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neonponders · 3 years ago

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This isn’t what @memes-saved-me had in mind for this post but lol (read their tags, they’re delightful)

Thinking about a younger Billy and an older Steve today ✨

✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨ ✨

Billy scratched at the hair on his nape. He wanted to grow it out; really had always wanted long hair. And now, as he peered at the other sophomores trying to fluff themselves bigger to match the juniors and seniors, he just might.

Long hair was in. Mullets, rock star manes, extensions - even the opposite. Women with buzz cuts and pixie faux hawks. Pleasant little surprises in Hawkins, Indiana, and Billy might finally indulge in that.

Plenty in this town was backwards as all hell. Girls wearing white stockings like it was the fifties. Boys and girls alike clearly letting having learned hair styling from their out-of-date parents. Two girls with beehives sat in his English class.

But it was fine, because there was plenty of present-day styling, and Billy wouldn’t get any shit at home for matching his peers.

Cherry Lane. The most backwards spot in Indiana.

But that’s okay, too, because small town people need occupations. Parties.

A cool senior with teased, black hair walked right up to him and handed him a neon orange sheet of paper. He saw others holding similar invitations all day.

Party on Friday night. Address, dress code, and everything.

Caught him by surprise, that a dress code would be needed for one of these things, but the invitation just said ~casual attire~ and someone in his Advanced Biology class told him that Tina hosts the best shin digs, often with costume themes.

So he went. The late summer evening was still humid as all hell, making the party split between the massive house and the matching yard a convenient way to start a weekend.

He’d had alcohol before. Enough to know he preferred tequila drinks over vodka and gin, but the safest way to wake up the next day was to just stick to beer. No matter how bitter or sharply carbonated some of it was made.

Maybe that’s why he heard people hollering about King Steve.

Keg stands weren’t original to Hawkins, but Billy preferred them next to a bonfire on a beach. But people were really yelling for this king to do the damn thing -

“Steve, why are you even here? You graduated in May,” Tina’s voice cut through the din.

“I live down the street! You really think you’re making this much noise without me noticing? And all of you shut the hell up! I’ll do a keg stand the day one of you dip shits can actually beat my record.”

Another surprise:

Steve Harrington.

Billy’s dumb luck had him three years behind, so he couldn’t look at that face in the hallways. Sit behind that head of glossy, bouncy hair in European History. He still lived in town, apparently. Right down the street. Billy asked around and discovered he worked at the mall and attended the community college -

“Heard you been asking about me.”

Billy stared wide-eyed over his beer. He recovered quickly, but not before Steve bounced on the balls of his feet, smug. That hair was really distracting.

These people really gossip about everything.

“I didn’t think anybody actually went by a title like that.”

“I didn’t put it on my resume, that’s for sure.” Steve’s smirk grew into a smile. Christ, the guy really had that Indiana, home town handsome thing to his face.

That was dangerous. Billy’s gut told him so, the way it bruised like someone had poked it. And wanted to be poked again.

“Let’s do this properly. Steve.” He held his hand out.

It wasn’t queer to accept a handshake. “Billy,” he replied.

“Hargrove?”

“Jesus,” he scoffed involuntarily, releasing Steve’s large hand. His weight shifted over his feet. “Everybody knows everything here.”

“Not everything,” Steve said. His voice sounded...reassuring? But the way his eyes blinked...and a darkness slipped behind his eyes like a curtain. Adults liked to call it maturity. Wisdom beyond years. Billy called it ghosts. Everyone had ghosts behind their eyes. But...he had a hard time imagining what ghosts this pretty senior in suburban America would already have.

Then again, Billy knew better.

Except, as the party progressed and the weekend flowed into a new week, Billy really couldn’t imagine what made Steve slouch a little, and what made his eyes fade out of a conversation. Billy probably should have put more attention into how much he’d begun seeking the guy out.

He worked in the ice cream parlor at the mall. The uniform was equal measures ridiculous and hilarious, but his coworker was cool as hell. Robin. Not Steve’s girlfriend, even though they carpooled to work and community college.

Steve’s house proved just as luxurious as Tina’s, with a pool to boot. A house which supposedly stayed empty more often than it hosted its own family. Steve notoriously didn’t host parties, which....seemed uniquely odd.

Apart from Billy visiting the ice cream shop, it seemed Steve’s only other visitors were high school freshman. Which was weird. That’s weird, right? Then again, Billy was ball and chained to eight hours a day, five days a week to high school. There was plenty of time for Steve to be with friends his own age.

Except he showed up at the next party on Halloween.

Tina’s house boasted a surprising number of Hawkins graduated seniors, forcing the party all the way out onto the street.

Just like before, Steve manifested beside Billy, announcing himself with fingertips brushing his slowly growing, weak little mullet. “Growing that out?”

Steve’s already heavy eyelids were heavier with alcohol. Billy had his customary cup of beer, but his cheeks flushed for a different reason. He had to rub the back of his neck to make the tickle stop.

“Yeah. Maybe it’ll touch my shoulders next year.”

“Have you trimmed it?”

Billy frowned at him. He’d heard some things come out of Steve’s mouth that were endearing in a��‘bless his heart’ kind of way, and this was among them. “No, that defeats the point of making it longer.”

Steve shook his head and waved for him to follow. “Come here. I’ll trim it.”

“You’re not cutting my hair,” Billy scoffed. And followed.

Upstairs.

Billy did his best not to look around the living room; to see any eyes apart from the ones he imagined on his backside. He followed at a leisurely pace. Not eager to be with King Harrington anywhere...

The guy walked right into the closed master bedroom. Billy stood outside of it, stunned at his audacity and the fact that no one was inside it already -

“You coming?”

Billy’s not a coward -

Actually he is. But he’s an overeager sophomore with a dangerous crush even more.

Steve dug through the master bathroom’s drawers until he found a pair of scissors in their own case. “Sit on the tub.”

By tub, he meant jacuzzi edge. Billy perched. Steve gripped his shoulder to step into the tub with a comb that smelled of foreign hair product and aftershave. Billy’s nose wrinkled. “Wash that first.”

Then he jumped at the tub faucet turning on right beside his ass. Steve laughed. “Chill out. I’m washing it.”

Billy settled with a disgruntled shake of his head. “My hair is curly. You’re not supposed to brush it at all.”

“You’re in the hands of The Hair Harrington, sweetheart. Just relax.”

His shoulders sagged right underneath the weight of sweetheart.

I’m so screwed -

Of all people to show up in the doorway, Robin from Scoops showed up with an energy that insinuated more sobriety than the guy wielding scissors.

Her mouth hung open like she had come with something to say, but then she sputtered through laughter. “Oh shit. Are you consenting to this?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “If he cuts my ear, I’m beating his ass.”

“I’d appreciate more faith from you, Buckley. I cut your bangs for you.”

Billy chirped, “Really?” admittedly feeling a bit better.

Steve intercepted with the order, “Are you gonna play music or what? I’m so tired of Tina’s music.”

That’s how Billy wound up in a bathroom with college freshmen trimming his ends and styling his hair while Steve and Robin shout-sang to Whitney Houston.

It was great.

Steve curled the top of his hair so he had ringlets falling over his bold brows. Steve, who had his hands all over Billy’s head until he washed the hair down the drain and filled the tub for a bubble bath. Billy scrutinized himself with a handheld mirror until Steve wrapped his arms around him and they tumbled backward into the wet landing.

Tina was hardly pleased to find the three of them making a mess of the jacuzzi, but she sassed a quick thank you for warding off people trying to fuck in her parents’ bed. Billy didn’t have words; only laughter at Robin putting her hair into a wet mohawk and Steve piling bubbles onto his head.

Steve insisted they go back to his house afterward. “It’s November and we’re soaked. Your car will be fine. I can come back and park it in my driveway if you’re that worried.”

That wasn’t the problem.

“It’s fine that your parents are never home, but mine will only recently lifted my curfew for good behavior.”

Somehow, he convinced Steve and Robin to drive him back to his house, at the expense of letting them change at Steve’s first. Billy had his eyes on a beautiful Camaro and was just a few more months of allowance and part time jobs away from having her.

It was his first time in Steve’s house. He had to admit, he preferred Tina’s layout and decor, but he got to wander around. He saw Robin use one of the guest rooms. He saw Steve’s....incredibly boring room. And said as much.

“A prison cell has more personality.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. Are you ready to go?”

It wasn’t until Billy lay in his own bed that those words tumbled through his brain. His fingertips moved through his still-styled hair. It felt better with those dead ends gone. Steve did a good job. Steve liked Whitney Houston and Blondie and a little of everything, really. Steve cared about his appearance enough to be a self-taught stylist.

Steve didn’t have a lot of furniture in his room. Clutter on the dresser and desk, sure, but all of it monochrome or neutral colors. Steve who had an old BMW, house, and surely a bank account to match, but didn’t buy anything in excess. Like he wasn’t allowed to, or something. Billy indulged every scent he got on things he wanted, but Steve didn’t.

Steve had a nailed bat in his trunk. Billy heard it rolling around on their way back to his house, and finally bent over to look under the seats and saw it.

Steve was a walking contradiction. A contradiction who smelled good but didn’t say much when Billy and Robin talked about history. Who started giving Billy free ice cream but never asked about Billy’s stepsister. Who gave Billy rides and gave him the hookup to the high-paying neighbors of Loch Nora for mowed lawns and dogs walked.

Steve helped him get his car sooner than he would’ve otherwise but didn’t ask for anything in return.

Steve, who was always available for a good time, but looked sad when left with his thoughts.

Billy didn’t take well to not being the center of attention. He’d grown up with an interrogation lamp over his head, and sought positive interaction everywhere else. He got so much of it from Steve, that the occasions where Steve bumped against him...refused him, or ignored him, or reminded Billy that he was a rinky dink sophomore lit a match in his belly. And he’d swallowed gasoline for too much of his life.

“That’s something a virgin says.”

Billy couldn’t even remember what he’d just said. He was already, instantly, seeing the glow of embers on the fringe of his vision. “Excuse me?”

Steve shrugged as he got up from his couch. “It’s whatever. It’s fine. Just showing your hand, is all.”

Billy couldn’t believe it. Steve was either the biggest idiot in Hawkins - which he knew wasn’t true considering there was a real cesspool that smoked underneath the bleachers - or he was so far in denial that Billy had a whole new reason to be pissed.

An involuntary sound left Steve when Billy came up behind him and pushed him against the wall underneath the stairs.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Billy wasn’t some cute sophomore. He stood toe to toe with Steve, barely an inch shorter. If this is what it took for Steve to realize that, fine.

To realize that Billy wasn’t some teenager scared shitless of a girls’ bra -

Steve regained his footing, and closed the distance between their mouths. It was small, soft, and brief. Rationality should have made Billy step away. Punch him, maybe. But Billy wasn’t rational. His shock held him statuesque, barely breathing while Steve moved a hand to cradle the side of his head and neck -

A sound left Billy this time, as Steve angled his mouth over Billy’s. Where he learned Billy was scared, so scared of Steve. His body dashed rationality against the wall and kissed him back tentatively, and then earnestly, just trying to keep up until Steve’s other hand framed him in. As Steve pushed against him until Billy walked backwards to have himself pressed against the wall.

He felt drunk as his hands let go of Steve’s shirt to hold onto the curvature of his ribs. He panted while Steve kissed his throat and washed Billy’s senses with his warm, sweet fragrance; his hair brushing Billy’s face and inspiring him to turn his face into Steve’s scalp. Inhale him into his lungs.

Billy didn’t know what game they were playing. But Steve outplayed him.

#are we in the present day or the 80s? who knows #harringrove #younger billy with s3+ steve #ficlet #neonponders #memes-saved-me #pondermoniums #a sprinkling of #virgin!billy #this got long lol #i wanted to write more but i like this ending #for now?#i have things I need to do lol #i'm sorry for the abrupt ending

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obeiii-mee · 4 years ago

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Hi there! Im back, tysm for doing my HC ;;/ it was super cute, i really liked Mammons and Satans!! If you dont mind if i ask for another? Hdjsks Recently, i slipped while walking home with some pals and scrapped my knee. It wasnt too bad, but it sure looked bad lmao If you can could you do HCs for the boys reacting to MC slipping and scrapping there knee while walking w them? Im sure Mammon would have a heart attack hfjd Tysm!! Keep up the good work♡

Thank you so much! I hope your knee gets better and that it wasn’t too painful! The brothers would all be panicking in their own way but I agree, Mammon would faint or something lmao.

Hope this was OK.

————————————

The Brothers with an MC who fell and scraped their knee:

Lucifer:

-It was a miracle you managed to convince him to come out on a walk with you at all

-The man doesn’t know when to take a break from his work

-He’s more likely to accept if it’s you asking tho, he has an obvious soft spot for you

-The others call him a suck up behind his back because of it

-You were so happy that you managed to pry Lucifer away from his desk, you were basically skipping alongside him

-Long story short, you tripped over your own two feet and fell

-Luckily, your knees and palms were the only things that got a bit scruffy

-Well, actually your right knee looked as if someone tried removing your entire knee cap with a scalpel, skin and all but adrenaline was kicking in and you couldn’t feel much

-You’ve never seen Lucifer freeze the way he did then

-His mind just drew a blank

-You were about to shrug it off and call it a day, get up and continue your walk but daddy Lucifer can’t have that

-He has six younger brothers (and a younger sister at some point) he is pretty experienced when it comes to treating injuries

-You aren’t walking for the rest of the day, let me make this clear

-He will carry you back to the House of Lamentation no matter how much you protest

-In case it wasn’t obvious already, Lucifer gives off massive dad vibes and now he’s bandaging your leg while you’re laying down on his bed

-While the rest of the brothers watch the two of you from behind the door frame because they are all equally worried

-Get ready for the three hour lecture coming your way

-He’s pissed and amused at the same time tbh

-Silly human, falling over like that and hurting themselves

-Lord Diavolo forbid you try to get out of that bed, he will drag you back and make sure you stay there until your knee is better (kinky)

Mammon:

-He was on his merry way to the casino to blow off all of Lucifer’s money and you tagged along solely for the purpose of making sure he didn’t spend all of Lucifer’s money

-You’d both be done for if he did

-But I guess fate really had it out for you on that day since your foot slipped on....something and you tripped

-Both of your knees looked bloody and damaged as hell but you were more irritated than anything

-Mammon on the other hand did a fucking double take and almost passed out

-He screeched his lungs out

-One look at your injured knees and he was ready to drag you all the way to the human realm on foot to find you a doctor

-“MC ARE YOU OK WHY THE FUCK IS THERE SO MUCH BLOO-HOLY SHIT STAY STILL DON’T MOVE! THE GREAT MAMMON WILL FIX THIS...SOMEHOW.”

-It was very dramatic, he cried

-You stood up to prove that you were alright because you thought he was going to have a seizure soon enough

-OK, that helped him calm down a little

-At least now he knew your legs weren’t about to get torn off and you weren’t on the verge of death

-Fuck the casino, you were going home

-Like Lucifer, don’t expect you will walk home by yourself

-He will carry you, a bit embarrassed by his initial freak out but still eyeing your wound, concerned

-As soon as you get home and the other brothers help you out because he’s shit at bandaging, he just sits in his own pool of misery and guilt

-Your poor knees wouldn’t be so jacked up if you hadn’t come along with him today

-He was so determined to make it up to you, he stayed by your bedside like a loyal puppy with a wagging tail (flashback to the animal event)

-Overall, he almost went into cardiac arrest and was too panicked to realise you were fine

-You thought he was smothering and overprotective before? Good luck for the rest of the week

Levi:

-“See, this is why I don’t like going out. There’s always some normie laying on the groun- OH MY LORD DIAVOLO, MC IS THAT YOU?? ARE YOU OK?”

-HIS HENRY ALMOST DIED ON THE NEWLY POLISHED FLOOR OF AN ANIME CONVENTION, HE HAS VERY MIXED EMOTIONS

-You fell knees first and hurt them quiet badly but you could stand, even if the pain made you twitch a little

-This confused Levi because you looked fine even though your knees certainly didn’t

-You told him you felt alright and it wasn’t that big of a deal and he absolutely rolled with it

-But you guys still went home after that

-He said it was because you bled all over your cosplay but that’s just him being a tsundere

-Levi is usually very shy when it comes to physical contact but he firmly insisted that he help you walk home

-I mean, he knows you said you were feeling OK and maybe humans just have a lot of tolerance for injuries like that

-But he still felt it was necessary that he took you home and checked out your injuries

-He kept the mood light while disinfecting you’re wound with some help from Satan by talking about how the convention went

-High low-key relieved seeing you walk around like normal two minutes after that

-He started bitching to you about how you made him miss his the event but he didn’t mean any of it

-“Stupid normie, making me miss my favourite Ruri-chan event. You’re lucky I love you and think you’re cute....did I just say that out loud??”

Satan:

-Oh dear, why would you go out for a walk in the middle of a rainstorm? What were you thinking?

-Actually, it was Satan’s idea

-He may be a demon and the prince of Wrath no less, but he is such a sappy, cheesy bastard at times

-He definitely thinks that walking and kissing in the rain is very romantic (bet he read something like that in an erotica)

-You know what’s not romantic blondie? Slipping on a very small puddle and potentially fracturing your leg

-It was just a scraped knee but you were frustrated enough to be extra

-He’s helping you up before you even have the chance to realise you fell in the first place

-Your knee was looking pretty bad so you guys went home just to avoid any further casualties

-He’s actually chuckling all the way back while you playfully glare at him because how dare he laugh at your misery?

-Date night was ruined but at least he got to take care of you

-He knew your knee must have hurt and he felt bad but he couldn’t help but giggle a bit to himself because your fall was so comical

-Ah but he does enjoy fussing over you for the rest of the night a bit too much

Asmo:

-You thought Mammon was melodramatic?

-Take a look at this fucking guy

-He actually screeches even louder than his brother and probably falls to his knees too (but not really because those pants were expensive)

-His screams definitely got the attention of at least 10 random passerbyers

-He’s actually on the verge of crying

-I mean, can you blame him?? Look at your beautiful knees!! They were ruined

-He felt so bad for you, he actually babied the hell out of you that day

-“Asmo, it’s fine. It’s just a scrap.”

-“A SCRAP, MC IT LOOKS LIKE YOUR KNEE IS ABOUT TO FALL OFF YOUR POOR SKIN-“

-It was just a scrap but Asmo’s secret talent is being extra as fuck

-He totally spilled all the tea to the rest of the brothers when he got home

-And then he ushered you into his room

-Funnily enough, he’s pretty good with injuries. Not as much as Satan and Lucifer but still

-He pampered you for the next few hours but that image of your skin being all grazed like that will forever haunt him

-How can you not be so bothered by it?? He’d die if he was in your place

-I love Asmo just because of how dramatic he is

Beel:

-Your shoelaces were undone and of course that meant a fun little trip to the floor of Hell’s Kitchen

-Beel didn’t notice you fell at first, he was concentrating on his food and assumed you were next to him

-But then he realised that you weren’t and for a moment he thought you disappeared or something

-Before he turned to find you laying on the floor, curled up because life was pain and you were suffering

-“Are you OK? Or are you just tired? Belphie does that a lot when he’s tired.” Or depressed one might say

-But for real, he’s good at identifying serious wounds and less serious wounds since he’s an athlete

-He can tell your knees were bleeding way more than they should have from just a simple scrap

-He slinged you over his shoulder and carried you, calmly, back home, with a burger still in his hand

-He’s actually really collective and talked to you while cleaning up your injury to take your mind off the pain

-He knows humans are a little more fragile than demons so even though he knows it’s not a big deal, he can’t help but worry

-It’s kinda hard falling around him tho because chances are, he will actually catch you even if he happens to hold something

-He’s sad if you’re sad so please don’t cry he will bandage your scraped knee do you want the last bit of his burger to make you feel better?

-Comfort hugs afterwards!

-Which is awesome because Beel gives out best hugs :)

Belphie:

-Ah yes, another beautiful day at RAD

-Walking alongside with your grumpy and sleepy boyfriend when a random demon bumps into you

-Wel not bumps, more like shoves you so hard you fall down and tear the fabric of your pants

-While the dude shrugs it off and speeds away

-You were a bit pissed off because rude

-But Belphie was fucking fuming

-He felt so offended on your part

-I mean, the nerve of him

-He was tired as shit but he wanted to chase after him and throw hands, possibly fill his pillow with rocks and hit him over the head with it

-He forced himself to focus on you first before hunting the moron down

-He was a bit concerned when he didn’t see you come back up after you fell

-Turns out, you scraped your knee pretty horribly and now you were bleeding all over the floor

-He’s even more quiet than usual as he helps you up and half carries you to your next class

-He starts taking care of your knee in the middle of DevilDom history he doesn’t give a flying fuck

-He’s still furious by the time he gets home and most of his brothers know to leave him be when he makes that scary ass face

-No talk to him

-He angy

-“Does your knee still hurt?”

-“A bit but it’s not-“

-“Come nap with me.”

-“Why?”

-“Naps shall cure your pain.”

-“...”

-“Nah but for real come take a nap with me.”

-Next day at school, the dude from yesterday walks by him and Belphie smashes his head against the wall

-Before walking away as if nothing happened

-I stan protective Belphie

These HCs are really bad but I love them anyway

Al~

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me imagines #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #⭐️ requests #☂️ demon brothers #🌸 comfort #💞 Protective Bois

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

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Road Trip

Maybe call this your royalty/road trip prompt, @awickedplacethisis, it’s much shorter! Harringrove April prompt day 14, Road Trip

Once upon a time, in Westfield Indiana—not far from Indianapolis—there was a very, very large mansion, almost a castle, where there lived a family named Harrington.

There were servants inside the mansion, and servants outside the mansion; caddies to attend the golf course, and six crews of gardeners: two for around the reflecting pools, the rest for the grounds, and a tree surgeon on retainer. There were specialists for the indoor tennis courts, and the outdoor tennis courts, the outdoor swimming pool, and the indoor swimming pool.

And over the garage there lived a chauffeur by the name of Hargrove, imported from England years ago—together with a Rolls Royce—and a son, named William, or Billy.

It was a different world, for Billy Hargrove, watching the Harringtons through the bushes, or getting out of his father’s car—little Stevie Harrington wore suits, and rode horses, and sometimes, when his parents were on holiday, little Stevie Harrington would invite Billy to play.

Steve was a general, in these games, or sometimes the president, and Billy was, as ever, whatever was required, whether that was a dragon, or a magic steed, or a princess. When Steve’s parents came back from wherever they were, Billy saw him only from the garage windows, again.

