at you, love….” He breathes, just barely loud enough for you to hear. He’s got concentration written all over his face and you lie there, admiring his fluffy mop of hair and the scruff that covers his face so generously, he trims it less often now (per your request).

Ed reaches down to retrieve the little box, pulling out a velvety-looking drawstring bag and a small bottle of an amber-colored liquid.

“What’s in the bag?” you ask.

He tugs open the cinched top and pulls out a vibrator, black soft-touch silicone, maybe about five inches long, the very top curling upwards.

“This is… a.. um, it’s a G-spot toy? It has lots of different settings, and, um, I’ve got this tingly lube stuff you’re supposed to use with it…”

Is he actually blushing?

“Can I use it on you, kitten?”

You bite your lip and nod. Truth is, you’re a little nervous – you’ve only ever used a bullet vibrator on your clit, never something inside. But the thought of Teddy controlling it, essentially fucking you with it…. You don’t quite understand why, but it’s really turning you on.

You hear the click of the little bottle as Ed takes a little on his middle finger, then lowers it down to run up and down your slit. It’s a bit warming, but not too hot – it’s got a nice tingle. He adds a bit more to the tip of the toy, spreading it over it’s smooth length with his hand. When he’s done, he rubs the excess from his hand onto his own shaft which, while not completely erect again (yet), is still quite impressive.

He clicks the vibrator on, the first setting just a low and steady buzz. He runs it over your clit first and it makes you jump a little bit, it’s quite strong. This makes Ed giggle, and he presses down above your mound and whispers, “Easy, darlin’.”

The soft tip of the toy floats down over your glistening slit, as Ed very carefully manipulates the toy.

His eyes are trained on your pink lips, mostly, but he glances up to your face to get the “go-ahead” before he goes in.

You shake your head 'yes’ and he smiles, his eyes fixed on you for your reaction as he lets the toy sink inside of you.

“Feels good, yeah?” He asks, that shit grin still painted across his face as he watches you, the pleasure evident in your face as the vibrations hit you from the inside out.

He’s got it all the way in, now, and that curled tip is pressing firmly on your very front wall. He starts to move the toy, deliriously slowly, letting you get accommodated to the feel of the foreign object.

“Want the next setting, love?”

“Yes, please.”

You’ve piqued his interest, his blonde eyebrow cocking high on his face. You know he’s got a manners thing.

“Good girl….”

He clicks the vibe to the next setting, which is about the same intensity but in low, rolling waves. You watch the flick of his wrist as he begins fucking you with the toy. The friction seems to have activated the lube which is now tingling a bit more intensely.

Each full stroke in has that curved head hitting your front wall with a soft thud, the tip dragging out with each pass.

“Next setting, please…”

He’s quick on the controls, the next speed is an even stronger vibration, this time the pattern is like a bzz, bzzz, bzzzzzz and it’s got your knees quivering a bit, your legs wrapping tighter around Ed’s waist as he fucks you with the toy, staring down explicitly at your pussy as he does so.

Something about watching him, he’s got your hips all pulled up into his lap, his deft fingers handling the vibrator, concentration painted all across his face… it’s really fucking hot, and paired with the vibrations beating on your delicate tissues, the push-and-pull of the toy – you know it’s not going to last too much longer.

And then he goes and backs up, laying your pelvis down flat on the bed as he drops to his tummy in front of you, all propped up on his rainbow arms, and he lowers his mouth to the top of your slit. He’s still fucking your warm, wet hole with the vibe, but you watch as he looks up and locks eyes with you, then drops his tongue to your clit.

Your hips take over, bucking and writhing and squirming under this assault of all your senses. His flattened tongue is warm as he flicks your clit, the head of the toy bumping up against that elusive place, the movement of his bicep as he works the toy in and out of you.

You can’t help but to let the moan escape your lips, tension now building deep down in your belly.

You bring your hands up to your tits, pulling and rubbing on them, brushing your thumbs over your nipples and your moaning gets louder, the slow, constant build growing with each moment that passes.

Ed clicks up to the next speed and you swear, the vibration intensity doubles. Your grab fistfuls of his gorgeous ginger curls, needing to ground yourself somehow before it all gets too overwhelming.

But Ed takes your hair-grabbing as a sign that you want more, need more, and he switches his strategy from flicking to sucking and his lips come down around your clit, sucking at you as the toy vibrates inside, lighting up all your nerve endings on each pass.

Your toes curl and you dig your heels into the mattress, shoving your hips up toward the wiry scruff on his face and you hold your breath for just a brief moment before the warmth is spreading, your thigh muscles contracting, your fingers tugging at his beautiful hair as you fall over the cliff, crying out.

Your orgasm is at its peak when Teddy takes the toy away, and he’s pushing your hip, rolling you onto your side as he sidles up next to you in bed. Your thighs are clamped shut, still riding out the waves of your climax when you feel the thick mushroom head of his cock pressing up against your entrance, his left hand squeezing your breast as he whispers, “Need you, love, that was so fuckin hot…”

“OH, Teddy, yes….”

The toy was nice, and watching Ed control it had been sexy as fuck, but nothing beat the feel of his warm, rigid shaft pressing up and into your body. Especially coupled with this spooning position, all of his skin pressed against yours, the most you had touched all night.

His thrusts were much slower and more deliberate than before, as he kissed and sucked at your neck, breaking away to moan your name or drop a breath in your ear.

“So… fuckin… tight, wet – Fuck,” he was basically just a dirty stream of moans and groans and filthy words in your ear as his cock rocked you from behind, as you arched your back to press your hips to his.

He laces his fingers into yours, and moves your hand down to the warm apex between your legs. He’s moving your fingers, now, tapping over your clit – still sensitive from your orgasm.

“Teddy, no, I can’t – again,”

“Please, baby? Want you to come with me…”

God damnit, you want to give him what he wants. But you honestly don’t think you can, your body is so wrecked and over stimulated right now. You close your eyes and breathe, focusing on his vibrant arm wrapped around you, the feeling of his scruffy beard on your neck as he kisses and licks and sucks and nips at your earlobe, his tight hips fucking you from behind.

“C’mon kitten, one more? Wanna feel you come all over my cock…”

Fuck, you want that, too. His fingers push your fingers down, grinding out little circles over your swollen clit.

“Let me have it, sweetheart,” he coaxes, and you hold your breath, clinging on to that little light at the end of the tunnel, but it just seems so far away, you don’t think you can get there…

But it’s there. And you focus on his rough hand holding your delicate one, pushing your fingers into your own clit and his thick girth inside you and his chest hair pressed against your back and before you know it, a moan is dropping from your mouth.

“That’s it, baby, you feel it, yeah?”

“Mmm, uh-huh,”

“You gonna let me have it, yeah?”

His rhythm is rock-steady, keeping in perfect time, the constant stimulation of his cock and your own fingers building you up.

“Fuck, Teddy….” you whine.

“Come for me, baby,” he instructs before sinking his teeth into your shoulder and who knew, but it’s exactly what you needed, a tiny sting of pain to push you over the edge and your orgasm hits, not as strong as the last one, but it feels good, like relief, and you feel Ed push his hips into yours as he says, “Fuck..fuck..fuck,” as he empties himself into you.

You let a few moments pass, both of your chests heaving as you recover from this intense session. You sigh as Ed brushes your hair back, off your face, pressing a gentle kiss just behind your ear.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you’d like to see next!

#ed sheeran smut #ed sheeran fanfic #ed sheeran fan fiction #ed sheeran #ed sheeran mature fanfic #one-shot #code ginger

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writemetohell · 6 years

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Post-Strike: Helping lead a strike and starting the first Newsboy Union of Manhattan can really change a guy. David Jacobs didn't realize that for him, this was only the beginning.

“Aw, quit whining Davey, ain’t nobody’s died from a summer rain.”

David Isaac Jacobs (Vice President of the Newsboys Union of Lower Manhattan, the brains behind the strike of 1899, and “the walking mouth” to his friends and compatriots) was currently soaked to the bone. His selling partner, Jack Francis Kelly (President of the Newsboys Union of Lower Manhattan, renegade cowboy who once escaped the now defunct Refuge on the back of Teddy Roosevelt’s carriage, and soon to be part time illustrator at the New York World) was crouched under the makeshift umbrella of newspaper ads David held over his head. He sketched haphazardly on a small leather sketchbook with his initials engraved on the binding; a gift from Katherine. In front of them was a dead pigeon, its neck cracked at an unnatural angle and its insides spilling through a gash from where the trolley had hit it. David didn’t know what was worse; the fact that his friend was keeping him outside during one of the worst downpours of the summer where there wouldn’t be any customers, or that any customers they could get would be scared off by their proximity to the bird corpse. He tapped his boot impatiently while Jack began to shade in the skewered beak. Jack pretended not to notice.

“It’s a metaphor, see Davey? The bird is the working folks of New York, and the trolley that sliced it represents the bosses that work ‘em to the bone and leave ‘em to die when there’s no more use for them.”

“You sure the World would let you publish something that radical?”