The Harrington parties were otherworldly, for Billy, watching from the apartment over the garage. Billy folded his arms over the railing, watching the orchestra, and the fireworks—and sometimes Steve would climb his tree afterwards, with stories.

“I brought you something,” he would say, leaning to sit a folded linen napkin on Billy’s windowsill, containing three chocolates, or sometimes, “—they’re too busy to give me a kiss goodnight, Billy, so I came to you.”

He fell out of the tree, once, and Billy yelled, and then Steve was forbidden from climbing trees, and forbidden from waking the staff in the dead of night. He tried to climb it, still, with his cast, until Billy hid with the window closed. Steve called softly, and then more softly still, as Billy plugged his ears under the window, until finally he went away.

Steve ignored him, after that, until Billy made a paper airplane, stood on the edge of his railing out of sight of the car pulling in, and threw it when their fathers looked away. Steve saw it fly into the hedge, snatched it, and stuck it in his jacket, but he didn’t look over. Billy didn’t hear anything until Steve ran into the garage two days later, looking around wild-eyed, and waved to him, then hauled him into the hedge around the side.

His cast looked grubby—probably from climbing trees—and the hand not in a cast clutched tightly at Billy’s wrist. “Why wouldn’t you open the window,” he muttered, huffily.

“You might fall again!” Billy whisper-yelled back at him, but it was too good to see Steve to stay mad at him, so he hugged him as hard as he could, cast and all.

“I’d rather fall than not see you,” Steve said, and Billy swallowed, squeezing him tighter.

“I—I’ll sneak out. We could meet in your garden,” Billy said, meaning the grounds, and Steve shook his head.

“They’ll send you away. They caught my mother’s maid by the pool, at night, and they sent her away.” He thought. “I’ll write you letters,” he said, pulling away to stare into Billy’s eyes, and squeeze Billy’s hands, even though they were covered in oil. “I’ll leave them under the driver’s seat. You’ll have to be fast.”

“I’ll find them,” Billy told him, nodding, and that whole summer he found pictures of their games, and stories, and once, a picture of Billy himself, and Steve, holding hands.

That was before Steve was sent away to school. He was different, after—they were both older, but his eyes didn’t look for Billy, and he invited different people to the pool, his friends in their tailored suits, with no oil stains. Friends who would not be sent away.

Steve would come around while Billy was fixing cars, though, and brush his hand around Billy’s waist as he bent over an engine, or slide the trolley out to pull Billy from under the Rolls Royce as Billy changed the oil, and feed him sweet and unusual fruit. Billy stared up at Steve Harrington’s smile as he tried mango for the first time, licking it from Harrington’s fingers as he laughed, and then star fruit, and papaya.

Billy still watched the parties—Steve’s parents’ parties—from a tree, swinging his legs as Steve laughed, and flirted, and occasionally came over and leaned back against the tree, holding a glass of champagne up where Billy could reach down and take it.

Once, when Steve’s dance partner wandered over, he kissed her, whispering and laughing. Billy clenched his fingers against the tree’s branches for long minutes until they’d wandered away, and then he swung down. He went to bed early that night. His pillow was nearly enough to block out the music, and even the fireworks, until he heard the sound of a knock at his window.

He opened it on Steve in his suit, and Steve crawled in, right inside Billy’s room, with his creaky old floors, stained curtains, and the picture Steve had drawn of them holding hands, before he’d been sent away to school.

Steve stepped forward and kissed him the way he hadn’t done since they were children. Billy stared at him, half sure he was asleep, shivering a little with the open window in only his wifebeater and shorts. Steve’s hands were warm around his biceps.

“Wish I could dance with you,” he whispered, then brushed a kiss against Billy’s mouth again, and Billy inhaled in a quick jerk of his lungs. Steve leaned in again, and the floor creaked, and Billy pushed him back towards the window.

“Ssshhh,” he whispered, his fingers sinking into the silk of Steve’s cuffs, and the warm folds where his shirt was tucked into his trousers, under his jacket. “Sshhh…” he muttered again, letting Steve tilt his head, and kiss him softly, his mouth a little open so Billy couldn’t help chasing the warmth.

“You really want me to go?” Steve asked, laughing against his lips, and Billy snorted softly.

“Of course I don’t,” he whispered back.

The next dance, Steve came and leaned against the tree, held up some champagne, and said, “Meet me at the indoor tennis court.”

“...I’ll get fired,” Billy whispered, laughing, and Steve was quiet for a long moment.

“...I’ll understand if you don’t come,” he said softly, tipping back the champagne, “—but I’ll wait until the orchestra stops.”

Billy thought about what his father would do, already, if he was caught in the tree—what Steve’s mother would do if the chauffeur-in-training startled party guests, wandering around in work clothes—but he set his jaw. When everyone gathered around to hear Steve’s father speak on the podium in front of the fountains, Billy snuck off along the hedge—inside the hedge, within view of the house, his heart pounding—and then lingered outside of the tennis courts.

Steve arrived a few minutes later with a whole bottle of champagne, and slid his fingers through Billy’s, tugging him inside. “Why didn’t you go inside?” he asked, bending to sit the bottle down, and then sliding his hands around Billy’s waist.

“...I don’t know,” Billy laughed, who’d only ever been allowed near the courts to clean, or pick up balls. “Want to show me around?”

“This is where I play tennis, to keep me occupied, when I’m missing you,” Steve told him. “This is the wall that makes it so I can’t see your house…” he whispered, and Billy laughed, and slid his arms around Steve’s neck, holding him close. After a few minutes of just...molding against each other, sighing with relief, Steve’s head jerked up, his smile widening in the soft reflected light from the party. “Here,” he whispered, “—this is the song I had to dance with somebody else, when you were right there, in the tree.”

Billy laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief. Steve grabbed his hand, lifting it like a dance, and slid the other around his waist, kicking at Billy’s feet to get them to move. “I don’t know how,” Billy told him, squinting down at his feet, and Steve kissed him again, missing his mouth, laughing, and leaning to try again.

“I’ll show you,” he whispered, counting. After a while Billy realized Steve leading meant he wouldn’t get to spin him around, so he spun Steve anyway, and Steve staggered, yanking him along.

“...he’ll notice you’re gone,” Steve said, finally, as they lay next to each other, panting in their backs, passing the champagne back and forth for swigs. “I’ve kept you too late.”

“I stayed,” Billy told him, leaning over for another soft kiss, and then another, because Steve Harrington was his, at least for a few hours.

The next day, Steve came out while Billy was washing the cars, and leaned against the wall in his tailored suit. He had a weird-looking fruit—dark red, and not very...plump looking, and he carved at it with a penknife as Billy worked. The purple juice stained his fingers.

“You know the story of Hades and Persephone,” Steve said, idly, and Billy thought about it, wiping sweat off his face.

“...he stole her, didn’t he?” Billy asked. It had sounded scary, as a child, reading from the huge illustrated book in the Harrington’s massive echoing library, but he thought, now, maybe he understood. “So they could be together. And her parents rained destruction on them.”

Steve grimaced. “...this is a pomegranate.”

“Oh,” Billy said, intrigued. He rinsed his hands and head off, pushing his hair back to see Steve open-mouthed.

“Come here,” Steve whispered, and Billy came over, and they risked just one kiss, in the middle of the garage, with their fathers both away at work. Billy could barely make himself let go, but he backed away, after, and leaned against a car. “...I thought I’d bring you some seeds,” Steve said, softly. “So you’ll stay with me.”

Billy dug his fingers into his own crossed arms, laughing. “Sure,” but then, when Steve held out the six tiny, bright, faceted seeds, he swallowed. “...six doesn’t seem like enough, now I see how many there are. Give me half.”

Steve grinned, glancing up at him with a wry smile. “That’s fair,” he said, nodding, and they counted them out on two plates. Steve held the odd one up to Billy’s mouth, and he leaned in and ate it, his tongue brushing Steve’s fingers. He helped Steve wash the juice off, after, sliding their fingers together.

When Steve began to work at his father’s company, Billy became his chauffeur. He waited for Steve Harrington every morning, and every evening, and Steve sat in the back, watching him in the rearview mirror.

When Steve bought a car, he took Billy along, and on the way home, he asked him to pull off of the road, into a field. The stars were bright, and his kisses were warm, and Billy helped him lay out a blanket.

Billy wondered, as he fumbled with their belts, clumsy with kissing, whether it would ever happen again.

It didn’t.

Steve wanted ice cream, occasionally, or dinner, and asked Billy to join him, but he worked very early and very late. He still sometimes pressed a quick kiss to Billy’s lips—if no one was looking, if he wasn’t running late—but there were no lingering touches, except one time.

The girl Steve had kissed under Billy’s tree was the daughter of another CEO, and their engagement was announced on the local radio. Steve stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched, and then told Billy to use the back elevator, and come up to his office, right away. When Billy got there, Steve locked the doors, and pulled Billy along to the bed behind the kitchenette. He didn’t say anything, he just slid his hands up under Billy’s shirt, and followed them with his mouth, kissing softly up Billy’s stomach to his chest, and then across his collarbones, as Billy wriggled out of his clothes.

They didn’t unlock the door all day, no matter whose voice came through.

Three weeks later, when Billy climbed in the car and suggested Steve’s favorite cafe, and then the office, Steve said no. He sat looking out the window, his eyes far away.

Billy waited silently, full of dread. “...Mr. Harrington?” he asked, finally, and then, because his voice gave out, he cleared his throat. “...do you have...something to tell me?”

“No,” Steve said, smiling—sadly, Billy thought, and he clenched his hands on the wheel. “...I think I just want to drive. South.”

“...yeah, okay,” Billy said automatically, and then, as was ingrained, “—sir.” Steve snorted a laugh.

As they passed through Carmel and then Indianapolis, Steve slowly relaxed, finally asking Billy to stop for breakfast when he was already an hour late for work. It wasn’t Billy’s place to ask, and he hardly wanted to remind Steve they were not where they were supposed to be, but something must have come across in his eyes as he chewed his bacon and watched Steve, because Steve’s smile went tense again.

“It’s all handled,” he said, sipping his coffee. “I think we can take a little road trip, don’t you?”

“For how long?” Billy asked, his fork freezing in midair, imagining just—spending time with Steve, walking, maybe. Going to a movie theater, he thought, huffing a laugh. He wondered whether Steve Harrington had ever been in a movie theater.

“I’m not sure,” Steve said, glancing up at him with an impenetrable expression, and Billy’s heart hurt, a little, because Steve Harrington had never been a difficult person to read.

After breakfast, Steve slid into the seat next to him, instead of the back, and rested his hand on Billy’s as he shifted gears. Billy could hardly keep his eyes off it.

“How long is this road trip,” he asked, keeping his voice even, and Steve laughed, grimacing.

“Depends on you,” he said.

I ate half of the pomegranate, Billy wanted to say.

Steve directed Billy into the garage next to a tall, narrow blue house with a long, wide porch and white trim, and Billy’s heart started to pound. “...is anyone else staying here?” he asked, cautiously, as Steve unlocked the door, and he shook his head, watching Billy’s face. They wandered into a fine living room, Billy thought, though sparsely furnished. As they wandered through the kitchen and upstairs, Billy pushed open a door on a room with a small, plain bed, and his things. His shoes, his trunk, no longer in the little apartment he shared with his dad.

No longer overlooking Harrington House.

“My friend Buckley has a house near here,” Steve said. “She told me this one was coming up for sale,” he said slowly, glancing at Billy. “...I could afford it.”

Billy was...happy, he thought, probably. “You’re...leaving me here?” he asked, his eyes stinging, and fixed on the plain little room. “You—you’ll visit. Sometimes.”

“I’m—no,” Steve said sharply, grabbing his arm, and Billy yanked away to sit on the squeaky mattress.

“You want me gone before the marriage, then,” he whispered. “I get...a few days? A day,” he bargained, glancing up at Steve, and setting his jaw. He wanted to swear at Steve, for—for being everything he wanted, he guessed. And everything he couldn’t have.

“No, no, I’ve broken off the engagement,” Steve said, grabbing Billy’s hands, “—and I’ve quit. I have a new job, Billy.”

“What,” Billy asked him, hoarsely.

“I’m disowned,” Steve said, laughing, his voice unsteady. “I’ve convinced my father I’m too difficult to reason with. I’m out of the will. I will live here. I bought the house with my money, from Mother.”

“Here,” Billy breathed, staring around again, and then at Steve’s face.

“I hoped you would like it here,” Steve told him. “I wanted to show you, so you could—road trip here. Come down on weekends, maybe—”

“You packed my things,” Billy reminded him. “Is this a little road trip, or—”

“This could be home,” Steve told him, smiling tensely. “Come see our room.”

“...our room,” Billy laughed, disbelievingly, as Steve drew him down the hall, and into a wide, high-ceilinged room with a massive bed.

“Our room,” Steve repeated, smiling against Billy’s lips, as Billy took shaky, bewildered breaths. “Who would question a single gentleman having a gentleman?”

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#harringrove #Harringrove April #Steve's the richest boy in the state probably #Billy's a chauffeur #They pine

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

Note

this isn't a real mermay prompt, but if the mood strikes you: indulgent supernatural sugar daddy indrid? roleplaying that he's finally reached the limit of his patience for duck's teasing and now he's going to tie him to the bed and use him however he sees fit

Here you go! I riffed on something we discussed on the discord. CW for mentions of stripping, blood and booze, the roleplay could be read as dubcon but it's clear what they're doing and that everyone is consenting and enjoying themselves. After care is show.

“Damn, guess they ain’t kiddin when they say it’s the city that never sleeps.” Duck stares from the window of their suite onto the flashing neon and 11 pm traffic of the Las Vegas strip.

“I thought that was New York City?” Indrid looks up from where he’s laying their dinner out on the shiny black table.

“Maybe? I dunno, only ever been there once, on a trip with my folks as a kid.” Duck slides into his chair across from his grinning boyfriend. They picked up a massive spread of food earlier tonight, their friend Barclay having lots of intel on the best food in the city and the affection for them to write out a detailed list where to try.

Indrid grabs a pill from his bag on the bathroom counter, then settles across from Duck with an excited grin, “There, now I can dine without fear.”

They’re well into dessert when Indrid wipes his lips with a thoughtful hum.

“You know, sweet one, this never silent, ever bright environment lends itself well to certain activities.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck leans across the table to take his hand.

“I have more details that we can discuss while we digest, but to begin; how do you feel about dressing like the loudest man on a college campus for the night?”

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

Duck strides into the main floor of the Wynn, the industrial strength air conditioner practically sending him into shock after the heat of the pavement and desert air.

En route to the agreed upon Blackjack table, he makes eye contact with his reflection in a bank of windows. Only the flip flops were in his suitcase when they arrived; the mint green muscle tank and khaki shorts came from the nearest thrift store. He picked up special underwear once he and Indrid separated, suspecting it will make his boyfriend laugh. He loves making him laugh, even during their most intense scenes.

He gets his chips, his seat, and his hand within ten minutes, signaling a waiter for a screwdriver. God only knows why, but it feels like what this kind of guy would order on a Saturday afternoon. Duck’s decent at Blackjack; Juno taught him how to play and Ned helped him refine his technique. So he’s holding his own when a new player sits down two stools to his right.

“I intend to play the eccentric millionaire.”

When Indrid uttered that sentence, Duck pictured a slight variation on his usual evening wear; the suit he brings on trips just so he can take Duck out for nice meals without--as happened on one occasion-- being forced to borrow a jacket from a waiter.

He was not expecting this.

Indrid’s suit is jet black, blood-red lining flashing when he unbuttons his coat. His usual red glasses perch on his nose, and he’s done something to his hair that renders it sleek rather than it’s usual silvery tangle. His back is straight, his smile wide, and his manners pure perfection.

“May I join on the next hand?”

“One sparkling water please. Do add on a nice tip for yourself, won’t you?”

“Twenty! Oh, how delightful.”

Indrid wins more than he loses, careful to go over or come too far under enough times to avoid accusations of counting cards. Duck’s stack of chips dwindles, and he directs his frustration at this fact towards Indrid, muttering unkind things whenever the older man says, “hit me.”

When he’s down to thirty bucks, he taps out. Pushes back from the table with the huff of a man who’s used to getting what he wants. He finds the nearest bar and takes a small table for himself.

The chair across from him doesn’t stay vacant long.

“Hello.” Indrid folds his hands on the table, smiling pleasantly.

“What the fuck do you want?” Duck grumbles.

“To see if you were alright. You seemed rather upset when you left the table.”

“Ain’t upset, I’m fuckin broke. Came to vegas to get laid and get rich and I’m strikin out on both so far.”

“Perhaps I can help. I, ah, we are both here alone. Why don’t we keep each other company? Two bachelors taking on the city.” Indrid gives a very awkward “ta-dah” with his fingers.

“Dunno, I don’t really feel like slummin.”

“You won’t be. I promise.”

Duck leans back in his chair, arms crossed, “Oh yeah?”

A knife-edge enters Indrid’s smile, only to be covered by a menu, “Let me buy you lunch as proof. Order whatever you like.”

He calls the older man’s bluff by ordering a craft beer, the most expensive burger on the menu, and three appetizers, only to discover it was not, in fact, a bluff. Indrid pays for everything without so much as glancing at the prices.

“There now” he smiles at Duck as the waiter clears his leftover steak (“as rare as possible, please”), “have I proven myself a worthy companion?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Excellent” Indrid claps his hands together, “then let us see what else this town has to offer.”

While they digest they peruse the malls and casino hop wherever there are shaded routes that allow them to do so. As they’re maneuvering through the throng near the aquarium, Indrid says, “tell me a bit about yourself, Duck. Nono, wait, let me guess; southern prep school, expensive college, a family very happy to support you while you search for your place in the world?”

Duck nods (the only ways he’s able to lie during their scenes).

“I certainly hope you didn’t burn through your trust fund playing the slots.” Indrid elbows him playfully.

“Nah. Set myself a limit for what I could spend gamblin each day.”

“Clever young thing.”

“Indrid, how old do you think I am?”

“Thirty?”

“Thirty-six.”

The crowd presses them closer together as Indrid murmurs, “You don’t look it.”

“If we’re goin for personal questions, how old are you?”

“Oh, a bit older than yourself.” Indrid replies breezily, “ooh, look, rays!”

When the thermometer flashing in-between advertisements for Lady Gaga and The Osmonds cracks a hundred, Indrid ushers Duck to the indoor pool at their hotel. His new companion lounges in a reserved cabana while Duck soaks in the cool water, other swimmers floating past him or propping themselves on the edges to talk with their partners.

And every time he surfaces, he feels a red tinted gaze watching him. His new friend isn’t even trying to hide it, flat out ogles him whenever he’s in shallow water. Duck’s far from the youngest or most ripped guy here, but Indrid’s eyes never stray. It’s flattering.

It also makes sinking further into his role as easy as slipping into the deep end.

If the rich weirdo wants to buy him fancy shit because Duck is hot, he can knock himself out. It’s not like Duck has to fuck him. But teasing him might get him even more free drinks and expensive souvenirs. If he plays his cards right, he won’t pay for a single thing the rest of his trip.

He hops out of the pool, takes his time drying off and stretching before laying on his belly on the swanky deck chair, facing the opposite direction Indrid is to give the other man a better view of his ass.

“Where to next?” He tries for a purr and only succeeds at exaggerating his drawl.

Indrid’s smile widens all the same, “I have a few ideas. But let’s linger here a bit longer.”

After that he stays as close to the other man as he can, let’s their shoulders bump and fingers brush as they make the rounds for some pre-dinner drinks. He even whispers a flirtatious word or two, makes Indrid blush when he orders a drink called “silver fox,” looks him dead in the eyes and grins, “my favorite.”

He’s plenty tipsy when Indrid steers them into a hallway where bass shakes the floor and pink light disguises the cracks in the walls.

“Can’t say you’ve been to Vegas unless you’ve seen a little sin.” Is all the explanation given before the doors open on a two story strip club.

“Holy fuck.” Duck lets Indrid shepherd him to a stage where several men with abs that look painted on play at fucking the air, the stage, and each other, much to the delight of the two bachelorette parties and the single men dotting the audience.

“You’re a fuckin genius.” Duck growls, sitting when Indrid pushes down on his shoulder. The older man takes the seat to his left, watching the proceedings with polite detachment. He orders a cocktail for Duck and water for himself.

In spite of his apparent disinterest, the dancers all come to Indrid, one after the other. In theory, some of them should pass by Duck afterwards. But they all go right back to the stage or to other patrons. The few times one even looks at him, their eyes immediately slide away onto Indrid.

The fact the other man is handing out fifties and hundreds like they’re singles probably helps.

A tall brunette is currently in Indrid’s lap, and the silver-haired man whispers something and points at Duck.

Suddenly there is a very hot man in a glorified thong in his lap, who gives him a vaseline slick smile, “Your friend over there bought you a dance.”

Indrid waves, the movement grating on Ducks pride. He glares in response.

The older man calls “you looked lonely.”

“I don’t need your fuckin charity.”

Indrid cocks his head, then shrugs, “very well. Please come back here, for double the tip.” He holds up three hundred-dollar bills. The instant the dancer is out of his lap, Duck stands and stomps out, swaying more than when he came in.

The onset of evening has worsened the crowds. He slogs and weaves through them with every intention of getting back to his room, ordering room service, and bandaging his scraped ego

“Why so down, Duck?”

“Fuck! Jesus, let a guy walk in peace will you?” Duck snaps as Indrid falls into step beside him.

“We're on the strip, there's no peace here. No quiet either. Makes it easy to do what one wants.”

Cool fingers find Duck’s wrist, keeping him from breaking ahead to the crosswalk. As they stand and watch the cars and buses roar by, Indrid murmurs, “How about a little friendly game as an apology?”

“Better not be fuckin blackjack.”

“Nono, I’m thinking Poker. If you win, you win bragging rights and whatever else you like that I can give you. But if I win...you have to walk me back to my room. I’ll still buy all the drinks, of course.”

Neon glints off a fang Duck pretends not to see.

“Fuck it, sure. I'm gonna wipe the table with you, old man.”

“I look forward to it.”

In spite of Indrid making good on his promise of drinks, Duck only has one Whiskey Sour before switching to water; being full-on drunk would make him worse at Poker, something he’s complete crap at on the best days. Figures Indrid would choose a game where bluffing is key.”

His card shark of a companion is beating him, and everyone else at the table, soundly. He also declines any food or drinks for himself. After two hours of play and countless hands of defeat, Duck surrenders. Indrid preens, tips their dealer, and wishes everyone else at the table a good night.

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

“Why are we takin the stairs to the top floor?” Duck stares up the winding flights, unable to see their stopping point.