“Well, I’m not gonna actually tell ‘em that.” Jack turned his head to give his friend an exasperated look. “I’ll tell the editor it’s about littering or something, but the readers will know.”

“How is anyone supposed to see a worker in a dead pigeon?”

“ Maybe I’ll put a little hat on him.”

Even with the rain soaking through his boots David couldn’t help grinning. It was hard to tell sometimes whether Jack was being facetious or he really was just that sincere. He had a tendency to go head first into whatever new passion he had, and his naturally infectious charisma usually dragged at least twenty other newsboys with him. His only fault as leader was in the long term planning. That’s where David came in. He had gotten this far in his short life being cautious to a fault, and while Jack often could help quell his fears and bring him outside of his comfort zone, Davey balanced Jack out by filling the gaps in his plan and pointing out potential outcomes to Jack’s sporadic actions. That’s how they won the strike. That’s how they worked their union. And that was how they would protect the working kids of New York until they outgrew it and the reigns were passed down to someone new. At his most cynical David had to admit that his father’s injury was one of the best things to ever happen to him. In only a few months of being a newsie he had changed so much he hardly recognized himself. He was louder. More confident. He didn’t shuffle anymore, he walked with a stride and held his head up, his hands free from his pockets. He was less anxious and cared less what other people thought of him. He was happier. It was almost like-

“Christ, Jacobs! Is that you?”

He knew that voice. Jack stood up, grabbing David’s papers with him so he could continue to shield himself while looking across the street to see where the noise had come from. David didn’t move a muscle. He felt a field mouse in one of his old biology texts, trying to blend in with his surroundings so he wouldn’t get eaten alive. Across the street were three boys around David’s age, their hair varying in levels of towheadedness. Sarah always joked that all goyim looked the same to him, but then again she had never been to never been to David’s school. Jack squinted through the rain.

“Who’re they?”

“No one, they’re nobody. C’mon I think we might catch some customers coming out of the barber shop on 15th if we move quickly.”

“Wait, let me just finish up the wing-”

“Aw jeez Jack-”

“Look, if it’s about those towheads crossing the street I ain’t moving. If they have a problem with us we deal with them the way newsies do-with our fists out and their jaws broken.”

David didn’t have the time to explain to Jack that street logic didn’t apply anymore, maybe if he could just turn around quickly enough-

“Jacobs, I can’t believe you’re not dead! We thought you choked for sure after you stopped showing up to school. Hey Walter, you owe me a dime-” David instinctively grabbed Jack’s fist as the tallest blonde made his way over to their corner, flanked on either side by the smaller two. David turned back to his friend.

“Let me handle this.” He took one last look at the dead bird to his left, then turned to face his former classmates with an expression that he hoped displayed the right amount of confidence and disinterest. Then he grinned. “Hi fellas, long time no see.”

Tall blonde grinned back. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll say! It was real lousy not having you around, there was no one copy homework off of for the rest of the year. I nearly failed geography ‘til Walter over here managed to bribe Mister Johanson with some real nice cigars. They were what, Red Dots? Real nice.”

Walter, the stockiest of the three, nodded in agreement. “Real nice.”

David could hear Jack quietly snort behind him. They both knew Race wouldn’t have been impressed by their choice. David’s grin tightened slightly. “That’s nice.”

Tall continued. “But man, working stiff? That’s a real bummer. Makes sense though, can’t keep you yids away from that quick cash, huh?”

David reached back again to block Jack’s fist; instead he was met by his chest. He was standing at his full 5’9” height, both hands in fists, chest puffed out, and a sneer on his face previously reserved only for the Delanceys. His voice was unnaturally quiet. Quiet for Jack anyway.

“You call Davey that again and I’ll sock you. You open your mouth again and I might just sock you anyways. So think real hard boys about what your next move is gonna be, you understand?”

“Didn’t mean anything by it, didn’t mean anything by it!” Tall held up his hands in mock surrender. He was still grinning, but David could sense a new nervousness in his stance. “He knows we’re just joking, we used to talk like that all the time back in school, right Davey?”

The two others snickered quietly behind him as he drawled out the last phrase, imitating Jack’s thick downtown accent. In a swift motion Jack grabbed the blonde boy by the collar and hoisted him off the ground, his other hand clenched in anticipation. David forced himself between the two boys, pulling Jack to the other side of the street corner. His cap had been knocked off in the scuffle, and the rain seemed to speed up its traction, drenching his face and blurring his vision. Even through the rain he could see that Jack was furious.

“The hell are you doing Davey? They’re just a bunch of punks, we could take ‘em on easy!”

“It’s not like that Jack! These aren’t some street kids, I used to go to school with them.”

“So?”

“So?” David looked back at the boys. The tall one looked shaken, talking quietly to his friends. This was clearly not the way he was expecting his afternoon to go. David turned back to Jack, who was anchoring up his fist for another blow.

“See that guy, Walter? His dad manages a textile factory. My mom does work for sometimes. Scrawny kid next to him, his dad’s a green grocer. Cheapest prices on the lower east side, and we’re already on thin ice with him ‘cause he’s not always thrilled about Jews dirtying up his nice Polish establishment.” To his credit, Jack seemed to be a bit cooled down, though his hands were still tightly wound.

“And who’s the tall one with the mouth, his dad Van Wyck or something?” David shook his head.

“Superintendent of my school.”

“Christ.”

“No kidding.”

“So why the fuck do you go to school with these goons? You’re clearly not from the same neighborhood.”

“It’s…it’s a long story, but can we just go now, okay? You’re…your bird’s getting wet.” Jack looked down at his damp sketch pad. Tears of ink and rain water were smearing across the half finished bird, its broken wing melting into its spilled out stomach. Underneath the drawing in Jack’s shaky hand was written:‘How Much Longer Must We Wate?’

__________

The two boys snuck into the entrance of the train station on the next block over. The high awning allowed them to dry out the papers that hadn’t been fully protected by their bags, while also catching the afternoon rush of business men leaving their Manhattan offices for their homes in Westchester. David distracted himself by shaking out the rainwater that had gotten lodged in his cap, which he now found to be smattered in thin patches of mud from where he had dropped it. He had rubbed most of it off on his pants, bracing himself for whatever his mother would say when she saw his ruined clothes.

David let Jack finish up their last sales for the day while he aired out the pages of his sketchbook. Pencil and ink sketches flipped through David’s hand like a picture show; Katherine at her typewriter, a study of Crutchie dozing off by the fire escape, a recreation of last week’s suffragette rally, and then to his surprise Les, grinning ear to ear as he hawked papers from on top of an overturned crate by Hester Street. Jack finished his last sale for the day, and reclaimed his notebook with a playful shove. He took a pencil that seemed to miraculously appear behind his ear and opened to a fresh page. He leaned up against the brick alcove, one boot against the wall, looking every bit the cool and casual leader David knew he personally could never imitate. As it was right now, he was still scraping dried mud onto his one good pair of pants. Jack wetted the charcoal tip on his tongue and began to sketch.

“So, these goons. Why the hell have I never heard of them before?”

“Are you drawing me?”

“Maybe I am. Don’t deflect the question Davey. How does a kid from the lower east side end up at a school where all the brats are blonde?”

“It’s a long story.”

“The rain ain’t letting up anytime soon.”

“I’ll need to get Les back home soon.”

“Crutchie probably took him back to the lodge by now. He’s fine. But you really need to give a better excuse than ‘they’re richer than me’ to explain why we couldn’t kick their asses back there.”

David exhaled loudly, letting his shoulders deflate as he sunk into his side of the wall. He put his hands in his pockets and tried to mimic Jack’s stance, but found he could not let go of the tenseness in his body. He finally slid into a sitting position, one hand wrapped around his knee.

“So remember how I told you my father taught me not to lie?” Jack raised an eyebrow but continued to draw silently.

“We may have let that slip…once. But not anything bad, we weren’t hurting anyone. It was just…we may have lied about our address so I could go to a different school.”

This time Jack looked up from his page. “What was wrong with the one you had?”

“Well, there were fifty kids to a class for one thing, and we had a lice outbreak every other week, and there weren’t any good English classes because half the kids were still learning English…” God, he sounded like such a jerk. He could be pretty much describing the crew at the lodging house. The only difference between them and his old classmates was that most newsies were at least second generation. The ones who knew their parents at least.

“My parents…well, they’re really intent on me going to college. All of us, Les and Sarah too. But I’d need scholarship money to afford it, and you can’t get scholarship money if you don’t get good grades, and you can’t get good grades if the teachers don’t bother to show up most days, so…”

Jack’s face was unreadable. Come to think of it, Jack never mentioned attending any school in his life. The newsies were pretty good at teaching the younger ones the basics of making change and deciphering headlines. Any other night schooling or vocational training was up to the individual to figure out on his own. Where did a newsie go after he got too old to sell papers anyway? David’s stomach churned, recalling how desperate Jack was to get to Santa Fe only a few weeks ago before he was convinced to stay. He finally understood why. Jack returned to his sketch.