“It’s good for one’s health. And it’s, ah, far more private.”

“Why do you need privacy gettin to your room.”

The footsteps behind him stop as they reach the next landing.

“Simple. I'm hungry.”

Duck whirls just in time to catch Indrid as he lunges at him, fangs bared. It turns out to be a useless movement, the vampire trapping him in a corner effortlessly.

“What the fuck, fuckin let me go.” Duck hisses.

Indrid licks a fang with a thoughtful hum, “I can, though it comes with its own risks.” He sighs, put upon, “But you have been such pleasant company, I suppose it’s only fair to give you a choice. If you let me feed now, I shall be as gentle as I can be and only take a little. Or you can take your chances at outrunning me. However, should I still catch you, then I will take as much blood--and whatever else I like--as I please.” He brushes their noses together, “It’s up to you, sweet one.”

Duck takes a deep breath, the game fading while Indrid gives him time to decide how he wants to play.

Then Duck shoves Indrid away from him and bolts through the nearby door, running down the maze of corridors until he finds his salvation. Indrid’s laugh is still ringing in his ears when the elevator door finally closes.

When the ding announces his floor, he pokes his head out like a prairie dog watching for a hawk. No sign of the vampire. He comforts himself with that though, and with the fact that there’s no way Indrid could catch up to him now, as he click his keycard into the lock.

He shuts the door and reaches for the light switch.

Chilly fingers circle his wrist.

“I win.”

Duck is dragged, then carried, through the darkness, the light not clicking on until he’s tossed onto the bed. Indrid stands at his side, grinning hungrily.

“W-wait, fuck, please, I, how’d you-”

“Quiet.” Indrid tosses his jacket on the floor, straddles Duck with fangs unashamedly on display. Duck whimpers, tries to curl in and protect his throat. Indrid noses at it all the same, “don't worry you spoiled excuse for a man, it won't hurt too much.”

“‘Drid” Duck gasps, tipping his head automatically at the purr in the vampires voice.

Cool lips tenderly meet his own, “Indulge me a bit longer?’

“Hell yeah I will, sugar.” Out of habit, he guides Indrid’s glasses off and sets them out of crushing range, “Uh. Please, my dad is real fuckin wealthy, I'll pay you whatever you want?”

Indrid traces a sharp fingernail along Duck’s collarbone, “What I want is you. All those years getting what you demanded, not lifting a finger, you'll taste very rich.”

“Please don't kill me.” Duck can feel himself getting harder whenever teeth brush his skin.

The vampire cups his cheek, “Not a chance. I need to eat often, after all. And you're perfect to be my new pet. Spoiled, handsome, and no one will miss you.”

“Fuck you” Duck kicks weakly at Indrid’s ankle.

Indrid tuts, “Do I need to tie you down? I could hold you down easily, but I need my hands free to cover that sinful mouth and enjoy this lovely body while I feed.”

“N-no, no I’ll be good, I’llAAH!” His whole body tenses as fangs pierce his neck. He wants to cry out more but it’s perilous, might make him jerk away and tear the skin. But his body has to do something to release the tension, or the taught coils that replaced his muscles might snap and leave him in pieces.

He’s saved by a rush of pleasure melting every tendon, caressing every nerve into calm. Duck sinks into the bed, his body registering the suck of Indrid feeding but feeling no need to intervene. The vampires right hand creeps down to hold Duck’s left, his satisfied hum setting arousal buzzing in his chest.

Duck only realizes he’s been slowly grinding on Indrid’s slacks when the other man laughs, muffled and bloody. The vampire raises his head, lapping at the wounds so not a drop is wasted, “greedy boy. Even when you're dinner you think your pleasure deserves priority.”

“Please.” He wants his teeth in his neck forever, he wants his fingers and tongue between his legs every night.

Indrid kisses the wounds, sits up while daintily wiping his mouth with his shirt-sleeve, staining the starched white with red, “Delectable. Don't go anywhere, pet.”

“Not your fucking pet.�� Wooziness pulls any teeth left in his tone, “and, and I thought you wanted me up here cause you were hungry. Now you ain’t. So, so I can go.”

“Oh no, that” he points to the marks on Duck’s neck, “was because I was hungry. The rest of tonight is happening because of your endless teasing.”

“I, uh, I don’t-” Duck turns bright pink.

“You were rather obvious. And silly me, indulging you because of your charms. Well, now it’s time to show me how grateful you are. Let me just slip into something a bit more comfortable.”

Indrid snaps his fingers. Reality gives a sickening crack. Then a mothman stands at the foot of the bed, feathers of soft browns rustling as he stretches his wings. He doesn’t have mandibles, but when he yawns it reveals rows of sharp teeth, the two where his human canines would be noticeably longer than the rest.

“Much better.”

Duck yelps, scrambles back into the headboard as Indrid dives onto the bed.

“Ah-ah” Indrid pins his arms and thighs to the bed with his four hands, “we had an agreement, little one. I get to do whatever I wish to you because you lost. And, more importantly” a long tongue drags up Duck’s cheek, “because that is how spoiled little humans earn their keep.”

“Oh god.” Is all Duck gets out before claws rip his shirt and shorts to colorful pieces. Indrid tips him sideways to finish mauling his shorts and pauses.

“What in the-” the vampire flips him onto his belly, stifles a giggle, “‘Bite me? Rather fitting underwear choice.”

“Thanks” Duck smirks into the blanket.

“Well, since I find myself incapable of denying you things, pet…” reality cracks once more.

“Wh-AHFUCK!” He yanks the nearest pillow over to muffle his cries as Indrid sinks his human fangs into the meat of Duck’s ass. It’s a different kind of pain, not as heart-pounding but just as fun. Indrid isn’t feeding, so he bites down only a few seconds before lifting his head to target another patch of skin. He doesn’t let up until Duck sobs his name into a silk pillow.

The vampire pulls back, but keeps Duck on his forearms and knees as he kisses a curve from his lower back to one of the innermost bite marks. Another shift and claws prick his legs.

“Mmmm, I can smell how turned on you are. I wonder….”

“Fuck, ohfuck” Duck pushes his hips back as Indrid’s tongue infurls down to tease his folds, “Indrid, please, please fuck me like that.”

“‘Ike ‘is?” The tongue presses in, thrusting lazily and without much pressure.

“Yes but, fuck, but more.”

A growl and Duck is slammed onto his back, Indrid looming over him with his wings outspread, “Have you forgotten the purpose of this evening?”

“No.” He stares up into red eyes, too turned on to be sheepish.

“Then why do you keep making demands? You have spent all day asking things of me and now it is time to show me why I tolerate such behavior.” He grabs Duck’s knees, holds them up and open with his lower arms, and purrs, “though there’s no denying your appeal from this angle.”

“Fuck yeah.” Duck fists the blanket in anticipation as Indrid adjusts them to put his head between the human’s legs. Indrid’s tongue caresses his dick, filling the room with slick, obscene sounds.

Then searing pain flashes through his left thigh as Indrid sinks the fangs of his form into it.

“FUCK! I, I thought, moths don’t-”

“Vampire moths do.” Indrid grins before smearing a line of red on Duck’s skin, “and I intend to drink my fill.”

Duck yelps again, slams a hand over his mouth when he remembers there’s two other suites on this floor.

“Be as loud as you like; I cast a little spell on this room to make sure no one hears what I’m doing to my new pet.” He thrusts his tongue into Duck without warning, fucking him on it until he’s bucking his hips, then pulling out to lap and suck at his thigh. When he next returns to sucking Duck’s dick, the feathers around his mouth are as red as his eyes.

Heat builds in Duck’s gut at the sight and he moans, “‘Drid, please, I’m so close to cummin just from this, please just let me cum.”

“Absolutely not.” Indrid drops his legs, dragging him into his lap with a hiss, “you have still not learned your lesson. You think you can get whatever you want just by looking sweetly at me. You’re so very wrong.” His upper arms trap Duck’s own behind his back while his lower set prick his hips, “now be a good pet and keep your legs open.”

Duck doesn’t get a chance to ask why; a cock, covered in vertical ridges with a very thick tip, shoves halfway into him.

“Mmmm, that’s lovely.” Indrid thrusts hurriedly, “now I remember why I put up with your demands all day. Spoiled though you may be, I’ve never had someone fit my cock so well. Ohhhhh” he opens his wings, grinning, “someone likes that.”

“Like you, fuck, Indrid, I swear I wasn’t, uh, wasn’t not teasing, no, fuck FUCKfuck” He takes as much as he can in one thrust, the last third still pulsing outside his body.

“Don’t lie, sweet human. I know you let me spoil you endlessly, teased me mercilessly all day, all while thinking you would spend your evening asleep and alone, rather than where you belong.”

Duck whimpers as his thighs fight to keep up the pace. They give out a moment later but nothing happens; Indrid’s grip on his hips is so strong he’s moving him without help.

“Fuck that’s so fuckin good.”

Indrid flutters his wings “You see how easily I control you, sweet one? You may be strong and handsome, but at the end of the day you’re nothing more than a toy for me to use and discard as I please.”

He whines at that, let’s himself go limp so it’s easier to hide his face in Indrid’s fluff.

“Don’t worry, pet, I shall not discard you. As I said, you are perfect for me, a lovely little gift to myself after a day spent giving them to you.” The hands restraining his arms let go and he instantly wraps them as far around the vampire as he can. Then clawed fingers gingerly stroke his dick. He groans out a thank you and Indrid laughs.

“Oh no, this isn’t for you. I just find that humans taste even better during orgasm.”

Any noise Duck makes in reply is drowned out in fluff and Indrids high, trilling moans as he sinks his teeth into his neck. Duck thrashes helplessly as his orgasm burns out his veins and muscles, leaving a melted man in its wake.

“Perfection” Indrid purrs, licking at the bite to close it as he grunts and pumps his hips, “my spoiled little human is finally worth something OHyesss, yes.” He holds a squirming Duck down on his cock as his spurts into him, the human unable to do anything but cling to him and moan his name.

A sweet voice lilts in Ducks ear, “if you ever forget what you’re for, or dare to tease me so again, I will strap you down in my lap and fill you until it sloshes.”

Duck nods to show he heard, but only gets through half the movement before wincing.

“Oh, oh dear, is the bite too big?”

“N-no, think, think it’s just real sore. You bit hard both times.”

“Let me look to be certain...yes, you’re right, the wounds are the usual size. Come, let’s get you in a bath at once.”

The next thing he knows, spindly arms lower him into the fancy jacuzzi. Indrid chirps over him, telling him how wonderful he is, how well he did, promising to fetch him anything he desires for dinner, all while bandaging the bigger marks and scrubbing blood from his chest. When the vampire is satisfied with his efforts, he takes his human form and joins Duck in the tub. The human immediately waves him into his lap and guides him into a kiss.

“Insatiable thing.” Indrid purrs, nuzzling his cheek.

“Damn right. And you love me for it.”

“That I do.”

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #reader requests #vampire au #monster boyfriend #terato

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glimmerglanger · 4 years ago

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Whumptober 2020 - Day 13

Part 13 of the oof!au. There’s a lot of hurt to go around and not a lot of sleep.

General Information: Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. (Getting closer). Past/eventual Codywan. Past one-sided Vaderwan.

Warnings: Fall-out from past torture, captivity, mind control, and non-con. Guilt.

No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE?

Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

Communication with the few people Obi-Wan had left to trust in the galaxy wasn’t easy, but he remembered how to do it, sending a coded message off to Alderaan, hoping for the best. He knew an immediate answer was unlikely, but lingered on the bridge, anyway.

The alternatives were not appealing. He knew he ought to, really, go to the quarters he’d been given. He’d visited the room, once, during the time they’d spent aboardship. The walls had been grey, and for a moment, standing in the doorway, he’d had a jarring sense of being in two places at once.

He’d held onto the doorframe with his hand, breathing slow and steady through his nose, making himself focus on the present, the way he’d learned to do long ago, the first time he’d come back from a mission that left behind more than physical scars. The room on the ship had a little bed, sheets neatly tucked in, and even a viewport.

There was no drain in the floor. In fact, the door set off to one side implied the presence of an actual fresher. Maybe even a sonic shower. There hadn’t been time to enjoy such a luxury with the ship broken down and dying. Obi-Wan had managed to step inside the room, to remain there for less than a minute before he had to open the door again and stumble out, backwards, going until his back bumped the far wall, his heart beating too fast in his chest.

“Sir?” Cody had asked, emotions a knot that Obi-Wan couldn’t work through, ragged concern in his voice.

And Obi-Wan had managed to say, wondering why Cody had been in the hall outside his quarters, “We should get back to work.”

There was no work to be done, while he waited for a message back from Bail. He fiddled with small repairs on the bridge, and breathed a sigh of relief when a reply came through, sparing him the need to make further excuses to avoid his quarters and the silent stillness within them.

The reply he got, short and coded, limited as much as possible to give nothing away if it were intercepted, included coordinates and a brief message. He decoded it and read it over twice, before Cody said, frowning at the screen, “That’s deep in Wild Space.”

“It is,” Obi-Wan said, considering the travel time of such a voyage, wondering what would be waiting at the other side. He knew barely anything about the rebellion that Bail mentioned in the missive. Nor could he imagine why anyone in it would be happy to see him.

“Is that where we’re going?” Tektek asked, walking over from the station he’d been repairing; weapon’s systems, Obi-Wan thought, the lay-out of the bridge wasn’t quite the same as the Negotiator’s had been.

Obi-Wan shrugged, staring at the coordinates. “That’s up to everyone, I suppose.” He glanced over at Tektek, working a smile onto his mouth. “You can all go wherever you like.” There was, at least, a kind of relief in that realization.

His men - this portion of them, anyway, and Obi-Wan did not know how many more survived - were free. Freer even than they’d been during the War. Free from the orders of the Senate, free from any minders that might have been sent after them from Kamino, free from the control in their heads. They could go and do whatever they liked. Finally.

“Sure,” Tektek said, a little frown on his face, “so where are you going?”

Obi-Wan reached up to rub at his chin with a hand he didn’t have anymore and closed his eyes, briefly, marshalling his expression. “I suppose,” he said, when his voice felt steady, “I’ll go see what’s waiting at the end of these coordinates.”

He had nothing else better to do. He could return to Tatooine, but… it seemed unlikely Luke needed his protection, anymore. He’d run, after his first trip to Mustafar, tried to bury himself away from all the rest of the galaxy.

It hadn’t worked.

There seemed to be little point to trying the same thing again.

“Set a course,” Cody said, and Obi-Wan turned to blink over at him.

“You don’t have to take me there,” he said, cautiously, because Cody’s emotions were always held so tightly. He felt like he was walking on a wire, like he was waiting for an explosion. His men were hurt inside, he could feel it, and he still didn’t know how to help. He’d tried to apologize several times, but it got him nowhere. He got the distinct feeling that having him around made them feel worse. And so he swallowed and said, evenly as he could, “This is your ship--”

“Our ship,” Cody interrupted, echoed by Tektek and the other troopers around the room.

Obi-Wan’s heart ached. He didn’t know how he was hurting them, or how to make it stop, but he was touched that they still wanted to include him. “Our ship, then,” he said. “But, if you want to drop me--”

“We don’t,” Cody bit out, emotions all sharp edges, just for a moment, gaze snapping up, his eyes dark and fierce.

Obi-Wan held his gaze - it was rare, Cody seemed to avoid looking directly at him, most of the time - and said, “I’d like to give everyone the option to decide.”

Cody blinked and then shrugged. “Of course,” he said, and then looked away, jaw clenched before he continued, “Do you want to go alone?”

Obi-Wan thought of his quarters, the empty cell on Mustafar, his hovel on Tatooine, and shuddered. He said, before he could stop himself, “No. I -- no. Not alone. But--”

“There you are,” Bones interrupted, storming into the room with a scowl, and it took Obi-Wan a moment to realize he was talking to Cody. “I told you to get down to the infirmary after the situation was resolved.”

“It wasn’t resolved,” Cody shot back, and Bones scowled at him.

Obi-Wan slipped towards the door while they were arguing. He thought, perhaps, he’d better ask around, make sure his men really wanted to head off into Wild Space. Force knew they deserved the choice to determine their own future, and if it kept him busy, well…

So much the better. Moving helped him stay awake, in any case. And he wasn’t ready to risk sleeping.

All of his men - they weren’t really his men anymore, he knew that, they were their own people - seemed to want to head off to Wild Space. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps they just didn’t know where else to go, yet. Perhaps they wanted to stick together.

He understood that.

Obi-Wan spoke to as many people as he could find, eventually ending up near one of the group freshers on the ship. He stood outside for a moment, feeling gritty and filthy, mind buzzing with loud exhaustion.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d bathed properly, the last time he’d been able to just stand under water for as long as he wanted and clean himself off. He knew he stank. There was blood caked over his skin, peeling off here and there, augmented with oil and filth from ship repairs.

There were troopers in the room. He felt their presence and reached his hand out, almost touching the door controls.

There had been communal baths at the Temple. Beautiful, tiled rooms with pools of various temperatures, to accommodate Jedi from different worlds. Some had been fresh water, others salt, some had contained nutrients that gave Obi-Wan a terrible rash, but brought on the colors in Master Fisto’s skin.

He’d grown up playing in the pools, relaxing, surrounded by those he cared about, by his family.

The Jedi were all dead. Aside from Master Yoda, he did not know for sure that any others survived, though he hoped, he hoped so desperately that his message had gotten through, that there were others out there, safe and hidden and--

And he shoved all of those thoughts aside. He just wanted to be clean. He’d scrubbed down around his men - not his men, their own men - before, during the war. But - but his presence hadn’t hurt them, then. Being around him didn’t make their emotions stain out into the Force, so thick that it tightened his throat.

He took a step back, turned, and made himself go to his quarters. It was just a room. Just a few walls and a bunk. It had a fresher of its own and he worked to keep his breathing steady as the door closed at his back.

He focused on his pulse - racing - as he walked across the room, tugging off the blacks he’d been wearing for too many days. He left them piled on the floor, reaching out to turn on the water - he didn’t want a sonic shower, not then - and freezing as he caught a look at himself in the mirror.

He’d not… seen himself for some time. Not in anything but the reflections off of Anakin’s helmet. He’d managed to convince himself that those were, for the most part, warped. Perhaps they hadn’t been.

His hair was a tangle, grown to hang over his ears and in his face. There was so much white in it, far more than he remembered even from Tatooine. His beard was starting to grow back in, stubbly across his cheeks and jaw. White in that hair, too, he noted.

There were dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks cut sharp. He’d lost weight he couldn’t afford to lose. Too many ribs stood up against his skin. No wonder the troopers kept trying to get him to eat; he’d lost count of how many nutrient packs they’d brought him over the days of repair.

His skin bore new scars. He could see the edges of the brands Anakin had left on his back, the burns raised and red. His gaze roamed across the mirror until he couldn’t avoid, any longer, looking at his left arm.

It just...stopped, a bit above where his elbow had once been, and he shuddered, hearing Anakin’s voice in his head, staring across into the past, into Tektek’s eyes, Anakin saying, “This is fair, isn’t it? You deserve this, don’t you?”

Obi-Wan made it to the toilet before he gagged, vomit rising up his throat so suddenly it made him dizzy. He spat down into the bowl, afterwards, shivery all over and breathing hard. The smell of burned skin was stuck in his nose. He needed to bathe. That was all. Needed to get clean. It would help, he knew from experience.

The water was hot, when he stepped under it. He scrubbed at his hair, at his skin, vicious with the movements, watching filthy water swirl around his feet and down the drain. Eventually, the water ran clear. Obi-Wan braced his hand against the wall and let the water run over him, the warmth feeding the exhaustion in his head.

He didn’t remember the last time he had slept. Whatever he’d done in the bacta, back on Mustafar, it hadn’t been restful. Nothing on Mustafar had been restful. Whatever he’d done as Cody carried him away hadn’t been sleep, either. Unconscious wasn’t the same as sleeping.

He shivered, turning off the water eventually. There was a towel, hanging outside the stall. He grabbed it and learned how to dry off with one hand. There was a little clothing locker out in the room. It had a set of blacks - clean - in it. Obi-Wan pulled them on quickly.

He liked having clothes to wear, again. It made him feel… further away from everything Anakin had done, even if they didn’t fit right. He knotted the left sleeve, awkward with only one hand, and then stood there, breathing.

Exhaustion battered at the back of his eyes. He knew, perfectly well, that he ought to lay down and sleep. It would help. He’d always done what he needed to do. So he marched stiffly over to the bed and made himself lay down.

The mattress and pillow were nothing special. They felt the same as his bed on the Negotiator. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Sleep. That was what he needed. He’d recovered from - well, perhaps not worse.

But he’d recovered. Before. From similar torture.

He’d had help.

He exhaled and closed his eyes, stretching out his mind throughout the ship, checking on the troopers. They all felt worn thin. Exhausted. Hurt and aching. He did what he could to soothe them, the dark behind his eyes getting heavier, harder to hold at bay, and he slept. Briefly.

He dreamed of hands holding him down, fingers burning hot as brands pressed into his skin, smoke rising off of his body as he thrashed and tried to get away, unable to scream as Anakin stepped behind him, lowering a long, slightly curved brand, glowing white hot, pushing it--

Obi-Wan jerked awake with a whine caught behind his teeth, sweaty under his clothes, breathing raggedly, his blood pounding wildly in his veins. According to the chrono beside the mattress, he’d been asleep around an hour.

“Force,” he panted out, shaking, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and resting his elbow on his thigh, hanging his head down, trying to control his breathing. He could still feel the burning. Still smell char in his nose. He pushed to his feet, swaying for just a moment, and swallowed bile.

Sleep could wait, he decided. Surely there was something on the ship that needed doing. He stepped out of the room to find Cody walking down the hall, a frown on his face and his hands clenched at his sides. Cody paused as his door opened and said, “I thought you were sleeping.”

Obi-Wan made his mouth curve up in the edges. “Not tired,” he lied. “Thought I’d get something to eat.”

Cody’s gaze cut to the side. He nodded, said, “Alright,” and followed Obi-Wan, without another word, down to the mess hall.

There were other troopers eating, when they arrived. Obi-Wan grabbed a nutrient pack. They watched him, all of them, keeping an eye on him as he crossed the room, their emotions bunching up from his presence.

He paused beside Tektek, looking at his recently shaved head, and asked, thoughts jerky and uncoordinated with exhaustion, “Are there scissors around here, somewhere? A razor?” His hair hung too long, falling into his face, and he hated--

Hated the memories of fingers clenched in it, of Anakin, pulling him around by the strands, forcing his head down and--

“Yes, sir,” Tektek said, looking up at him, grip tightening on his fork for a moment.

“Do you think I could borrow them?” Obi-Wan asked, trying to smile and not quite managing it, trying to be normal, trying to be...whatever it was they needed him to be, to stop them all radiating such agony into the Force. He glanced down at himself and said, aiming for rueful, “I don’t know how well I’ll do, but anything is better than this.”

“I’ll help you, General,” Mav said, standing from where he’d been sitting across from Tektek. He had - perhaps of all of Obi-Wan’s men - gone through the most different styles during the war. He’d never quite settled on one he liked. Or perhaps the different choices were what he liked, in and of themselves.

“You don’t--” Obi-Wan started, but Mav had already turned on his heel and marched off. Obi-Wan blinked, watching him go.

Tektek said, “Sit here, sir, he’ll be back in a moment,” and Obi-Wan had thought they didn’t want him around - he made them hurt - but it must not have been so terrible. Perhaps they could just tell how much he didn’t want to be alone.

He sat, with a little smile, Cody pulling out the chair beside him and joining them, wordlessly. Cody, he noted, with a sideways glance, still looked exhausted, hurt radiating out of him. Obi-Wan needed to have a word with Bones.

He opened his nutrient pack, sighed at the contents - still better than the gruel he’d subsited on under Anakin’s care - and took a bite, aware of glances being exchanged over his head. Conversation resumed, slowly, as he ate.

“We were talking about what to name the ship,” Tektek offered, his food finished, though he made no effort to get up. “What do you think we should name her?”

Obi-Wan glanced up, surprised he was being asked. “What’s her name, now?”

It was Cody who answered, flat, as Mav made his way back through the room, supplies in his arms. He said, “The Executioner.”

Obi-Wan grimaced, swallowing the last bite. He’d learned to eat quickly very young, and never forgotten how. It was so much harder for people to take food away from you if you’d already swallowed it. He said, “Yes, I think we can do better than that. Are you keeping her, then?”

Tektek glanced towards Cody and then shrugged. “We thought, sir, well. This is one of the Empire’s new models. She’s built to fight. Be a shame to let her go to waste.”

Obi-Wan nodded. He thought about Coruscant, about the Temple, about all of his family, slaughtered, about his men, turned inside out and trapped in their own minds. Anakin had done many things, but he hadn’t been the architect of all this suffering.

“It would,” he agreed, finally, as Mav reached them and deposited his supplies on the table.

He’d found a brush somewhere, and Obi-Wan felt an embarrassing sting in his eyes just from the sight of it. It had been...a long time, since he’d brushed his hair. Mav reached out, making to touch his shoulder, and then froze when Cody made a sharp, abrupt noise, stiffening beside him.

Their emotions were a painful tangle, so many emotions, all trying to tug Obi-Wan down. He felt so tired; it made them more difficult to handle. He braced his hand on the table, reeling with it all as Mav asked, “Sir, is it -- can I--?”

Obi-Wan managed a nod, after a moment. “Yes,” he said. “Go right ahead.”

And Cody stayed tense as a compressed spring beside him, as Mav tried to work through the tangles, eventually giving up and cutting out the worst of the knots. The troopers around them bandied names back and forth as Mav worked, and each hank of hair that fell made Obi-Wan feel lighter, until he thought he might float away.

“How short do you want it?” Mav asked, eventually.

And Obi-Wan said, “Shorter,” without even thinking about it. He didn’t want it long enough for anyone to twist fingers into it, he wanted--

“I can clip it,” Mav said, cautiously, and Obi-Wan nodded.

The razor buzzed at the back of his head, slicing away more of the hair, until Obi-Wan could imagine that all the parts Anakin had touched were gone, laying around him across the floor, and they shouldn’t have done this in the mess hall, but…

“There you go,” Mav said, when he finished, turning off the razor, and Obi-Wan reached up to run his hand over the top of his head. The hair wasn’t shaved completely. It prickled his palm. He didn’t think he’d had it so short since his Padawan days, and--

“Thank you,” he said, looking up and crooking a smile onto his mouth. Mav nodded; he felt… steadier, through the Force. Not so raw and shredded as he gathered things up, and Obi-Wan said, quietly, “So, about the name.”

“I was thinking,” Cody said, tone stiff and flat, and he hadn’t moved, though he was long finished his meal, “The Recompense.”

Obi-Wan froze, swallowing, but his men - they were their own men - well, if anyone deserved a chance for justice, a chance to make things right… He nodded, and said, “A good choice.” And he was happy to just sit there, listening to them all discuss it, for a while.

Obi-Wan couldn’t just sit in the mess hall forever, as much as he wouldn’t have minded. Bones swung by, eventually, told him he looked exhausted, and pointedly suggested he ought to go sleep.

Obi-Wan didn’t have the energy to fight, so he nodded and made his way towards his quarters. He tried to sleep again. He made it a few hours, before he was roused, the taste of vomit in his mouth and the burning memory of Cody’s hands blazed across his skin.

He got up.

Over the next days of travel he snagged pieces of sleep here and there, knowing, deep down, that he needed more. He sorted away his own nightmares, working through them, but when he was sleeping… the pain of everyone else on the ship tended to slip into his head.

He didn’t only have his nightmares, in the days that followed.

He dreamed the dreams of others, and they all featured him, every single one. He closed his eyes and watched himself scream - had he looked like that? - and felt himself struggling against a borrowed body, as, in the dreams, he did terribly things to his own body, and--

And he knew he needed sleep, but… Staying awake hurt less.

They’d nearly reached the coordinates where they were to stop when Obi-Wan found a little room where some of the troopers had gathered - they were cleaning their blasters, almost silent - and he slipped inside, settling in a corner. They noticed him, he felt their emotions shift at his presence, but none of them said anything.

They just… glanced his way as he folded his legs and drew his back straight. They’d likely gotten used to him meditating. He’d done it often, once upon a time. He tried to sink down into the Force, looking for serenity within his mind, and jarred, just a little, when Cody came through the door a few minutes later.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes closed, kept focusing.

Meditating would help restore his energy, somewhat. He drew in a deep breath, planning to order his thoughts, and sleep snuck up on him, swallowing him down.

Obi-Wan dreamed of burning shackles around his wrists - both of them - and Anakin, as he’d been once, but with burning yellow eyes, snarling, “This is what you deserve, isn’t it? Say it!” And pain and pain and pain and--

He woke with his heart trying to beat out of his chest, trying to tear through his ribs. There were hands on his shoulders, familiar and well-known, a voice saying, “--up, just a dream, it’s--”

Obi-Wan lurched, snapping his eyes open, his veins burning and his gut hard, reaching out for the Force, desperately, trying to tell what was real and what was only in his head. Cody was - was crouched in front of him, touching him -- holding him down, fingers digging into his skin -- radiating horror and concern and guilt and--

Obi-Wan flinched, couldn’t help it, a reflex in his spine making him pull back, trying to scramble away. He felt Cody’s emotions flare out even as he jerked his hands off of Obi-Wan’s shoulders. And that was worse, somehow, being alone, again -- laying in an empty cell, alone, nothing but the drain and --

Cody froze, went still and stiff, emotions blanking, and there was movement, past his shoulder, sudden and jerking. Obi-Wan flinched again, curling his arm up, automatic to protect his head, strangling off a cry in his throat, and Cody twisted to look over his shoulder, snarling, “Get back! All of you! Now!”

Obi-Wan listened to them scramble back, their emotions all torn to shreds, pulling him deeper into a spiral of his own making. Shame and horror surged through Obi-Wan. He knew it hurt them to be around him, he should have been more cautious. They all felt agonized, flayed open, and he worked to control himself, to pull the nightmare apart into wisps, clearing his throat to rasp, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Cody said, voice cracking.

“I know I failed you all,” Obi-Wan said, the edges of their dreams still curled up in his head. He could just close his eyes, feeling exhaustion digging its poisonous fingers into his brain, letting the words spill out. “I don’t blame you. For wanting to stay away from me. I--”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody sounded like he’d been gut-shot again. It was the first time he’d said Obi-Wan’s name in...so long. Obi-Wan shivered at the sound of it. Even during the war, it had been rare for Cody to use his name. He’d saved it for those special occasions, when he thought Obi-Wan was going to die.

“I’m very tired,” Obi-Wan said, trying to offer Cody a way out of this conversation, a way forward. And it was true, anyway.

“I’ll get you back to your quarters,” Cody said, softly, and Obi-Wan nodded. He should have never imposed on them, anyway.

Shouting woke Obi-Wan from a dream of clawing hands and teeth, eating into him. He jerked, terror translating over into the waking world for a moment--

And he reached out with the Force, trying to find out what was going on, and the first thing he touched was Cody’s mind, close by, overfull with fierce, bright emotions, all burning edges, protectiveness and anger blazing out of him.

“Sir!” a voice yelled from the doorway as light flooded in, and Obi-Wan’s memories slotted into place. He’d… fallen asleep in his bunk. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but his head felt heavy. “We’ve reached the coordinates,” Shortfuse said, worry and excitement moving through him. “And there’s a ship waiting, sir. Thought you’d want to know.”

“Kriff,” Obi-Wan said, rubbing at his face, glad to have something to focus on, something to hold onto. “I suppose we’d better go see who it is.”

“I’m not sure you should be here,” Cody said, five minutes later, as they reached the docking port on the ship. He’d said it three times already, expression flat and emotions tightly contained. “We can handle this.”

“So can I,” Obi-Wan said, lightly, checking the blaster in his hand again. He disliked using the weapons, but he disliked more the idea of using Anakin’s bloody red lightsaber, ever again. He listened to the docking ports whirl and hum, stretching out his senses towards the other ship, shivering at what he picked up, hesitating to believe it was real.

“Besides,” he said, as the airlock hissed, preparing to open, “I don’t think we’re going to have trouble.”

It had been years since he’d felt the mind on the other side of the door. And it was not...quite the same. There were major differences. But…

He held his breath as the airlock rose, caught a flash of white, and heard Cody make a harsh, flat sound. Cody grabbed him - apparently not so leery of touching him, now - and yanked him back a step, blaster up and drawn on the man in trooper armor on the other side of the door, who was also moving, shoving the figure with him back a step, moving in front of her, blaster raised.

Obi-Wan gripped Cody’s wrist, forcing his hand down, snapping, for the benefit of the rest of his men, “Don’t shoot! No one fire a shot, do I make myself clear?”

And, from behind the trooper before them, a familiar voice said, cracking with shock, “Master Obi-Wan?”

Ahsoka stepped around the side of her partner - and Obi-Wan thought he recognized Rex’s mind, too, not understanding how that was possible - ignoring him when he tried to pull her back a step, hissing, “What the kriff are you doing?”

“They’re not chipped,” Obi-Wan said, staring forward, at a ghost. He’d thought Ahsoka dead, like all the rest of their family, but there she stood in front of him, taller and sharper, her montrals curved and pointed, but her eyes just the same, wide and shocked and aching.

“Master?” she croaked again, taking a step towards him, looking him up and down, her expression growing more and more horrified by the moment. And then she was to him, reaching out, and Cody made a hard, sharp sound in his throat, gripping Obi-Wan’s arm and pulling him bodily back a step.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan said, not sure who he was talking to, specifically. Perhaps all of them.

Past Ahsoka’s shoulder, the trooper in the airlock removed his helmet, familiar blond hair still trimmed short, a few new scars over his face, and Rex was alive; Ahsoka was alive. Bail had sent them to Obi-Wan, he’d--

Ahsoka made a hoarse sound, and threw herself at him, arms around his neck, pulling him close. Obi-Wan buried a flinch, an automatic drive to jerk away from her. He managed, after a moment, to curl his arm around her, instead, while, somewhere far away, Rex demanded, “What the kriff is going on?”

#whumptober2020 #no.23 #exhaustion #references to past torture and non con #mental anguish #guilt and emotional trauma #oof!au #my writing #codywan #they're getting there #and look #help!

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mrsluttystark · 4 years ago

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Repeat After Me Part 2

Part 1

You guys have no idea how much it meant to me that part 1 was so well received. Thank you from the bottom of my little starker heart!

Tags: nff, age difference, former teacher/student, mention of daddy kink, mention of choking

Word count: 3.1k

Read below the cut

Peter wakes up five minutes before his alarm, like he always does. He absolutely hates the shrill screech of it. His bed creaks and groans as he sits up and swings his legs over the side. Suddenly, the springs that had previously been holding him up collapse under him, making him yelp in surprise. Peter made a mental note that maybe it was time for a new bed, he’d been holding on to the rickety twin mattress he had all his childhood since it was the only thing he had left from May’s.

He usually went into the lab on Saturdays, even though he was supposed to be off during the weekend. It’s not like he has plans or anything, but he guesses he could shift his schedule around a little to go mattress shopping.

His arm darts out like clockwork and taps his screen to turn the alarm off before his phone could utter the first mind melting ring. Peter runs a hand through his hair to brush some stray curls out of his face and stretches before getting out of bed to do his morning routine.

It’s not until Peter sits down at his two-seater dining table with a bowl of captain crunch berries, two pieces of toast, and a cup of earl gray tea, does he finally check his phone.

The spoon is barely out of his mouth when he sees the notifications. Eyes wide, he chokes on the cereal trying to force its half chewed self down his throat. He can taste the oat milk is his nose and it is not good.

Mr. Stark accepted his friend request and messaged him? Peter looked around his apartment, skeptical. Was he dreaming? Was this one of those life-like dreams where he gets ready for the day then wakes up and has to do it all over again? He looked down at his arm, should he pinch himself? No, Peter, that’s stupid.

He shook his head and looked at his phone again, opening the Messenger app.

Hey, Kid.

Shit, he was toast. Collecting himself, Peter took a deep breath to prepare himself for a conversation with his former high school teacher (that he may or may not want to fuck him senseless and cuddle afterward). He racked his brain thinking about how to approach this. Should he be bold?

Hi, Daddy. Please cum down my throat? Yeah...that might be too bold.

Hello, Mr. Stark. I humbly thank you for accepting my friend request. Ugh, too weird.

He’s overthinking it, he knows. Peter types out and deletes maybe five more messages before he finally settles on:

09:10 am

Hi, Mr. Stark. It’s Peter.

09:11 am

Parker.

Peter threw his phone down on the table and put his head in his hands, bowl of cereal soggy and forgotten. He made a face at it and pushed the bowl away, pulling his toast closer. He took bites of a slice distractedly and washed it down with some tea. He’d regret not eating a proper breakfast later, but right now his appetite was replaced with a turning feeling that he couldn’t quite place. His phone vibrates on the table, startling him from his thoughts.

From Tony Stark 09:22 am

Yeah, Peter. I did read your name on your profile.

09:23 am

Right. Sorry.

From Tony Stark 09:23 am

Don’t worry about it, Kid. Just pokin’ fun.

09:24 am

(sweating emoji)

Thanks for accepting my friend request btw, Mr. Stark.

From Tony Stark 09:26 am

No big deal, thanks for the request, it’s been a while.

And Tony is fine, you’re not my student anymore, Pete.

09:26 am

Yeah, okay. Tony. I can do that

So you remember me?

From Tony Stark 09:27 am

I remember all my students

09:27 am

Really???

From Tony Stark 09:28 am

No, not really lol

But I do remember you, you were a lot skinnier back then.

09:30 am

(eye roll emoji) And you were a lot younger

From Tony Stark 09:31 am

Ouch, that was uncalled for

09:32 am

You asked for it

So what have you been up to?

From Tony Stark 09:34 am

I’m a mechanical engineer now, quit teaching a few years ago. What about you?

09:35 am

That’s awesome! You were way too smart to be a teacher.

I’m a research chemist

From Tony Stark 09:38 am

Thanks, kid.

That’s about where I’d thought you’d end up, as smart as you are.

09:40 am

Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Stark

Tony*

Sorry.

From Tony Stark 09:40 am

Everywhere?

09:41 am

Everywhere.

From Tony Stark 09:50 am

Say, Pete. I don’t actually have a habit of checking this app and I’m about to head out of the house for the day. I’d like to continue this conversation, so here’s my number if you wanna text me [hidden contact information].

No pressure of course.

From Tony Stark 09:53 am

Peter?

New Message

To: Tony

You know who I am.

From: Tony

Had me there for a second kid.

I’m about to drive, I’ll text you in a bit.

Peter put his phone down for the first time in almost an hour, eyes straining to refocus after staring at his screen intensely for so long. His heart was pounding in his chest and his cheeks were starting to ache from smiling. Had that really happened? Peter brought a hand up to rub at his jaw, still in a daze. He was finding it very hard to believe that this wasn’t some elaborate dream because there is absolutely no way that this could’ve happened in real life. Talk about a glitch in the simulation.

He really got Tony Stark’s phone number, and he didn’t even have to ask for it!

Peter scoffed in disbelief, no fucking way! He opened the Facebook app again and went to Tony’s profile. Turns out there wasn’t much else on it, he had a total of 3 profile pictures and less than 100 friends, none of which were other students and only a few midtown teachers. So, he either was a very private person or he didn’t use Facebook at all. And if it was the latter (or both for that matter), why did he accept Peter’s friend request in the first place?

Peter decided not to think about it right now.

He went to his profile pictures and glanced at the current one he already studied last night. The previous one was just the Guns N’ Roses album cover for Appetite for Destruction. Classic Rock fan, noted. His first profile picture, though, was an absolute masterpiece. Tony looked to be on a beach somewhere, his hair was wet and messy from the clear blue salt water. Peter wanted to run his tongue over every inch of the olive toned skin exposed to the sun. His smile was radiant, framed by neatly trimmed facial hair, with thick, dark eyebrows peeking over his sunglasses. Swung low on his hips right below a toned stomach were hot rod red swim shorts that stopped in the middle of his thigh, showing off his tan legs dusted with dark hair.

Peter tried not to look, he really did, but he could not stop his eyes from landing on the older man’s crotch. And he was not disappointed. There, curving onto his thigh, was a long, thick unmistakable dick print. Peter’s mouth watered at the sight as his own cock stirred with interest.

Fuck. He wondered how big he really was in person. How far he could take it down his throat. He wanted to know how it would feel to be stretched and filled by Tony’s cock.

Scooting his chair back abruptly, Peter shot up off of it. His hard-on tenting almost painfully in his pajama pants and it was starting to create a wet spot. Mattress shopping can wait, Peter needed to cum, like, yesterday.

He rushes to his room and yanks the drawer of his night stand open, revealing a wooden box. Peter unlatches the box and grabs a bottle of lube and his veiny lifelike vibrating dildo with a suction cup right behind the silicone balls from his small collection. This one was by far his favorite, it’s eight inches long and he loved feeling the veins and the girth of it filling him up.

Peter lays a towel down on his bed and climbs to the middle, carefully avoiding the new dent in the mattress. He bunches up the pillows behind his back so he’s laying at an incline, then starts rubbing himself over his pajama pants while he uncaps the lube and squeezes some onto his fingertips. Clumsily, he pulls and shimmies his pants down his hips with his left hand, breath hitching when his heated erection makes contact with the cool air in his apartment. It lands with a light smack against his abs and Peter tugs his shirt up and under his chin. Kicking his pants off his bed, Peter spreads his legs. He can feel his hole puckering in anticipation of being used.

His left hand begins lightly skimming his torso, feeling his abs contract under his finger tips. Bringing them higher, he rubs across his chest, pinching his nipples softly. Peter rubs the lube between his thumb and forefinger to warm it up, then starts rubbing the tight ring of muscle in circles, making his cock jump.

Once he’s coated, he sinks a finger in slowly to coax himself open. His left hand continues caressing his body, skirting across the area right above his cock. Peter lets out a plethora of whines and pants, eyes screwed shut at the feeling. The image of Tony’s face urging him to take another finger.

He knows Tony’s fingers would be thicker, stretching him wider than Peter ever could with his own. The younger man hoped his former teacher would be able to handle him the way he wanted. Peter imagined large, strong hands encircling his throat while the other gripped hard on his hips while he took him.

Three of his fingers are buried deep in himself before he even touches his neglected, leaking cock. His left hand comes to collect the precum pooling at the head and dribbling down his shaft, allowing his hand to glide along his hot skin. He strokes himself lazily as he pulls his fingers out and reaches for the dildo. Uncapping the lube again he slicks up the silicone and brings it to his open, waiting hole.

Pulling his left hand off of his cock, Peter grabs one of the pillows and stuffs it under the small of his back.

He imagines Tony looking down at him with dark, analytical eyes, watching Peters every movement. The rise and fall of his chest, his heaving breaths. The way Peter keens when he’s stretched like he longs for the sting of it. Would he fuck into him slowly or would he seath himself in one smooth, quick stroke?

Peter chooses the latter.

He cries out as he pushes the dildo balls deep into his ass without pause. The pain from the stretch mixes deliciously with pleasure. Sweat beading on his forehead has Peter’s curls sticking wetly to his skin. His entire body is covered in a thin sheen of it.

The young man turns onto his left side, dildo still deep inside him. Peter reaches around his back with his right hand and grips the bottom of the suction cup. He sighs, easing the dildo out slowly before pressing the button at the base of the shaft to turn on the vibration and ramming it into himself once more.

Tony would be taking him from behind, a long arm encircling Peter’s body, hand coming to grip him at the base of his neck, right above his collarbone so that he could pull the younger man down and onto his thick cock while he fucks up into him.

Peter continued to fuck himself roughly with the dildo while he thought of Tony’s hard body doing it to him instead. He’d whisper dirty things in Peter’s ear while he fucked him. Tell him that he’s such a good little slut for his teacher. Peter whined at the thought, he’d love it if Tony let him call him Mr. Stark in bed.

He starts stroking his cock faster, feeling his orgasm build in the pit of his stomach. His right arm is starting to get tired from fucking the dildo into his ass for so long, he’s gotta cum soon.

Peter’s eyes fly open when he hears his phone vibrate through the thrumming in his ears. It’s a text from Tony.

How’s my favorite student? Miss me?

That does it. Peter’s entire body jolts as he cums all over his hand and the towel he laid on the bed, a high whine caught in his throat.

He’s still trying to catch his breath a few minutes later, after he eases the dildo out and places it on the towel. He wipes his hand off on it as well before he grabs his phone. He definitely needs a shower now. Then he’ll go to the mall.

To: Tony

Don’t flatter yourself

To: Tony

Maybe a little

Tony can’t help but smile at his phone, he might have been a little too eager with the message, typing it up as soon as he put his car in park. The easy banter going on between him and Peter was refreshing. Tony couldn’t remember the last time he felt genuinely excited to talk to someone, let alone text.