“Okay, so your old man messes around with some forms and you get to go to the hoity toity school. No one figured out you were from the wrong neighborhood?”

“Oh, they did. Pretty quickly. I told them I was living with an aunt to finish my education. By the time the principal came around to it I got a couple of teachers to speak on my behalf, saying I had so much potential and it would be a tragedy if I had to leave and so on…”

“So you got to stay cause other people begged for you?”

David gave a noncommittal shrug. Jack stuck his pencil into the bow of his book and pushed his cap back, his hand shaking from laughter.

“I dunno if that’s the saddest or most impressive thing I ever heard.”

“Oh come on, it’s not like I could just go in there and stick a knife to his throat ‘til he allowed me to stay. It’s called diplomacy Jack. Last time I checked I was pretty good at it.”

Jack smirked and picked up his pencil again, using it to scratch the tip of his nose.

“Christ, sometimes I forget what a mess you were when we first met.”

David scuffed his boot against the floor. “That’s just how things were Jack. You play the system the best you can, and when you’re caught you roll over and beg for forgiveness. It wasn’t until I met you that-” David forced his mouth shut, feeling a rush of heat behind his ears. This was territory he vowed he’d never go into. Jack was still sketching, oblivious to the slip up.

“-I mean, until I met the newsies, I’d just deal with it that way.”

“So when that guy calls you a yid….”

“Trust me, they’ve called me worse before.”

“And you let them?”

“I don’t let them! It’s just…if I let it get to me they’ll just keep egging it on. It’s not just about me being Jewish to them; it’s what I wear, it’s how I talk, where my parents work, the fact that my mother even works at all…”

“So like the Delanceys, only a little more scrubbed behind the ear.”

David grinned despite himself. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“So what’s stopping from dealing with them the way we do with the Delanceys?”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you Jack, the rules are different there! You can’t get fired for messing with the Delanceys. If I lost my temper just once that would be the end of my school career. Have you ever seen my folks get angry?”

“Never when I’m around.”

“Exactly! They don’t get angry, they get disappointed. And trust me, it feels a million times worse.”

“But that ain’t a way to live Davey! After everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through, you ain’t the same person anymore! None of us are. Are you honestly gonna let those creeps treat you like dirt when your pop gets back on his feet? What’s gonna happen when you go back to school?”

School. The word sent a chill down his damp spine. How could he have forgotten? The past few months had gotten him so swept up in the strike and his new friends and his new life that the very concept seemed alien to him. What happens when his dad gets back on his feet? If he ever gets back on his feet? Yet Jack had said it so naturally, he almost seemed to speak it into existence. Of course David would go back to school. What else was there for him to do? Sell papers until he aged out? Work in a factory like his dad and get his own leg crushed?

But how the hell was he ever supposed to catch up? Continue to feed his family? Get money for college, now that any chance of getting scholarships was close to nil. And for that matter, what would become of Les’ future? Or Sarah’s? Or any of his new friends who would be entering their eighteenth year with no education to speak of. David looked through the large glass windows where condensation had gathered between the rain and muggy heat. He could feel his heart pounding at rapt speed. The world seemed to be swirling around him. Footsteps into puddles, the clock ticking over the station’s entrance, the yells of passersby all seemed to fall into a rhythm that mocked him from his shelter. This wasn’t permanent. Nothing was permanent.

“Davey?”

“Huh?” David looked up to see Jack standing beside him. He looked concerned. For Jack, anyway.

“You alright? You look like you might be sick.”

David reached up to mop his brow, only to realize he was still holding the leftover ad section of yesterday’s paper, now reduced to a grimy pulp. The ink had run wet and was staining his hand black.

“No, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Listen, I gotta meet Katherine at four, but this talk ain’t over. You’re looking far too shaky to be ‘fine’ Davey.” He leaned over to give a playful shove, then wordlessly ripped a page from his notebook and handed it to him. Adjusting his hat against the harsh downpour, Jack hurried across the street, dodging streetcars and carriages until his silhouette disappeared into the rain and smog and the thousands of people forcing their way through the New York heat. David looked down at the paper, cupping his hand over the side to protect the fresh charcoal from smearing. It was him, crouched against wall; his cap askew, hands in his pockets, one knee up against the chest, the other stretched before him. There was shading on his pants that David suspected to be dirt, and Jack even managed to get the small hole that was forming on the sole of his left shoe.

The one thing it didn’t have was a face.

#my fics #I figured I'd post it here as well #newsies fanfiction #Jack Kelly #Newsies #Davey Jacobs #newsies live #david jacobs

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