As the conversation kept flowing while Tony picked up his dry cleaning, he could only deduce that it was because they were nearly equal on an intellectual level. It may have helped that Peter was easy on the eyes as well.

They talked about their projects at work and the research behind it, what it was like at Columbia for Peter, and how MIT had been to Tony. The older man made a mental note to ask where Peter worked at a later date, maybe he could recruit him. He learned that Peter’s favorite colors were blue and red. That he hated horror movies but watched them anyway just to spite himself. He loved rom-coms and (surprise, surprise) sci-fi movies. He couldn’t cook to save his life, Tony assured him he could give him lessons if he wanted, he could make a mean Chicken Piccata.

Tony couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty about it at all. The conversation was innocent and Tony was a flirt by nature, Pepper never had a problem with it. If anything, this thing with Peter was just a budding friendship. The universe knows Tony needed someone to talk to.

Around noon, Tony’s stomach started to grumble, not surprising considering the hearty breakfast of black coffee he had this morning. Peter mentioned earlier that he’d been craving Gyros, and that didn’t sound half bad right about now. He was a few blocks away from the mall anyway.

From: Peter

Here’s a contact picture, in case you needed one...

[see attachment]

The picture Peter sent was absolutely adorable. His bangs fell over his forehead, slightly parted to the side so it wasn’t completely covered. Tony felt utterly entranced by the younger man’s smile and the way his left eyebrow looked like he’d slept with his face buried in a pillow. He was wearing a T-Shirt with a science pun on it, as if the kid couldn’t be any dorkier. Tony loved it.

To: Peter

Is that a sly way of getting me to send you a selfie back?

Cute shirt by the way, where ya headed?

From: Peter

Maybe...did it work?

I’m going shopping for a new mattress, old one crapped out on me.

To: Peter

Here, since you asked so nicely

[see attachment]

From: Peter

Oof, you can just delete mine. You just made me go from a solid 6 to like a 2

To: Peter

Hey, give yourself some credit, you’re definitely at least a 5

KIDDING, I’d rate you a solid 9, kid. Just because there’s always room for improvement

From Peter:

I would just like to know who gave you the right to be so sassy and RUDE

To: Peter

Definitely my narcissistic ego

No, but seriously Pete, you’re stunning. Don’t listen to the old guy

From: Peter

Pls you’re not that old, Tony.

To: Peter

A man after my own heart. Thanks, kid.

From: Peter

Anytime :-)

You’re more like my friend’s hot dad if anything

To: Peter

Little shit.

From Peter:

;-)

Tony shook his head fondly and stuffed his phone in his pocket as he entered the mall, looking around for something indicating what direction the food court was in. He hadn’t been to this mall in a while, he admits since he’s been making more money it’s kept him from coming and eating the fast food they had here. So he followed the signs until he got to the food court, and noticed there were still quite a few tables open for him to sit and eat at. He made a point to stay as far away from the family with three screaming children as possible.

He scanned the choices until he found somewhere that had gyros and went to go stand in line. The menu wasn’t too extensive, he could either get a gyro platter or a falafel platter, and he already knew what he was here for. His eyes fell from the menu to the person in front of him. Not to be a creep, he’s only human, but he had a fantastic ass. A perfect little bubble butt.

The man was a little shorter than him, he had a trim waist that opened up to broad shoulders not bigger than Tony’s. Incredible figure. He’s probably a dancer or a marathon runner. He also noticed this man had brown curls. That made him snort softly to himself, he either had a type or Peter just invaded his mind in a short amount of time. It could be either, honestly.

His eyes dropped to the phrase printed on the back of his shirt.

Never trust an atom, they make up everything

Ha. Peter would love that shirt.

Wait.

Peter has that shirt. It’s the one he was wearing in his selfie.

“Peter?”

The man in front of him whirled around to look at him with a puzzled expression. Tony suddenly found himself unable to move or say another word. He was instantly captivated by doe eyes and one of the prettiest faces he’d seen in a long time.

He watched his confusion turn into realization and then disbelief and dare he say: panic.

“Tony?”

@sweetqueen449, @slut-for-starker, @dim-ships-johnlock, @starkerhowlter, @sthefystarkersworld, @crazycocococonut, @bris-sins, @delicateavenuenacho, @ironspiderstarker, @katzenbaby1, @spider-iron-man, @rebel13lion39, @twokinkybeans, @frenchfrostpudding, @cherrygoldlove, @silkystarkk, @icandoakickflip, @irondaddio, @briesb1tch

creds to @problemchildnoonewanted for some of the messages in the beginning

#starker #sluttystark stuff #starker fic #starker au #ironspider #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #Peter Parker/Tony Stark

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actuallybarb · 4 years ago

Text

The Aftermath ~ Part 9

Summary: y/n finally goes to a safe house and lo and behold, still isn’t safe. y/n, like thor, has no regard for lawn maintenance

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, trauma

Word Count: 3744

A/N: yes i did indulge more sleepy trope, you’re welcome, but there’s a lot of angst right before it

//////////

Happy was outside of the school with a car, waiting for me, when I got out of my last class. I had to finish my chem test during lunch, but that was fine, because it was sloppy joe’s that day, and I prefer to know the kind of meat I’m putting in my body. I talked to the rest of my teachers about being gone for the week, and with Mr. Morita backing me up, none of them put up a big fuss.

“Hey, Happy.”

“Ready to go?”

“You have my stuff, right?” He nodded. “Then I’m ready.”

“Woah, you're the guy who works for Spider-Man!” Eugene stopped beside me while he was walking to his own car and his jaw dropped to the floor. “Are you taking Y/N so she can be an Avenger?”

I slapped my hand over his mouth and slowly started heating it up. “Eugene?” He looked at me. “Shut up.” I took my hand off before I could do anything more than scare him, but he looked like he was ready to piss himself. “Remember how I turned into a lava monster in London and killed a lot of people?” I whispered. “Now someone is trying to kill me for it. So I’d appreciate it if you would keep all of this to yourself, okay?” He nodded, and I took my hand off his shoulder. He hurried away. “Let’s get out of here before anyone else recognizes you, Happy.”

“Happy? Y/N?”

“Hey, Pete,” Happy called over my shoulder.

He stopped beside me. “Are you going to the compound?”

“The detectives are insisting I go to a safe house, so we compromised.” I leaned close and whispered, “One of the detectives wants Spider-Man’s autograph. Think you can make that happen?”

“I’ll practice my cursive,” he whispered back with a smile. He pulled me into a hug and said, “Take care of yourself, Y/N. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“You too, Pete.” I threw my backpack into the back seat and sat beside Happy in the front, which took him by surprise, but he just started the car and drove away.

“So, you and Peter?”

I looked over at Happy and scowled. “Nothing’s happening, no matter what Sam says otherwise.”

He just shrugged. “Hey, I haven’t heard anything. I just see the way you two look at each other.”

Despite my best efforts to keep my heart under control, it jumped at his words and the butterflies started flapping around in my stomach. Could Happy read minds? The thought had crossed my mind before, but now more than ever I thought it was true.

“Like what?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Y/N, it’s just the look.” He glanced at me again, but I was actively avoiding eye contact. I knew if I did look at him I would just start crying, and I had avoided crying this whole time. But damn it, Happy was going to try. “You doing okay, kid?”

“Fucking peachy.”

“Yeah that’s what I thought.” He pulled off the road and into a five-minute parking spot, then turned and looked at me head on. “You can’t run away from this, Y/N. Try as you might, this is the real world, and it’s scaring the shit out of everyone. Why didn’t you come to Pepper after your mom disappeared?”

“I never thought to,” I admitted. “Sure, I hang out at the compound and get to pretend that I’m a superhero every other weekend, but I’ve known everyone for maybe two months? I — it just —“ I hung my head, the tears burning the corner of my eyes. “I’m just a kid, Happy. A kid that no one is especially attached to. I still had my dad, and I thought it could be handled.” I gestured at the car and him. “Clearly that isn’t the case.” I quickly wiped away the tears that had spilled over, hoping he didn’t see.

Well, he did. And he surprised me even more by pulling me across the center console into a quick hug. “You mean a lot more to everyone than you give yourself credit for, Y/N. Bucky nearly broke my arm for the keys because he wanted to be the one to pick you up. Pepper started calling private investigators the second you got off the phone last night and had FRIDAY checking cameras. Sam was ready to fly over all of Brooklyn to look for your dad. Don’t sell yourself short.” He pulled the car back onto the road and we slowly made our way to the compound, my chest a little less heavy.

Bucky practically dragged me out of the car and into a bone crushing hug the second Happy put it in park. “Thank god you’re okay.”

“It was a two hour drive, Bucky,” I said back. But I let myself completely relax in his arms. This was probably the safest I had felt in the last three days, and my body was feeling the difference. “Can we go inside?”

“‘Course.” He let go, but kept his metal arm wrapped around my shoulders. He grabbed one of my duffel bags and slowly walked with me into the compound. “Sam has a fat stack of pancakes waiting for you.”

An equally bone-crushing hug came from Captain America, and I almost broke down completely. “You’re okay, Y/N, we won’t let anything else happen to you.”

Anything else. God, the straw that broke the camel’s back. Because he knew what had already happened, but so help him if he wasn’t going to try and stop whatever happened next. “Thank you.”

“Come on, I got pancakes burning on the stove.”

Bucky put the rest of my stuff in my room, and the rest of the evening everyone watched movies and ate popcorn and tried to ignore the mounting terror that was growing in my throat.

It was around midnight when I walked into my own room, too tired to turn the light on. I kicked off my shoes and crawled into bed, jeans and all, but I felt something wet and sticky when I laid down completely. This wouldn’t have been the first prank pulled between myself and the Star Spangled Man with a Plan, but this felt different.

“FRIDAY, turn the lights on.”

I almost threw up. The sheets of my bed were covered in blood. I could feel it seeping into my clothes and hair. Who the hell got into the compound? Who the hell knew I was coming?

I started screaming — a perfectly natural response to the situation — and Wanda burst into my room. Her eyes were gleaming red and her magic was dancing on her hands. “Y/N, what the hell?”

I sat up completely and tried (and failed) to keep my voice from quivering as I said, “Wanda, can you call nine-one-one and get the officer from the patrol car in here, please?” She ran away quickly, already shouting out to FRIDAY.

I had seen enough cop shows to know not to move, because even my hair became evidence the second I laid down. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Y/N, what the hell, Wanda just told us —“ Sam and Bucky came crashing in, but stopped short at the sight of me covered in blood.

“Can one of you grab my phone and call ‘Detective Peralta?’”

Sam stepped forward and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah, this is Y/N Y/L/N’s phone. She has a couple things she wants to tell you.“ He put the call on speaker and held it close.

At this point, I was moving from my unbelievably-terrified phase to unbelievably-frantic phase. That didn’t make my urge to cry any less potent, but it at least helped me get through the next conversation. “Jake? Can I call you Jake? I feel like you’ve seen so much into my life in the last few days that I’ve earned the right to call you by your first name. Anyways, if you knew who you had just talked to on the phone you’d piss yourself. You’ll never —“

“Breathe, Y/N. Just shut up for a second and breathe.” I inhaled sharply, which was a bad call, because now all I could smell and taste was blood, which almost made me throw up all over again. “Okay, what did you call me about?”

“I’m laying in a pool of blood and I need you and the Nine-Nine to get here and do your fucking jobs because I’m freaking out.”

“Are you still at the safe house?”

“Yeah, and I don’t know where your patrol car officer is, but shouldn’t they be out here protecting me?” I would’ve kept chewing him and his precinct out, but Sam took the phone from my hand and gave Jake the ‘OK’ to come to the compound.

Wanda ran back with the officer behind her, both breathing heavy. “I brought. The officer.”

“About fucking time,” I muttered.

You’re acting like a bitch, Y/N.

Yeah, well, you unknowingly lay down in a pool of blood and tell me how pleasant you’re feeling afterward. ‘Frantic’ had left the building and ‘pissed as hell’ had taken full residence in my attitude. And the brunt of it was directed at the undeserving.

“Can you take some goddamn pictures already so I can get out of these clothes?”

“I, uh, should really wait for forensics.”

I groaned and looked at Bucky. “Do me a favor and give me something to throw.” He just stepped forward and held out his metal arm.

“How ‘bout something to hold onto.”

I ended up getting blood between the grooves of his plating, but Bucky assured me it was easy to clean. It took over an hour — even with all of their sirens — for the Nine-Nine to get to the compound, and another half hour on top of that for all of their pictures to be taken before I could shower and change clothes. Do you know how humiliating it is for a teenage girl to have to change and leave behind blood-soaked clothes for an entire forensics team to investigate and study? I hope you never have to know for yourself, because nothing made me want to claw my own eyes out and burn myself alive more than that.

I used Wanda’s shower, because her room was just across the hall, but I refused to sleep in a closed room anymore. I refused to even close my eyes, because it seemed that every time I blinked some other sort of shit hit the fan.

“Y/N?”

I was so fucking tired of hearing the sound of my own name.

“What’s the message this time, Jake?”

He didn’t bother sugar-coating it. He handed his phone over and I was too tired to stop the panic I felt in my throat as I looked at the barely-legible letters.

I will always find you.

“They are really milking this whole ‘five word message’ thing.” I handed his phone back to him. “It’s my blood, isn’t it?”

“You’re way better at this than you let on. Yeah, it’s your blood. Hopefully we can get something from the video footage, but given all of the connecting evidence, I’m thinking whoever is responsible will reach out in some way.” This was the part where he sighed heavily and looked disappointed in himself. “Unfortunately, because of the current state of the investigation, the FBI is going to be taking over this case. They’re already on their way to start their own investigation.”

“Of fucking course.” I stood up and started pacing, and before I knew it I was throwing pillows across the room. I reached for his glass of water and was ready to throw, but someone came up behind me and pulled my fingers away before I could cause any real damage. “Hey —“

Jess stood behind me and set the glass on the table. “Don’t start pulling that shit, Y/N. You haven’t thrown stuff since you were twelve.” Jake awkwardly stepped out of the living room, but it didn’t matter; you could’ve heard our conversation no matter where you were in the compound

I wiped at the tears on my cheeks. “Well I was twelve last time my parents left me, so, old habits.”

“Don’t go back to that, you’ve come too far.”

“Of course I’m acting like a twelve year old, that’s how I feel!” I groaned and grabbed another pillow, but this time I threw it at her. “I lost both of my parents in less than three days just when we were getting back to a good place! And all I want to do is scream and cry and burst into flame, but I have to be the adult and keep it all together when I feel like I’m dying!”

I didn’t care about how badly I was crying. I didn’t care about much of anything. I just wanted to finally have something as tangible and damaging in front of me as I did inside of me.

“Don’t tell me that I’m moving backwards, because I’m doing everything I can just to stand up straight.” I left her and ran through the front door, all the way to the edge of the property.

In Avatar: The Last Airbender, Iroh says lightning can only be handled by someone who is in balance. Well, that’s not necessarily true. Creating it, sure. But harnessing it from a different source? That’s a lot of emotion that has to be channeled into draining the power from one source and using it for yourself.

And boy did I have plenty of emotion.

I pulled the energy straight out of the sky. (Thor who?) It probably wasn’t the best idea, considering the sprinklers made everything in sight slightly damp, but I didn’t care; I couldn’t get fried, and anyone else stupid enough to follow me out here would soon learn a very important lesson.

My hands were glowing white with electricity. And I just kept pulling more and more of it out of the sky until all I could see was white.

And then I let it all go.

I screamed until my throat was raw. I screamed until I saw red. I screamed until there was nothing left in me, and then I kept screaming. The ground around me caved in and the blackened grass started smoldering and I still screamed.

And then I sobbed. I knelt on the grass and sobbed.

////////////

I was determined to just sleep outside that night, but the adult-ier adults had a different idea. It was Bucky who finally braved coming outside and getting me. “C’mon, Y/N, let’s get you in bed.” He ended up just carrying me back to the compound, but instead of going to Wanda’s room — where I thought he was headed — he skipped that hallway completely and chose the next one.

The one with Peter’s room.

He lightly kicked open the door and gently put me on the bed, but someone sat beside me on the bed. My eyes flew open, ready to attack, but when they adjusted to the darkness, I just gasped and jumped into his arms.

Peter.

“Take care of her,” was all I heard Bucky say, and I felt Peter nod, but I didn’t dare look up. For a girl who’s barely known him for a year, I’ve become strongly attached to Peter Parker, and I was realizing now that he was a constant in my life that I sorely depended on (not so good in the long run, but I could worry about that later).

“How did you get here so fast?” A part of me wanted to look at his face and know it was Peter, but I kept my head in the crook of his neck, listening to his steady heartbeat and reassuring myself that was all I needed.

“Doctor Strange. Sam called him after you ran outside.”

I did finally look up at him, and tears I didn’t even know I had left decided to make an appearance. “Yeah, you never would’ve made it past the police line.”

He smiled softly (I would never get over that smile) and then leaned back. “Get some sleep, Y/N.”

He immediately felt the affect his words had on me. My heart jumped and started racing, my breathing picked up, my fists clenched. “Hey, hey, hey.” But one reassuring hand on my neck and jaw and I calmed down. Slightly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good,” I choked out, “because I can’t lose anyone else I care about.”

I don’t remember falling asleep. I only remember a tangle of legs and Peter’s heartbeat under my ear.

////////////

Quentin Beck was holding me by the throat. “You couldn’t stop me from killing all of those people. You couldn’t stop me from hurting Peter. And now you can’t stop me from taking your parents.” MJ and Ned and Flash and Betty and Peter and Mom and Dad all formed out of the rubble and then disappeared before I could save them. Beck squeezed my neck tighter and tighter —

I gasped awake. I couldn’t breathe deeply enough, my lungs refused to fill completely, and it was still dark enough outside that I couldn’t see anything around me. “It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real.” I rubbed my hands over my eyes, trying to erase the nightmare, but it wouldn’t go away; Beck’s hands around my throat were still there, like a phantom pain.

Then a hand gently grabbed my leg and I heard a yelp as I blew a gust of air at whoever it was.

Peter landed on the ground with a thud.

I crawled to the edge and let my adjusted eyes focus on his outline. “Shit, Peter, I’m so sorry.”

He rubbed his elbow for a second but then looked up at me. “Are you okay?”

“I just airbended you off the bed and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

He stood up and sat beside me, his hand finding mine. “You weren’t breathing, Y/N. You were choking on air and it was scaring the hell out of me.”

“It-“ I wrapped my fingers around his and took a shaky breath, finally feeling like I had enough air. “It was just a nightmare.”

“Okay.” He glanced around and his eyes landed on the alarm clock. 5:13. “Want to go train?”

I was fucking exhausted. But at this point, I was taking Jake’s word and waiting for the next move. So maybe training would do some good. “Yeah, okay.”

We trained well after the sun came up. Peter kept to the higher alcoves of the gym, while I liked to stay on the ground. But we did a couple ‘blindfold rounds’ until we could easily pick each other out amongst the ‘noise.’

“One more blindfold round,” he said through his teeth. One of the bots clipped him in the side and he was leaning heavily, but he insisted. “As hard as you’ve got, FRIDAY.”

We tied our blindfolds around our eyes one more time and took our stances. At this point, we weren’t just practicing our gifts; we were (at least I was) letting go of our inhibitions toward each other. My attention was on him and the bots and nothing else. (If I wasn’t sure how head over heels I was for this guy, I was pretty positive about it now.)

“Three.”

I wiggled my fingers in anticipation.

“Two.”

Peter’s shoes rubbed against the floor.

“One.”

Don’t ask me how the tech worked. I still have no idea how they managed to create simulations that were actually tangible, but I was really grateful, because it meant Peter and I got accurate practice. I rolled forward, a shot barely edging above me, while Peter immediately went for the high ground, dodging the bots that tried to keep up.

I didn’t just try to feel them while they were on the ground, I honed in on the metal surrounding them and the electricity coursing through them. I ripped the bots to shreds and made them collapse in on themselves and caused sparks to flash across the room when I doused others with water.

Peter jumped on top of different bots and used his taser webs to take most of them down, but he threw some my way, and vice versa. The whole point of the training session was to build trust, and we were trying our best to be successful.

I couldn’t feel any more bots with electricity in the room, and Peter came down to the ground, but before either of us took our blindfolds off, I felt someone else step onto the mat. Someone I didn’t recognize.

I formed a water whip and wrapped it around the foreign person, then I ripped off my blindfold, only to see my water whip attached to thin air. Or —

“Who the hell are you?”

They were invisible. But I knew without a doubt that a person was on the other end of my whip. I walked closer and froze the rest of the water around their body with jagged edges leading to their head — at least what I assumed was their head.

“I said,” I reached my hands out and tried to find some purchase, “who the hell are you?” My fingers wrapped around what I assumed was their throat and I squeezed.

His facade gave out quickly. I didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t matter; FRIDAY was always monitoring.

“Hey,” Peter said quietly and put a hand on my shoulder, but I didn’t relent.

“Answer the goddamn question, or you’ll have more to worry about than some slight freezer burn.”

“It doesn’t matter who I am. They’re coming for you, Y/N, and they won’t stop until you’ve paid for what you’ve done.”

My grip lessened, just a bit. “When?”

“Soon.” A haggard cough escaped his lips. “You really shouldn’t have left your friends so vulnerable.”

My eyes went wide, and just as my grip slackened some more, Wanda and Sam barged into the room. Her red magic kept him trapped, and Sam put duct tape over his mouth. “FBI is already on their way. How did you know he was here?”

“I just did.” I let go completely and let the water thaw to a puddle. “How fast can we get to the city?”

Sam’s eyebrows creased. “Strange could have you there in seconds, why?”

“Something else is going to happen, and it’s going to happen there.”

tags: @eridanuswave @vampirestrawberries @yougottalovefandoms

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #spiderman #spiderman far from home #peter parker imagine #peter parker series #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x mj #marvel comics #mcu #reader insert #avengers #ned leeds #michelle jones #flash thompson

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novembermurray · 4 years ago

Text

Patient Evil Haunts Your Steps

Read on AO3

Rating: General

Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera

Summary: Jedi!Omera AU - When Din returns to Sorgan he brings something of the Dark Side with him. It drags up a past that Omera has tried to forget and threatens a future they both long for.

For @mandomeraweek Day 5

It was a subtle sensation of wrong that Omera tried to ignore. It nagged at the back of her mind, from the shuttered abandoned place within her memory she tried to forget. But that feeling of wrong didn’t go away. It came with the Mandalorian when he returned, and it hung around him, not a part of him but never apart from him.

The Mandalorian himself was changed.

When the unknown craft had landed just outside their village the people had been terrified; were these new bandits? Pirates? Conquering warlords? Slavers? But only the familiar figure of the Mandalorian they knew had emerged. Alone.

The ship took off again, leaving the silver armored man behind with a spear and a jetpack and no other luggage or company. He had been a silent tumult of grief, relief, regret, hope, pain, love… but mostly just exhaustion.

“I… I needed a place to…”

“To rest,” Omera finished his sentence. There was no need for any other greeting.

She showed him to the barn. He thanked her quietly and no one saw him for a whole day afterward.

That was a month ago.

The Mandalorian had become something of a shadow in their midst, at the edges of their lives but never integrated with them. He wandered the forests, dissuaded any bandits that strayed closer than he was comfortable with, hunted birds to supplement the village’s aquatic food source — once even using his jetpack to retrieve medicine from the nearest town in a quarter of the time it would have taken anyone else. He enriched their lives, but he didn’t join them. There was still a barrier—something more impenetrable than beskar—that kept him separated from everyone else. Omera knew that only time would wear it down, so she waited.

The wrongness waited too.

It waited.

Until now.

Omera put down the bowl of krill she had been shelling for their dinner, eyes wide and looking around for the source of a sensation that had no sound, or smell, or touch, or visual. But she felt it all the same. Wiping her hands on her apron absently she got up and left the kitchen, following that feeling through the village, between the krill ponds, and into the forest. It wasn’t far away, just far enough that the sounds and sight of the village were lost in the trees. There was a clearing, she had brought Winta there on quiet evenings before. That’s where she found him and the pulsing sense of wrong that grew with every step.

The Mandalorian’s armor gleamed in the afternoon sun, flashing as he stepped through a controlled series of prescribed movements; slash, block, uppercut, spin, parry, parry, block, lunge. Turn. Repeat. They were the motions of sword drills that were familiar as a childhood dream. He moved through each form with a fluidity of practice yet the hesitation of long disuse. Everything about him channeled focus and calm. He was rigorous in all his crafts; this was no exception. His dedication and intensity was neutral, neither joy nor fear; only right .

The wrongness was in the blade. It had gleaming white edges that crackled in the shadows and disappeared in the direct sunlight while its center was a stark black void deeper than the darkness between stars. It seemed to suck in the sunlight and offered absolutely nothing back: hungry, greedy, demanding. Wrong.

“Omera,” the Mandalorian had stopped his practice when he saw her. “Is everything alright?”

“What is that?” She asked him.

“A laser sword. It’s called the Darksaber,” he lifted it, horizontal and out towards her in a relaxed grip. There was nothing threatening about the motion, but when he stepped forward to offer her a closer look she took an instinctive step back. He paused, reading the fear on her face and thumbed a switch on the blade. The void, the light, the wrongness slithered back into the handle with a hiss. But it wasn’t gone, just dormant.

Waiting.

Omera shivered.

“It is… not a pleasant weapon,” the Mandalorian explained. “I didn’t want it to unnerve anyone in the village.”

She felt herself nodding.

“You were looking for me?”

Omera shook herself out of her shock and confusion, scrambling for a lie to dispel his suspicions. Suspicions meant death. Two decades of running and hiding had beaten that lesson into her.

“Dinner will be ready soon. Perhaps we could eat a little early, take Winta up the hill for some stargazing; she likes the stories you tell.”

“That sounds nice,” he agreed. “Thank you. I’ll be along shortly.”

Omera nodded and backed away. She forced herself to turn around and walk towards the village. She flinched when the wrongness flared behind her, released once more. Something about it felt like vicious satisfaction, and she shivered again.

Over the following week the Mandalorian spent more and more time with the blade—the Darksaber. He found time to practice with it usually once a day. Omera tried to find reasons to keep him from it: something she needed help with, someone who wanted his opinion, a broken machine, a missing child wandered off… but it didn’t always work. She thought he might be seeing through her as the days wore on. Her excuses grew thinner and her desperation grew stronger.

He took to practicing at night, when there was nothing to distract him or keep him from his task. It was all together worse because there was nothing to distract Omera either. She lay in her bed feeling the pulsing sensation ebb and flow from beyond the village and bit her lip against the helpless tears of fear. When she would finally find sleep she would dream: nightmares. Usually they were of war, sometimes of assassinations, of armored warriors cheering her as she held the black blade aloft, of cutting down her foes with its impossible sharpness… of the hundreds and hundreds of dead it had claimed… of the rivers of blood it had spilled… of the darkness… and the wrongness.

On the third night she couldn’t stand it any more. She heard his footsteps on the path outside and rose from her bed. She caught up with the Mandalorian as he passed between the krill ponds toward the edge of the forest, his beskar edged in moonlight.

“That blade is evil.”

He stopped dead at her words though he gave no indication he was surprised at being followed. She saw his hands flexing at his sides. He turned towards her tensely.

“It’s just a weapon,” he replied.

“No,” Omera shook her head, “It isn’t. It remembers. It remembers centuries of blood and ambition and greed.”

“You didn’t even know what it was until a week ago,” he snapped, taking a step towards her.

“I don’t need to know what it's called to know it is corrupted,” she argued back just as sharply, matching his step with one of her own and refusing to be intimidated. “You should get rid of it, throw it away.”

“I can’t,” he shook his head and turned away from her.

“You must,” she knew she sounded desperate, “before it destroys you.”

“You don’t understand,” he spun around, ripping the handle off his belt and shaking it at her angrily. “I can’t get rid of it because it isn’t mine to discard. I shouldn’t have it. I don’t want it. But I need to know how to use it well enough to lose against another Mandalorian and relinquish it with honor. So I must train with it. Don’t try to stop me again.” The wrongness thrummed in the night air and even the insects fell quiet under its heavy presence, but Omera would not be quelled so easily.

“If you fight with that blade it will only be a fight to the death!”

The Mandalorian shook his head, ignoring her warning. “Bo-Katan doesn’t want to kill me. She just wants to win the Darksaber properly and reclaim her homeworld, reclaim Mandalore. It isn’t about me.”

“Maybe that is how it will start,” Omera softened her voice and dared to take a step closer, “but that weapon can twist the intentions of weak willed minds, and it will demand blood. That is its nature. Do not fight with that blade, please. It will only end in more tragedy.”

“Then why didn’t I kill Gideon?” He demanded angrily. “I won it from him, after he stole the child— nearly killed my-my son with his demagolyc experiments— and I spared his life. Explain that!”

Omera was brought up short and drew a sharp breath. Of course he wouldn’t have given in, she thought. He has carried it so long, and still it has not overwhelmed him.

“Because there is nothing of the Dark Side in you,” she said tenderly. “Because you are strong and kind despite everything that has happened to you, all the horrors you have seen. Everything you have done, you do out of selfless love. But the longer you carry that and the more you wield it the darkness will find ways to bend you to it’s will, take advantage of your grief and your pain to make you covet, and fear, and hate. I couldn’t bear to see that, to lose you to the Dark Side. Please, get rid of it.” She begged him through the lump forming in her throat and the hot liquid pooling in her eyes.

“The Dark Side?” His helmet tipped, questioningly. “The Jedi said something about that too.”

“You met a Jedi?” Omera barely managed to breath the question.

“Two. Ahsoka Tano and another; Cara told me he’s called Luke Skywalker. He… The kid, Grogu…” The Mandalorian’s helmet dipped as his gaze dropped to the ground, arms limp at his sides. “I let the kid go with Skywalker to be trained… to be safe.”

He took a deep breath, he looked up at the stars spreading overhead.

“I’m…. tired, Omera.” He admitted to the night sky. “I did what I was tasked to do and it cost me everything: every home I have ever known is gone, my people dead or scattered, my Creed broken, my child…” His voice failed him and he paused to swallow painfully. “I need to learn to wield this blade so I can pass it on. Until I do I can’t take this armor off for good. I want that. I want what you offered me the last time I left. But I can’t until I find a way to give up this weapon. I didn’t come here to disturb the peaceful life you have made.” His tone took on the pall of defeat. “I will leave, return when it is done.” His visor was turned away from her, unable to meet her gaze.

“Ok,” Omera breathed, the short agreement coming out shaky.

The Mandalorian nodded before she could explain and started to turn away again.

“No,” Omera rushed forward the last of the distance between them to grab his hand. He looked back, shock practically vibrating off him. “I meant…” Omera took a deep breath. “Ok, until you can take this armor off for the last time, I will help you.”

She dropped his hand and lifted her own over the pond beside her. She closed her eyes and mentally stepped into the long abandoned place at the back of her mind. It felt like coming home, like opening the windows to a bright summer day and feeling the warm breeze on her face. The world was abuzz with life around her and a familiar presence called out from the bottom of the pool, where it had laid buried for seven years right where she had left it. That presence was easy to grasp now, rising at her command through soil, mud, and water.

She opened her eyes to see the rippling surface of the pool break and the cylindrical handle lift into the air. Drops of water that fell from it caught sparks of twinkling moonlight. At her call the handle floated to her outstretched palm, and her fingers closed around it; right. She thumbed over the switch and the blade of blue plasma sprang to life between her and the Mandalorian.

His visor was bright with the reflected glow of her lightsaber when she met his gaze with determination.

“I will train you.”

#mandomeraweek2021 #the mandalorian #my writing #fanfic #din x omera #mandomera #Jedi Omera #the darksaber

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damianodavide · 3 years ago

Text

Never stopped loving you (pt. III)

Final part, based on this prompt | Part I | Part II

Summary: Damiano x reader [undefined gender].

When reader is confronted with their painful feelings about Damiano, they desperately needs to talk about it.

Word count: 2,4K

Consists: ANGST, but fluff returns.

Thanks again to @daviddamiano for proofreading. Inspired by 'Young Heart' by Birdy.

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

Pale morning light crept into the room, coming trough a crack in the curtains. You were sure you had been staring at the ceiling for hours. Victoria’s slow breathing sounded from the bed next to yours, Chili lying beside her.

Once you came into the room to go to bed, she had cornered you, asking what the hell was going on. ‘Is it Damiano?’ she had finally asked, when you kept trying to assure her everything was fine. ‘I mean, I’m not blind. Neither of you were looking at each other!’ she’d added. ��No Vic, I said it’s fine!’ you had replied, louder than you’d intended. She’d looked at you with a pained expression, but she’d left the subject alone. You both lay in bed afterwards, quiet, until she fell asleep.

Of course, it had been inevitable for her to notice something was amiss during dinner; the tension had been tangible. You had seen her and Thomas sharing concerned looks, as they tried to keep the conversation going. Ethan had failed to keep the pretence everything was normal, since he kept looking between you and Damiano. All the while you had sat there, wishing you could leave the table. As Vic had noticed correctly, he wouldn’t even look at you.

You sat up cross-legged, reaching to the curtain and pulling it forward slightly. It was getting lighter outside; it had to be 5 am already. You let go, and the room went dark again. It couldn’t go on like this, you thought, as you rubbed your hand across your face. Even though you were exhausted, you just couldn’t stop your mind from turning.

Maybe Ethan was right, you should talk do Damiano. This time you should solve it like an adult, you couldn’t run the way you had done before. You had to let him know that whatever you felt for him was nowhere near as important as being friends. And if he didn’t want to be, or couldn’t, he had the right to tell you.

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand. 5.23 am. Maybe you should message him. If you waited until tomorrow you would probably be too nervous. For a moment your thumb hovered above the screen, but then you opened your texts and started typing.

‘Hey I think we shou…’ No. ‘Damiano after last night… ’ You deleted it. What was it that you wanted to say? ‘Hey, I would want to apologise for last night, since I noticed something happened between us…’ Noticed something happened, what would he even think? You hit backspace again. Eventually you settled on: ‘Hey, I wanted to apologise for last night, I thought I may have I said something that upset you. Could we talk about it?’ This seemed okay. It had to be. Compulsively you hit send.

Online it suddenly said beneath Damiano’s name. Oh no, had he read it? You shouldn’t have sent it! ‘Cazzo!’ you said, too loud. You clamped your hand over your mouth, as you watched Victoria anxiously. She was silent for a moment, but then her snores filled the room again. Chili looked at you curiously. Relieved you looked back at your phone.

Damiano is typing… He really had read it. You watched in horror, as it went back to online and then typing again. It felt like it took an eternity, but then a text appeared: ‘I want to apologise too, do you want to talk now?’

Your breathing quickened. Now? You looked around the room in desperation, left hand on your chest, feeling your heartbeat pounding underneath it. You didn’t know what to do. In your panic you nearly spoke up to wake Victoria, but stopped just in time. ‘Breathe, just breathe,’ you told yourself.

Eventually you deliberated it was the best option to talk to him. It being so early, you could still hide under the covers afterwards. Trying to sound casual, you typed: ‘Sure, I’m awake now anyway. Meet at the pool?’ and sent it.

You threw your phone on the bed. As it bounced away you hid your face in your hands, breath shaking. Ever since last night you felt close to crying and now especially you had to try very hard to push it down.

Through your fingers you saw the phone light up, and you leant over to read. ‘See you there,’ it just said. You sighed, getting up. You had to get it over with.

You searched under the bed for your flip flops and grabbed a sweater. You pulled it on over your shirt and shorts, as you walked to the door. The dog followed you with her beady eyes and whined softly. ‘Stay Chili,’ you whispered to her.

When you turned at the door to close it behind you, you looked at Vic, still soundly asleep. As you watched her relaxed complexion, a profound loneliness crept over you. All of a sudden you felt so far apart from her. Normally you would tell each other anything, but tonight you had even lied to her. You promised her silently that you would tell her everything when you came back. You just hoped you wouldn’t have to tell her that you had to leave again.

Quietly, you walked across the landing to the stairs into the living room. As you went down, you carefully stepped over the creaky step in the middle. Nearing the glass sliding doors, you saw that one of them stood ajar. You wondered if Damiano had been quicker than you were, or that no one had locked it in the first place. You pushed it open a bit further, so you could slip through the gap.

You stood there for a minute, breathing in the crisp, cold air, before starting towards the pool. The beauty of the garden at this hour was captivating. It was still enveloped in a hazy half-light, colouring everything a pale blue.

As you walked, you hugged your arms around your body. You were sure your shivering wasn’t completely caused by the temperature. As you rounded the corner of the hedge you braced yourself, the knot in your stomach getting tighter, until you saw he wasn’t there yet. You approached the edge of the pool, staring into the water, your arms still tightly across your chest.

‘Hey,’ you heard softly, behind you. You closed your eyes momentarily, before turning around. ‘Hey,’ you said. Damiano looked a bit dishevelled; his soft hair messy and his eyes slightly wary. He was wearing his white knitted cardigan over some shorts. It was the one that tended to slip of his shoulders, which it had now, baring the butterfly tattoo. Noticing your glance, he tugged it back up quickly.

‘Uh,’ you cleared your throat, ‘maybe we could sit?’ You gestured to the sunbeds Victoria and Thomas had been using yesterday. Damiano opened his mouth, but then just nodded.

Once you’d sat down on the sunbeds sideways, facing each other, you wished they were further apart. You were closer to Damiano than you were comfortable with for this conversation. He looked a bit uncomfortable as well, his eyes darting to yours before looking back at his hands.

The silence becoming unbearable, you said breathlessly: ‘I think I’ll start – start with saying – well, I’m sorry about yesterday.’ ‘Yeah, I’m sorry too,’ Damiano said quietly, still not quite able to look at you. Not sure how to go on, you thought about the conversation with Ethan. You might as well follow his advice.

‘The thing is – what I wanted to tell you – uh – .’ You exhaled, steadying your yourself. ‘I’ve been thinking about what made me react the way I did and I think I know now. I find it quite difficult to tell you, but I think I should.’ He was looking at you now.

‘We never talked about our feelings of when we broke up, and I realised – I realised that I still find it hard at times to think about the way it ended.’ When you met his eyes, his expression made it hard to go on, but you had to. ‘The way we interact – .’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Damiano suddenly blurted out, startling you. ‘I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I – I shouldn’t have flirted with you the way I did. I just – I don’t know what I was thinking.’

Perplexed, you stared at him, unable to comprehend what he just said. ‘Wh – What?’ Damiano looked tortured, as he covered his face with his hands, shaking his head. He let them fall in is lap again. ‘I never stopped loving you [y/n]’

You could only gape at him wordlessly. You felt elated and light headed hearing these words. A warm feeling was spreading trough your body, even though it seemed impossible expand your lungs. You looked away from him, still breathing shallow.

‘I’ve ruined it, I’m such an idiot!’ Damiano exclaimed, jumping up. He had mistaken your stunned silence for rejection. Realising your error, you grabbed his arm. ‘Damia please – .’ Damiano looked back at you, anguished, and you let go immediately. ‘Please stay,’ you asked in a small voice.

Ever so slowly he sat back down, his eyes averted. You were silent for a moment. You had no idea how to go about it, not having expected this turn of events, but somehow the words found their way out of your mouth. ‘That I broke up with you, it didn’t mean that I didn’t love you anymore. In fact, I still do.’

You caught his eyes, eyebrows now raised in astonishment. ‘Looking back, I’ve known ever since I came back for the tour – no, ever since you hugged me after winning.’ A wavering smile was tentatively spreading on his face and you returned it. ‘It’s just that… What you said after we broke up, I didn’t want to hurt you again.’

‘I’ve never regretted saying anything more,’ he said quickly, shaking his head. The sun was finally climbing above the hedge, casting a golden glow over the garden.

‘We were so young, and I was… hurt, but of course I noticed it wasn’t working.’ He considered his words. ‘I was under a lot of pressure, you even more so, and I was afraid to acknowledge it. Now I know - I know that you were right, and I think I could be better now, if you’ll have me?’ His voice ended in a question. He looked at you, hopeful, but his brow was furrowed in worry.

You felt an intense joy swell in your chest. ‘Of – of course I’ll have you,’ you stumbled. His brown eyes were catching the dawn sunlight that illuminated his face. You shoved forward on the sunbed to reach towards his hand. It was a bit cold like yours, you felt, squeezing it softly. ‘But you don’t have to be better Damia,’ you added. He looked up from your hand in his lap, clearly touched, his expression soft and open.

For a moment your mind went blank, marvelling at his face. Your eyes flit down to his lips and up again. Flustered you let go of his hand, as you quickly sat up. You sat there looking at each other for what felt like minutes, both trying to get your head around the changed situation.

Damiano then took a sharp breath, as if he tried to muster some courage. He hesitated, but then he stood to come and sit beside you. You turned towards him, your knees touching his, your hands awkwardly in your lap.

‘I’m actually really nervous,’ he said, as breathless as you felt. You wanted to tell him he didn’t have to be, or that you were too, but you were so close to him that you could hardly find your voice. So you just shook your head, and cleared your throat again. ‘It’s okay,’ you managed.

It felt like you were pulled towards him, your faces now inches from each other. He raised left hand to cup your face and rubbed your lips with his thumb. Giving you one last look, he pressed his lips onto yours.

The contact lasted only seconds, but long enough to taste him, feel his tongue graze yours as your lips parted. When he let go, he looked at you intently, as if he wanted to see what you thought. Looking back you could see the once so familiar flecks of gold within the dark of his eyes. It finally made your arms come back to life.

Your right hand travelled up his bare thigh. You heard a short intake of breath, as he looked down. When his eyes shot back up, there was a hungry look in them. Your other hand found his chest and then is neck, his cardigan slipping off once again.

You pulled him towards you this time, only now realising how much you had actually yearned for him. As you kissed him deeply, Damiano pulled you in a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around you. You opened your mouth, finding his tongue. Damiano let out a soft whimper. The euphoric feeling in your chest had grown so much that it felt like you could burst.

When it all became too much, you let go of him, gasping for air. You looked at each other in amazement, until Damiano suddenly started laughing. Though somewhat confused, you couldn’t help but laugh with him. It broke the tension. ‘We’re so stupid,’ Damiano chuckled, ‘what must the others think of us.’

You thought of telling Victoria what happened and your face fell. ‘Oh God Vic, she’ll go berserk for me not telling her earlier. How will I be able to face her?’

Damiano looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘Maybe it’s better not to risk waking her.’ You got where he was going and grinned. Leo, with whom Damiano shared the room, had gone home for the week. ‘Oh, I think that’s a great idea,’ you said, as he matched your smirk.

Damiano looked over your shoulder and gestured. You turned to see the sun, which had now fully risen, bringing warmth with it. Damiano put his arm around you, pulling you closer. You sighed contentedly, finally able to relax.

You wished you could be forever in this moment, your head resting on his shoulder, but eventually Damiano kissed the top of your head and whispered into your hair: ‘Right, we probably both need some sleep.’ You realised how tired you felt and nodded.

He stood and pulled you with him. Standing close, you gazed into his eyes. He tenderly stroked his thumb over your cheek, smiling down at you. Then he turned, and you let him lead you back to the house.

***

Taglist: @rocketqueen , @tabi-toast , @butterfly-skinnylegend , @glittermalia, @queen-of-brokenhearts, @maneskinmademedoit, @oro-e-diamanti, @risingtripletaurus, @ohhoneyx, @anangelwhodidntfall, @tiaamberxx

Let me know if you want to be added for a new part story with @oro-e-diamanti .

#damiano x reader

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tyrilblue · 4 years ago

Text

Live for me

Part I - Like a King

Marc Antony x MC (Alba)

Word count: 2300

Warnings: mentions of suicide, soft smut

After 17 years of civil war for power over Rome, Marc Antony and Alba are planning how to defeat Octavian once and for all. Is Antony really in love with Cleopatra as we all think, and will his alliance with the Queen of Egypt prove valuable?

A.N.: tip - be mindful of the dates so you can keep track of the flashbacks! / taglist under the cut - I tagged everyone who interacted with my WIP post (here), hope you enjoy! Let me know if you wish to be added to the list ✨

Painting of the battle of Actium by Laureys a Castro, 1672

Pridie Nonas Septembres XXXI

(September 4th, 31 b.C.)

Lena's scholae.

Rome.

Alba felt a single tear roll down her cheek as she once again read the same words she already knew by heart. The pointy, decisive handwriting was familiar, but some ink blots and stains betrayed the writer's feelings here and there, showing his haste, doubt and fear clearly to the eyes of someone who knew him so well.

«Should you not receive word from me by the Nones of September, then you shall know the worst has come to happen. I cannot bear the thought of you falling into the hands of our enemy, but it will only be a matter of time before our fate finds you. This is likely to be the last you will ever hear of me. Though I do not give up hope of holding you once again in my arms, I want you to know that in the end, I would always choose you over Rome.

You are forever the first woman in my heart.»

Her breath got stuck in her throat every time she read those lines, torn between happiness and dread. Antony had to be truly desperate to write down such words for her to read, and because of that, she also knew that the feelings they showed were real. In a few hours the sun would dawn on the Nones of September, and still, not a word from her love. Alba kept touching the small, cool vial full of aconitum she always kept hanging from her neck, while praying for the sound of a messenger's hurried footsteps on the cobblestones. She closed her eyes, her mind travelling far up high and over Rome, beginning its descent along Italia. She caught a glimpse of the Vesuvius and Pompeii, then she smelled the cedar and lemon trees of Sicilia, before beginning to cross the Mediterranean sea towards the lands of Africa. She turned slightly eastwards, heading for Egypt, and her thoughts finally alighted in the sprawling palace of queen Cleopatra, the core of Alexandria. She pictured Antony there, his skin darkened by the months spent under the harsh Egyptian sun, trying to carry out the plan they had conceived together. Alba could almost hear the velvety words he used to stroke the queen's pampered ego, convincing her of his love to keep her a close ally in his fight against Octavian. Her heart clenched in jealousy every single time she thought of his hands on her body at night, of his whisperings of passion in her ear, but she found new strength in knowing his heart was still in Rome, right where she was.

Deep down, Alba couldn't help feeling that he was still alive. She was sure the gods would let her know if she was to lose all hope, and that was why she kept delaying the fate she and Antony had designed for themselves. She smiled sadly, thinking of how he would mock her for relying on the gods, and as the black of the night sky slowly began turning pink, even that last strand of hope she was clinging to started to slip through her fingers.

Idibus Aprilibus XXXII

(April 13th, 32 b.C.)

Marc Antony's villa.

Rome.

Marc Antony could feel Alba's eyes on him, full of her usual fierceness, as he paced the room. He had yet to utter a single word, but he knew her mind was at work, somehow already knowing what he meant to say. After a seemingly endless silence, frustrated by the unusual lack of ways to voice the thoughts in his head, he finally decided to speak.

"I must sail to Egypt", he bluntly stated. "Cleopatra is my best chance at victory in the East, her alliance is the key to defeating the Parthians and making Caesar's old project a reality".

Alba remained silent, now intently looking at the world map painted in a fresco on the wall of Pompey's old bedchamber. Antony pointed at the lower right portion of the image with a wide gesture of his hand.

"With those lands and Cleopatra's men at my command, Rome will finally be within my grasp", he said calculatingly, clenching his fist as if he could physically grab the city by its reins. As silent as a tiger circling a gladiator in the Colosseum, Alba got up from the bed with a swirl of red and gold silk, softly wrapping Antony's fist between her delicate hands.

"And I will be here, in Rome, to keep you informed on Octavian's every move". He looked into her eyes, finding just a small glint of sadness in her seemingly confident look. Before he could say anything about the role she could play in his plots, she added, "You don't need to tell me, I am aware I can't come to Alexandria with you". With those words, she turned towards the fresco as if to measure the distance that would soon separate them. Antony sighed, cursing himself for letting that woman get so deep under his skin.

"Cleopatra will only give me her unwavering support if she believes I love and worship her, and her only" - Antony sighed, "She would never believe I'm giving her my heart if you were there with me. She remembers who you are, Alba of Lena's scholae".

The corners of Alba's mouth lifted in a coquettish smile, as she probably reminisced of the time she had seduced both Julius Caesar and the queen of Egypt.

Antony's body reacted instinctively at the thought, both because of jealousy and lust. He thought of his woman playing with so much power, manipulating the desires of the couple who used to rule the world, bending them to her wishes, all because he had asked her to. He smiled to himself.

"What are you smiling about?" - Alba asked, with a dangerous sound to her voice, "Are you going to forget all about me under the bedsheets of the queen of Egypt?".

At those words, Antony gave her his most winning smile, taking her hand and pulling her flush against him.

"Do you remember what you once said to me?" - he asked, searching her eyes, knowing she surely did remember. "You said you knew me well enough to be aware you'd never be the only woman in Rome to me".

"Yes, I know" - Alba replied, lowering her gaze in disappointment, "But I always hoped I would be the first woman in Rome to you". She completed the thought in a hushed tone, looking up at him through her long lashes. Antony had known her long enough to be able to tell when she was resorting to her courtesan skills, but that didn't mean they were ineffective. He knew she was trying to get him to voice his feelings, so he tilted her chin up with the pressure of a finger, capturing her mouth in a hungry, possessive kiss.

"No woman has ever held my interest so strongly and for so long, Alba" - Antony whispered over her lips, "The queen of Egypt can't hold a candle to you, even after all these years". Alba blinked a few times, as if surprised by his words, but too soon she was getting away from him, moving back a few steps with a mischievous look in her eyes.

"So" - she began, digging her teeth into her plump lower lip, "Let me go over this plan with you". Slowly, teasingly, she began undoing the buckle of her necklace, laying it down on the nearby table. Antony didn't say a word, getting an idea of what she was planning to do and approving unconditionally. He let himself drop onto a triclinium chair, eyes never leaving Alba's body.

"You will go to Egypt, bearing gifts" - she predicted, working on untying the thin, golden belt at her hips, "Maybe a couple of handsome men ready to please Cleopatra, so that afterwards you can show her what a real Roman lover is like".

As she said that, her eyes travelled down Antony's figure and she licked her lips in anticipation, making him ache with longing. She had always known that fueling his ego was the way to win his heart... And his body.

"You will flatter her, court her, seduce her until you finally get to her heart... and with it, to her armies of Egyptian soldiers" - Alba continued, her voice mellow, as she pushed her dress down her shoulders until it fell in a pool of red silk at her feet, leaving her naked in front of him. Antony inhaled sharply at the sight, getting up out of the chair to remove his toga.

"Ah, Alba, the things you can do to me" - he murmured with an amused smile, his voice coarse with desire. Alba walked towards him with swaying hips, closing the distance between them.

"She will get down on her knees for you" - she purred, kneeling in front of him, making Antony groan as he finally tossed his clothing aside, "But she will never know..."

Alba looked up at him with sparkling eyes, the sight of her soft, warm lips so close to where he wanted them enough to send Antony reeling.

"...I am the only one who can truly make you feel like a king".

And with those final, burning words, she let him slide between her lips.

Ante diem iii Nonas Maias XXXII

(May 5th, 32 b.C.)

Marc Antony's villa.

Rome.

Alba let her body fall on top of Antony's, both of them panting and smiling. He gently pulled the white silk bedsheets over her body, kissing her forehead, and that small act of kindness reminded her of what was about to happen. Antony's ships were ready to set sail towards Egypt, and she wouldn't see him for months, maybe years.

She might never see him again.

Alba's heart clenched at the thought, and she moved even closer to him to be lulled by his slowing breath.

"Every single time with you is better than the last, Alba" - he smirked, but seeing the dark look on her face, he sighed. He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then tilted her chin up to get her to look at him. He couldn't put off talking to her about their future anymore. He took a moment to measure his words, then finally spoke while looking deep into her eyes.

"When I see you again, I will either be one step from owning the world, or I will have lost everything". Alba's eyes turned bright with tears before she could control them.

"What if you never see me again?" - she asked, her voice shaking. Antony's heart sank at the thought, but he cupped her face with one hand, looking at her with resolve.

"It is time for you to choose again, Alba" - he said, fighting to keep his feelings controlled.

"You can either forget about me while I am away, shielding yourself from the consequences of my wars..." - Alba was already shaking her head at this idea, but Antony continued, "...or be on my side as I carry out my plan... Whatever that may lead to".

Alba gave him a look that felt like she could see right through his soul, and for a moment Antony feared she could feel how desperately he was praying for her to remain by his side. She moved away from him and he let her go, suppressing the instinct to pull her back to him. If she was going to decide to live her own life, he would have to get used to her not belonging to him anymore. They both remained silent, waiting, thinking. Then, after what felt like hours, she looked at him again.

"My life without you would be empty, Marc Antony" - she said earnestly, "I have no idea how it came to happen, but I could never decide to leave you without regretting it for the rest of my days". A sincere smile started tugging at Antony's lips, but Alba's expression remained somber.

"I could never live in a Rome without you" - she continued, "In a Rome where Octavian reigns with power he didn't earn".

Antony clenched his fists at the idea, once again cursing his fate that led him to always place his bets on the wrong men. Caesar first, and now Octavian, whom he had trusted to be a docile fool. Antony raised his eyes to meet Alba's, now looking as wild as the woods she was raised in.

"Antony, if you die..." - she took a deep, balancing breath before continuing, "Then I shall die too".

Antony's eyes burned for the slightest moment, and he swallowed, moved by her vow. He held out a hand to stroke her hair, running his fingers through it, and he couldn't help but marvel at her beauty, at her power.

"We shall always belong to each other, and be free" - Antony whispered, tempted to kiss her, but there was one more thing he had yet to say.

"To honour this freedom... if I am defeated, if I do not die in battle, then I will have to take my own life".

For a moment, Alba seemed to be taken aback by his words, furious. Then, slowly, her expression changed as she understood. She knew too well that Antony would never bear to live a life in prison, to be publicly humiliated by Octavian, to stand by as his enemy took the place he had strived his whole life to obtain. After a brief silence she whispered,

"Then I will too". She took his face between her hands and kissed him deeply, pouring her heart and soul into the moment. Antony wrapped her in his arms, wishing to never let her go, and suddenly he was wishing there was someone or something above, powerful enough to save him... Kind enough to give him a future with her.

TO BE CONTINUED

Part 2

As always, thank you to @ajstarfury for bearing with me and encouraging me to post this, but most of all for reading it even if she hates Marc Antony with her whole heart 😂💖

Taglist: @ritachacha @thatcatlady0716 @missameliep @goddesskrystaljung @storyofmychoices @tacohead13 @gonewithpersephone @winchesterwolves @isometimesplaychoices @kay-ali @why-am-i-eeyore @princess-geek

#marc antony x mc #choices marc antony #choices fanfiction #marc antony fic #marc antony #choices fic #acor choices #a courtesan of rome #acor antony #acor marc antony #acor fanfic

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tracybirds · 4 years ago

Text

To Stumble and To Falter

(A title? you who know my intense dislike of titling fics may all give a cheer, no need for further reading, thank you, thank you xD)

John faints and Virgil is suspicious of the cause. Includes some Dr Grandma bc we need more of that in our lives!

Many thanks to @gumnut-logic for bluntly telling me to write the fic and then reading it over in bits to help me fix it up :D

And if I’ve written Jon anywhere let me know, my H key is being temperamental... I think I’ve got them all but still :D

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The stumbling step hardly drew attention from anyone else, John tripped so often when bound by the laws of gravity. By his own admission, this particular re-entry had been of the hard and fast variety, the kind that left him a little hazy and wobbly. Only Virgil looked up at the sound of a foot not lifted high enough and banging into the staircase.

The crash that followed however, echoed around the room as brother by brother snapped into action.

“Medkit,” barked Virgil, darting across the room in three bounding steps. His command followed Gordon out of the room as he knelt next to John. He could feel the sluggish pulse beneath clammy skin and hurriedly ran his hand across the lump that was forming at the back of John’s head. There was no blood, he noted with some relief.

“Alright Scott, get his feet up.”

Scott quickly complied as Alan popped up next to Virgil.

“Is he okay?”

“Give him some space, he’ll be fine.”

Alan scooted back, reassured by the authority that rung in his older brother’s voice.

“How badly did he hit his head?” asked Scott.

“Nasty bump, but with a bit of luck nothing more. Look, he’s coming around.”

John’s eyes fluttered open as Gordon skidded into the room, nearly throwing the medkit at Virgil in his hurry.

“Wha’ happened?” mumbled John.

“What do you remember?” asked Virgil, as he strapped the icepack in place.

John batted weakly at his own neck, trying to escape Virgil’s care.

“I was walking up the stairs?”

“Didn’t even make it to the third step this time,” quipped Gordon. “You going for a record or something?”

“Gordon,” growled Scott, and he bounded away with a grin.

“You fainted,” Virgil clarified. He frowned at the lazy way John’s pupils followed the light. “And you’re on the concussion watchlist, congratulations.”

John groaned, a high whiny sound that earned him a cushion snatched from the nearby couch and laid lovingly over his head.

“Thanks,” came his muffled voice. “I feel fine.”

Scott and Virgil shared an exasperated look, remembering the last time an injured John had insisted he was ‘fine’.

“Sure John, whatever you say. You feel okay to walk?”

“Maybe. Is Alan there?”

“Sure is.”

“Might need a hand getting up.”

Alan grabbed his hand and hauled him upright. The change did not improve Virgil’s assessment of John. He pitched slightly to the side and Alan and Virgil both grabbed at him.

“Easy.”

Virgil could feel the tremors running through him, the heavy, deliberate breathing loud in his ears as he held up his brother.

“Dizzy? Nauseous?”

The barest nod sent Gordon hurrying from the room in search of a bowl.

“It’s probably vertigo, it’ll pass.”

“Thanks,” said John, through gritted teeth. “I know that.”

He took a few steps towards the staircase that had been his undoing and paused. The small motion had been enough for the colour to leech from his skin again.

Virgil was at his side immediately, steadying hands against his back.

“Maybe walking isn’t a great idea right now.”

John said nothing, standing as still as he could while he swayed with his eyes closed.

Virgil was several inches shorter than his brother, but this was no object for him, hoisting John into his arms.

His eyes flew open at the touch and he stared up at the ceiling in surprise.

“Medbay or bedroom?”

“I hate you.”

“Medbay it is then.”

“No, bedroom is good,” said John quickly.

“Glad you’ve come around.” Virgil glanced over his shoulder, catching Scott’s eye and nodding towards Alan. “Go update Grandma. She’ll want to check him out for herself.”

“I hope I do throw up,” said John with a scowl. “You’d deserve it.”

Virgil ignored him, knowing his brother was just embarrassed. He climbed the stairs easily, heading for the isolated area of the villa that John made his own when he came to visit.

He kicked open the door, and placed his brother on his bed. John was still scowling up at him.

“Was that necessary?”

“Yes.” He snatched up a copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and cracked it open.

“I don’t need to be read to like a child.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You can explain all the hidden maths to me and I’ll pretend to understand what you’re talking about.”

“Really Virgil, I’ll be fine.”

Virgil shrugged and replaced the book. Swinging the desk chair around, he sat and propped his feet up on the bed, leaning back to look at John.

“Probably.”

“You don’t really think I have a concussion do you? I’m alert, no headache unless I poke in the wrong place, no vomiting or confusion.”

“You’re dizzy, nauseous, unable to hold your balance, and clearly agitated.”

“You’re agitating, that’s why,” muttered John.

“And it’s been a while since you had a fainting spell like that. I thought we had that sorted out.”

John said nothing. Virgil raised an eyebrow, a niggling suspicion starting form in the back of his mind.

“There’s not any particular reason you would know of that would cause that, is there?”

“Long term exposure to microgravity?”

Virgil narrowed his eyes.

John smiled guilelessly.

His brother’s eyes flitted to the bedside table and, in one fluid motion, Virgil vaulted across the bed and yanked the drawer open.

John yelped at the sudden mass lying across him, scrabbling at Virgil’s hands and pulling uselessly against him.

Virgil held the monthly drug planner away from him, scowling at John as he attempted to pry the box out of his hands. He shoved John back and flipped his prize over with a futile hope that only the last remaining days of the month were creating the rattling sound inside. Instead he found nearly every compartment still filled with the little supplement packets John was meant to be taking daily.

“What the hell, John?” Virgil smacked his arm with the box. “Why aren’t you taking these?”

“I forgot?”

Virgil glared at him.

“Try again, you’ve never been less than intentional about a damn thing in your entire life.”

Stubborn silence stretched long in the room and Virgil filled every second with fears and possibilities and visions of his brother collapsing and confined to the Earth forever.

“We trust you John, you can’t just do this,” he growled, waving the box at John. “Your health has to come first, you’re alone up there, and if you get into trouble, who’s going to help you? Alan?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t. You’d really make him come up and get you?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not fair.”

The shout erupted from him, its echo only stoking the frustration that yet again one of his brothers had chosen to ignore the medical procedures laid out before them. He took a steadying breath, hating the way his brother curled away from him.

“It’s not fair of you to put us in that position, it’s not fair to expect me to always pick up the pieces.”

“I know what I can handle, you’re choosing to worry unnecessarily.” Fire flickered in his eyes. His face was pale but his cheeks were tinged with blotchy red.

Virgil snorted. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about John passing out again with so much blood pooling in his head.

“This isn’t about you getting to decide, this is about you doing as you’re told. You’re not the only one with a stake in your damn life, stop acting as if you’re the only one who matters in this situation. You take your pills because if you don’t, you won’t just injure yourself, you’ll fracture this whole family all over again.”

“Stop it.”

“No, you stop it. Stop being selfish and think. Do you even care that it damn near killed Alan the last time? Of course you don’t, you weren’t there afterwards. You never are. We care about whether you get hurt or not, you could at least pretend to do the same.”

“Virgil.”

The calm of his Grandma’s voice slammed into him, freezing the moment in place.

For an instant, Virgil could see the room from the outside, him towering over his bed-bound brother, brandishing the box in front of him. John’s eyes were closed, his face pulled into a frown. He lay still with his head tilted up on the pillow, determined that even while he shut Virgil out there could be no chance of accidental connection between them.

“Scott, take your brother please.”

There was no doubt about who she meant. Scott stepped around her and tugged the container from Virgil’s hands.

The short, sharp rattle of pills made him flinch away as Scott laid them back on the bedside table, eyes dark with worry as he looked between them.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, eyes lingering on Virgil’s frozen expression.

Scott pulled him from the room, but the way John stiffened at their grandmother’s gentle hand on his shoulder stayed with Virgil long after the door was closed.

Virgil backed up against the wall opposite the door and sank to the floor.

“What the hell was that?” demanded Scott, dropping down beside him. “I leave you two for five minutes and come back to you tearing out his throat? For what, fainting? Give the guy a break, it’s not like he can help it.”

“I’ll take that bet,” said Virgil, scowling at the door. “He’s not been taking his pills, Scott. Which means we don’t have a damn clue where his vitamin or mineral levels are at now, or how long they’ve been deficit for. And they will be deficient.”

“But you and Grandma can sort him out right? It’s not like this is new.”

“Only if he listens to us. We can’t force him to take them, he’s not a child.”

The image of John, pale and unmoving, floated in front of him again and wrapped itself around his heart. A sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes, trying to blot out the image.

“Look, if he won’t, there’s going to be consequences. His health, our trust, something will have to give eventually and I’m not willing to pay for his mistakes.”

Scott blinked.

“But if there were a way to force him,” he said slowly. “I could make his rotation conditional, it wouldn’t be hard.”

“And why the hell would he listen to you?”

“We could put checks in place so he doesn’t have a choice.”

“Let me rephrase that, why the hell should he listen to you?”

“I get the final say over assignments, I can–”

"You're just as bad as he is," snarled Virgil. "How many times have you explicitly ignored my advice. You can't command him to take them while you're still blasting off with broken ribs."

"They were strapped."

"That's not the point!"

“Okay.” Scott’s hands were surrendered in front of him in an attempt to fend off the vehemence in Virgil’s voice. “Okay, jeez, fine. Are you mad at him or not?”

“Of course I’m mad at him.” Virgil slumped against the wall. “He’s supposed to be the one I don’t have to worry about.”

He didn’t feel mad anymore. He just felt the creeping exhaustion that came with caring for a brother that didn’t want his help.

Scott tilted his head back and exhaled heavily.

“Did he say why?”

Virgil shook his head.

“I didn’t give him the chance.” He ran a hand down his face. “He’s not stupid, he knows how important this kind of thing is.”

“It might have been an accident.”

“For twenty four days in a row?”

“Okay, point.”

The door clicked open and both men sprang to their feet. Before they could say anything, Grandma Tracy held up a hand and walked away, beckoning them to follow her.

They didn’t say a word as Grandma Tracy ushered them into her sitting room.

“How is he, Grandma?” asked Scott, unable to hold back any longer.

“He’ll be right as rain come morning. He’s sleeping now.”

“Is that wise?” Virgil asked, his mind still overrun with worries.

Grandma Tracy clucked her tongue gently.

“You know as well as I do that sleeping doesn’t cause the complications that come from concussion. We’ll keep monitoring him, same as always. Although it looked like a mere scalp wound, not a brain injury, to me.”

Virgil looked over at Scott, the relief mirrored in their expressions.

“The other issue however, that’s more complex.” She opened the door to her rooms and nodded at the seats inside. “Sit down, both of you.”

They sat.

“What’s he told you?” she asked Scott brusquely.

“John’s refusing to take his supplements. He’s gonna get himself hurt.”

“John’s struggling up on Five with daily medications,” she said bluntly. “He’s not refusing. The days are too fragmented, and there’s no chance for him to build habit triggers with the pace he’s keeping.”

Virgil’s stomach dropped. Of course John wasn’t being malicious or stubborn about it. He should have known. He should have asked.

“Well, that’s good, right?” said Scott, nudging him. “It’s not deliberate?”

“It’s not deliberate,” repeated Virgil, still internally cursing the ridiculous conclusion he’d jumped to. To say nothing of the painful accusations he’d made.

Grandma Tracy cleared her throat, drawing their attention again. Her eyes were serious.

“I’ve taken a blood sample, and in a few hours we’ll know the most urgent actions to take. EOS can monitor his daily activity for a few weeks and identify tasks we can tie his supplement use to. Then it’s just a matter of checking in until he’s ready to go back to full capacity.”

“Seems straightforward,” said Scott, glancing at Virgil. “What do you think?”

Grandma Tracy’s eyes shifted to meet his own.

“It sounds like a good plan, Grandma.”

She nodded firmly, eyeing the two brothers in front of her.

“Well if that’s decided, we’d best go break the news to your brothers that they have a dispatch refresher coming their way.”

Scott laughed. “I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear it.”

“They do need the practice,” said Virgil with a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as they stood.

They stepped out of the sitting room. He paused, staring at the hallway that lead to John’s room. It seemed to stretch far ahead of him and the way it curved into dark corners somehow seemed all the more ominous for the dread and regret that weighed upon him. His feet were leaden, but he forced himself to turn away from Scott and Grandma Tracy and walk towards the hall.

“Are you coming, Virgil?” Grandma Tracy’s voice was quiet but it broke through the whirling thoughts in his mind.

The door at the far end was ajar, a tiny gap that called to him as a clear invitation.

“Actually, I have something I need to do first,” he said, walking towards it. “You go on, I’ll talk to them after.”

Grandma Tracy smiled.

“You’re a good man, Virgil,” she said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll see you later.”

Decision made, he could move easily again and the hallway seemed to brighten with every step.

Virgil slipped into the room and found John appeared to be sleeping peacefully, the exertion of the day catching up with him at last.

He settled himself back on the chair, watching the slow rise and fall of John’s chest in the gloom. An arm had been flung across his forehead and Virgil smiled to see the small Yoda plaster over the prick on his index finger.

He picked up Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland from where he’d placed it earlier and flicked on his pen torch, a tiny beam of light illuminating the words.

“You can turn the desk light on if you want.”

Virgil jumped slightly at the calm, measured voice. He glanced over and saw John watching him, one eye still closed and the other bright and alert.

“You don’t mind?”

John shook his head and so Virgil did as he was told. The soft glow that lined the desk spilled onto the page and across the room.

There was no sound but the rustle of turned pages and even breathing.

“You could read it to me,” said John suddenly.

Virgil looked up, spotting the shining eye and the tilted head that told him John wasn’t going to hold his fears against him. He swallowed carefully past the lump in his throat. He knew a peace offering when he saw it, knew they held words that would be left unsaid between them. He wouldn’t reject a sincere attempt to mend fences, especially when he had been the fool that smashed them.

He nodded once and John closed his eyes with a content sigh.

“Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do…”

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Maths and Alice you ask? Some very cool theories about the meaning and context in which Alice was written can be found [here]

#virgil tracy #john tracy #scott tracy #grandma tracy #thunderbirds are go #sometimes i fic

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mnthpprt · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 29: Seeking The New Normal

When I enter the dining room, Isaac and Napoleon are both there, as well as le Comte.

“I am glad to see you are feeling better, ma chérie,” he greets me, looking up from his plate. “I did not want to bother you while you rested.”

“Thanks,” I say with a smile, sitting down next to him. There is an extra plate and cutlery on the table for me. I assume it was set in case I woke up. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”

“Boeuf bourguignon and vegetable flamiche,” Napoleon chimes in. “Sebastian’s out getting rouge, so I made dinner today. Here, try this.”

He scoops a slice of flamiche onto my plate, and I immediately cut a bite sized portion and bring it to my mouth.

“Holy shit, Napo, this is amazing,” I moan with my mouth full. I quickly chew and swallow before speaking again. “I had no idea you could cook.”

“What can I say, I’m good for more than just sword fighting,” he winks before changing the topic. “I am so sorry I did not visit you, Anaïs. I tried to as soon as I got back the other night and found out what happened, but you were unconscious. You should be more careful, nunuche.”

“Hey, j’suis pas nunuche!” I complain in French with a laugh. I know he uses the word as a term of endearment, so maybe it means something else to him, but in my time it translates to stupid or silly.

“You are, though,” Isaac mutters. “What you did was reckless and stupid,” he quietly scolds me, his eyes fixed on his food. Le Comte awkwardly clears his throat. I can tell he agrees with Isaac, but he’s too polite to say it.

“Look,” I say. “I already got the talk from Leonardo, okay? The last thing I need is you all acting like concerned parents. I am a grown woman, and I’m fine.”

To signal the end of this conversation, I angrily shove a forkful of beef stew into my mouth. Napoleon and le Comte exchange a look, but I ignore it, choosing to focus on the delicious dinner instead.

“So, Anaïs, I would like you to go into town with me and Isaac when you feel well enough to leave the mansion,” Napoleon says. Isaac looks up from his plate, and to my surprise, he doesn’t protest. “We thought it would be a good idea for you to get out, and there’s something we’d like to show you.”

Isaac nods quietly. Okay, now I am really intrigued. I wonder what it is. I better heal quickly, then. Suddenly, a thought pops into my head.

“What day is it today?” I ask. Le Comte tilts his head.

“Thursday, why?”

“Shakespeare’s new play premieres tomorrow,” I explain, relieved that I didn’t miss it. “I promised him I’d go to the opening night.”

“Ma chérie, are you sure you’re well enough?” I nod. “In that case, you’ll need a new dress.”

“Oh, no! There is no need, I can just wear this one.”

“I insist,” he smiles. “It is the least I can do. Please, my chérie, allow me.”

“Okay,” I sigh. “Thanks, Comte.” I turn to Isaac and Napoleon. “I guess I can go with you two and leave before the play starts, no? Do you think I could make it in time?”

“I don’t see why not,” Napoleon shrugs. Isaac, who has been quietly listening, resumes eating, and I mimic him. The table is taken over by a comfortable silence as we finish our dinner.

Afterwards, I head to the library, hoping to see Leonardo. I want to let him know I’m feeling better. I find him smoking by the window, sitting cross legged on the armchair, absorbed by whatever’s in his notebook. I wrap my arms around him from behind and start kissing down his neck.

“Surprise,” I purr into his ear, before walking around the chair to sit on his lap. “What are you working on this time?” I ask, recognizing the look of concentration on his face.

“A self-winding watch,” he states. He does not say anything else. No romantic greeting, no ‘cara mia’. I lean into him, begging for attention, and return to laying kisses all over him, but he gently swats me away. “I’m busy, cara mia.”

Ouch. Normally, he’d be all over me by now, and have no qualms about leaving whatever he was doing aside, but this... His attitude, though gentle, is unusually cold. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I know he would not tell me if I asked, so I resign myself to believing he is just busy. With a displeased sigh, I climb off of him and pull out a random book from the shelf to pass the time.

For the next hour or so, I quietly watch him from the table as I pretend to read. Leonardo glances up once and catches me, but quickly goes back to pretending I’m not even there. It hurts. He does not say a single word, and I eventually get bored of this stupid game and leave him to his own devices, opting to take a bath instead. I need to clear my head.

“Mind if I join?” I ask, approaching the water. I was hoping to find the thermae empty, but I don’t mind the Van Gogh brothers’ company. If anything, I need a distraction.

“Uh... You don’t mind that we’re here?” Vincent stammers. I shake my head and look at Theo for approval.

“Come on in, hondje,” he says, rolling his eyes. I coincided with him and Arthur not too long ago, so he is already aware of my lack of bashfulness when it comes to nudity. I take no pleasure in showing off my body, but I think it would be silly to miss out on bathing just because a boy might look at me.

I discard my robe and step into the warm water next to them. Like last time, Theo does his best to ignore me, while Vincent shuffles closer to gently lift my arm.

“Is that...?”

“Yeah,” I say simply. I don’t often see the back of my arm, so I tend to forget that tattoo is there at all.

“You weren’t kidding when you said I was your favorite,” he laughs. “Why did you get it?” I turn my back towards him so he can better see it, and his fingers lightly trace the black and grey flower.

“Well, I wanted a sunflower,” I explain, smiling, “and I just happened to really like yours. But color washes me out, so that’s why I got it in black.”

“It looks... different,” he mutters. “I like it.”

Theo, who has been relaxing with his eyes closed a few feet away from us, perks up to glance at me. I lift up my arm to show him the tattoo, and he nods, pleased.

“You have good taste, hondje.” Of course he would say that. It’s his beloved broer’s piece, after all.

“I know,” I chuckle. I hear a splash, and my eyes widen when I spot something moving behind him. “Um, guys...” I tap Vincent’s shoulder, slightly panicked. “Why is there a racoon in here?”

The racoon, meanwhile, gives me a blank stare and continues to splash water onto its face with it’s little hands.

“Brush! You’re not allowed to be here!” Vincent exclaims, swiftly standing up and climbing out of the water to pick up the animal in his arms. I look away, amused, to give him some privacy. He seems to have forgotten that he is, indeed, completely naked. “How did you get in, buddy?”

He runs out into the hallway like that, cradling the racoon like a baby. Seconds later, he returns. Alone.

“You have a racoon,” I state, incredulous, as he sinks into the water once again, nodding with a bright smile. I raise my eyebrow, confused. All I know about racoons is that they like getting in people’s trash and are considered a pest in some places. “Uh, okay... Why?”

“Why do I have him? Well, I found him as a baby and the mother never came back, so he just stuck around,” Vincent explains. “His name is Brush.”

“Aw, that’s adorable! Like a paintbrush?”

“No, like that thing that you and Sebastian use for cleaning,” he corrects me. Oh, he’s serious. I can’t help but start laughing uncontrollably, earning a glare from Theo.

I finally calm down, feeling a bit lightheaded. Must be the heat from the bath, making the blood loss I suffered much more evident. I ignore it.

“Theo, do you know Émile Zola? He was at the exhibition the other day,” I change the topic, remembering the encounter.

“I know of him, but him showing up was a surprise,” he says. “Why do you ask?”

“He said he wanted to write about it,” I explain. “Specifically, Vincent’s portrait of me. We had quite an interesting conversation about it, actually.”

Theo narrows his eyes. I can practically hear the cogs turning inside his head, wondering how he can make a business opportunity out of this casual acquaintanceship.

“I suppose I could put you in contact with him,” he finally concedes, thoughfully. “I’m too busy to meet, but if he wants to know more you wouldn’t mind to go in my place, would you, hondje?”

“Not at all,” I reply with a smile. The slight movement of my head makes the world around me start spinning, causing me to grip the edge of the pool. “I better get out, I’m getting dizzy.”

“Do you need help, Anaïs?” the older brother offers, reaching for my hand.

“Thanks, Vincent, but I think I’m fine.”

I manage to climb out of the water and slip into my bathrobe before making my way out, wobbling slightly. The fresh air of the hallway hits me, reinvigorating compared to the hot steam of the thermae. I slowly walk back to my bedroom and throw myself on the bed, nod bothering to get dressed before I fall asleep again.

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365days365movies · 4 years ago

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February 6, 2021: Romeo + Juliet (1996)

From the top!

Two households, both alike in dignity In Fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross’d lover take their life; Whose misadventured, piteous overthrows Do, with their death, bury their parents’ strife The fearful passage of the death-mark’d love, And the continuance of their parents’ rage Which, but their children’s end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage; The which, if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strike to mend.

I mean, c’mon. It’s Shakespeare, I practically had to.

Which is why it may come as a surprise to hear that I think this play is overrated, far too overexposed, and honestly stars two of the most obnoxiously immature protagonists that Shakespeare ever wrote. Which is not to say that I don’t like it, but it is to say that it isn’t my favorite. Which one is my favorite, you ask? Eh, I vacillate between a few, but I might get into it, we’ll see.

Weirdly fitting, though, since this film is directed by a director who also isn’t my favorite. Can’t say I have a definitive favorite director either, but Baz Luhrmann ain’t it. To be fair, I haven’t seen Moulin Rouge (probably should, huh?), but his turn on The Great Gatsby...wasn’t my favorite, I’ll just leave it at that.

And while we’re into it, lemme just address Romeo and Juliet adaptations on film real quick. To be completely transparent, before today...I’ve only seen one adaptation of the play: Franco Zeffirelli’s excellent 1968 turn on it, and it’s a fantastic adaptation at that. Sone of you, however, may now be realizing that, if I’ve only seen one adaptation of the play...there’s an extremely glaring omission to my film repertoire.

Yeaaaaaaaaah...we’ll get there, I promise.

But, of course, the adaptations only scratch the surface of this plays influence. See, the whole point of the rivalry between the Montagues and the Capulets is that it’s SO OLD, that nobody truly remembers why it started in the first place. Because of that, other romance films have sought to supply a reason for that rivalry.

In other words, the two protagonists destined to fall in love often come from two backgrounds, if not families, that class. And, yes, only ONE FILM that I’ve watched this month doesn’t do that. Dirty Dancing and The Notebook make their “ancient grudge” class-based; low-class vs. upper-class. Even You’ve Got Mail makes it about money, although that one’s a little more of a stretch. In any case, versions of this trope have lasted for centuries, and it’s...maybe poisoned romantic cinema? I mean, there’s a reason they all seem similar. They’re all taking from a classic. And, yeah, more of them than you’d think use this formula. I mean...

Hell, if you think about it, both of them are technically dead by the end.

Anyway, jumping right smack dab into the ‘90s, where teen heartthrob of the decade, Leo DiCaprio himself, is cast to play the titular teen boy, and sort-of popular at the time Claire Danes is cast as the titular teen girl. Put them together, and you have a hatred that will last for centuries. Because yeah, they HATED each other apparently. Let’s watch! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

...Look, here’s a quick recap of a story that EVERYBODY KNOWS.

Two families hate each other, and each has a teenage kid; a boy named Romeo and a girl named Juliet. They see each other at a party, they IMMEDIATELY get those teenage hormones a flowing and fall in love at first sight. They talk a few times, then decide to get married. Romeo’s friends say, “Dude, her family’s all dicks,” and Romeo says “naw, dude, she’s hawt,” They hook up, and they get secret-married. But, since they can’t be together in life, and since Juliet’s supposed to marry a whole other dude, Juliet runs to the priest and says, “hey, fake my death real quick?” He gives her a potion, she pretends to be dead, Romeo finds out (after one of his friends is killed by Juliet’s cousin), and runs to her side. Dude then ACTUALLY kills himself with poison, only for Juliet to wake up, see his dead body, and then kill HERSELF with a KNIFE, and then the families find out, and the Prince comes by and just says, “Goddamn, you guys are dicks. So much so that you killed your kids, congrats.” And that’s the end.

Yeah. Two hours of play and movie (nice touch, by the way, Luhrman) compressed into a paragraph. And yet...I’m still gonna recap this movie. Glutton for punishment, I guess. And with that said...

It all starts with a newscaster, speaking the lines of the Prologue in the guise of a newscast, which is...very neat, actually! That’s followed by...Pete Postlethwaite saying the whole thing over again, backed by a hell of a lot of fast cut editing.

...Oh God, it’s a Luhrmann movie. I forgot. Also, uh...really trying to stretch out that runtime to make that 2-hour mark, huh, Bazzie? I admire that you’re trying to stick to that “two hour-stage” quote from the Prologue, really I do...but you had to repeat the Prologue TWICE to do that?

As the lines flash on screen, we’re also introduced to out major players, whom I’ll just introduce as they come up. After a little montage of the movie to come, and a confirmation that the ancient grudge has broken out into a gang war on the streets of Verona Beach (clever), we jump in the car of a few Montagues: Sampson (Jaime Kennedy), Benvolio (Dash Mihok), and Gregory (Zak Orth).

At a gas station, they meet some Capulets, specifically Abra (Vincent Laresca) and a few others. After some thumb-biting, they all draw their swords. Which are guns that have sword written on them. Well, that’s just silly.

This standoff is interrupted by the arrival of another Capulet: Tybalt (John Leguizamo). This, of course, leads to a swordfight (ugh), during which all players are, just...REAL dramatic with their movements, holy shit. In the process, Sampson’s shot (or...stabbed, I dunno), and the gas station explodes.

It’s war in the streets now, as Tybalt and Benvolio are eventually intercepted by Captain Prince (Vondie Curtis-Hall), the chief of police for Verona Beach. He reads out his rage upon the heads of the families. For the Montagues, these heads are Ted (Brian Dennehy) and Caroline (Christina Pickles); and for the Capulets, they’re Fulgencio (Paul Sorvino) and Gloria (Diane Venora). Is...is the grudge taking place because one of them is named “Ted,” and the other is FUCKING “FULGENCIO”? Because that’s one hell of a dichotomy.

Captain Prince lets them all off with a warning (I mean, no, they should ALL be arrested), and Caroline and Ted question the whereabouts of their melodramatic emo son. That son is, of course, Romeo (Leonardo DiCaprio), who laments poetically about how fucked up his family is.

Hanging out at a decrepit carnival (because of course he is), he’s soon found by Benvolio, and he laments on the lack of love between their two families. They bond over talk of women, and decide to secretly go to a party held by the Capulets that night to check out some girls.

Meanwhile, Fulgencio is speaking about this whole mess to Dave Paris (Paul Rudd). D...Dave? Really? We’re keepin’ fuckin’ Benvolio and Balthasar, but we had to name Paris DAVE? Guys, a little consistency with the name shit, PLEASE! Anyway, Dave (uuuuugh) is the governor’s son, and very wealthy, while also being a suitor for Fulgencio’s daughter.

That daughter is, of course, Juliet (Claire Danes), who’s being attended by her vain mother and kindly Nurse (Miriam Margoyles). As her mother’s preparing for the party, she talks up Paris as a suitor, although Juliet doesn’t seem SUPER into it. And s the Nurse tells her to “seek happy nights to happy days,” we go to Sycamore Grove, and to another party.

And this is where we meet my favorite character (everybody’s favorite character, let’s be honest): Mercutio (Harold Perrineau). Mercutio has been invited to the Capulet’s party, and invites Romeo to come along, in disguise. In the process, he gives one of the play’s most famous monologues: Queen Mab’s Speech. It’s truncated here, ad to be frank, Perrineau’s performance is a bit...over the top. But, it ends up to be fairly effective.

Also, Queen Mab is ecstasy. Yeah, that kinda dulled by enthusiasm for the whole enterprise, I ain’t gonna lie. But Romeo lies with Queen La, and they head to the Capulet’s party. And we’re about to hit PEAK LUHRMANN, people.

Look, I’m lame, I’ve never really done drugs, ecstasy included...but it FEELS like I’ve taken something now. And Romeo’s now trying to sober-up a bit. He dunks his head into a sink in the bathroom, and looks at a tropical aquarium that’s in there. And through that aquarium...

However, Juliet’s quickly spirited away by Nurse, and brought to dance with Dave. Romeo, meanwhile, gives his “Did my heart love till now” speech, and DOESN’T SAY THAT SHE DOTH TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN BRIGHT??? Seriously, the beginning of that speech is completely deleted. That line, in and of itself, should’ve been left in.

Anyway, Romeo and Juliet speak, and the teenagers kiss...a lot. And yeah, they do kiss in this scene in the ply, but not that much. Immediately afterwards, they discover their family alliances, and Romeo and Mercutio flee the party. Romeo heads back soon after, and, well...you know the line. But soft...

youtube

This movie...LOVES water, huh? We see both Romeo and Juliet from underwater at separate points, they see each other for the first time through an aquarium, they’re making out in a pool right now. I mean, I’m sure there’s some symbolism to that, but I’m not sure what it is yet.

Anyway, the two starcross’d lover come just short of crossing stars, and they IMMEDIATELY get engaged to marry.

After a bit of ‘90s music whiplash, we meet Father Laurence (Pete Postlethwaite), a botany-loving priest, and soon-to-be ally to the young couple. Romeo asks Laurence to wed them, despite the fact that Romeo actually was in love with a woman named Rosaline. But, yeah, she’s one of the unseen casualties of this play, only sometimes making it into adaptations. As Romeo speaks to the Priest, I think this is a great time to mention that there is a FUCKTON of Jesus and Christian imagery in this movie. Water and Jesus, goddamn.

The Priest agrees, believing that a marriage between the two could bring peace to Verona Beach at last. We also get a bunch of quick edits showing various parts of the Luhrmann Shakespeare Cinematic Universe, all backed by a choir boy singing “When Doves Cry.” This is an...unusual movie.

It also seems that Tybalt has issued a challenge against Romeo, which Mercutio and Benvolio muse upon. They meet with Romeo on the beach, and as they hang around, their revelry is interrupted by the arrival of the Nurse. She gives him a warning not to fuck with Juliet’s heart, which he says that he won’t, as they’re planning on marrying. She appears to approve, but Mercutio seems not to. Definitely going with a more superficially mercurial take on the character, which fits. But that’ll be more apparent later.

Nurse goes to Juliet, and...OK, is she supposed to be Italian or Hispanic? Because I feel like I’m supposed to be mildly offended, but I don’t even know what she’s going for here. Anyway, the wedding time approaches, and the two get wed in secret. But on the beach, Tybalt has come to go after Romeo. Romeo tries to make amends, even giving up his “sword” to him, much to Mercutio’s anger. Which, uh...he’s not gonna stand for.

And, of course, Mercutio’s fatally stabbed while defending Romeo’s honor. He lays A PLAGUE O’ BOTH THEIR HOUSES, and dies. Romeo’s PISSED, and immediately goes to kill Tybalt. That leads to Romeo’s banishment, although they consummate their marriage before he takes off. Also, Juliet KNOWS that he KILLED HER COUSIN...but it’s Leo, I guess, and...hormones.

Romeo’s banished and goes to Mantua, AKA a trailer park in the middle of the desert. Juliet, meanwhile, is commanded by her father to marry Paris, although she REALLY isn’t into it now! She goes to Laurence and, yeah, threatens to kill him AND herself if he doesn’t have an idea. Hormones, man. They’ll fuck you UP.

Laurence’s solution, of course, is to have Juliet pretend to have killed herself by drinking a potion. No idea why he comes up with this idea, or has the skill to make the potion, but some questions aren’t meant to be asked or answered. He also says to that he’ll send a litter to Romeo, to let him know what the deal is.

Juliet pretends to kill herself, and it interred with her relatives. Meanwhile, Romeo’s cousin Balthasar (Jesse Bradford) comes by the desert, having just gone to Juliet’s funeral, and tells him that Juliet’s dead. And since Romeo never got the goddamn letter, he’s decided, “Well! Guess I’m gonna kill myself.”

He gets some poison, then goes to Juliet’s tomb, which is...decked in neon crosses. I mean, it looks nice, even it’s very, uh...over the top. Goddamn.

And, at this point, you know how this goes. Romeo drinks the poison and dies, Juliet wakes up JUST after, then kills herself as well, and the parents of both parties arrive to see them both dead, along with the Prince, who says “Y’ALL ARE DICKS,” and bounces.

That’s Luhrman’s Romeo + Juliet. And it’s a movie. Yeah, that I’ll give you. What did I think? What rating does it get? Well...I’ll elucidate in the Review.

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taerseok · 4 years ago

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there once was a home. | ksj

Pairing: Seokjin × f.reader

Synopsis: “There was once a home that you shared with Seokjin. Perhaps, home was home because it had Seokjin. Now, there is none.”

Word Count: 4.4k

Genre / Rating: Angst, very mild fluff / PG-13

TW: Death, blood & hospitals, mentions of a weapon (gun), MCD!au, use of phone while driving, burglary & swearing

NOTES:

• First of all, thank you soo much to @arizonapoppy for reading this over and helping me spruce it up.

• Secondly, this oneshot is dedicated to my beautiful brenmate @bangtan-dreamland who is the best person in the world and you cannot convince me otherwise >:OO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ERIS!! me hope you like hehe (◕ᴗ◕✿) even if you have already read this because i was too lazy to post it afterwards.

There is this hollow feeling in your chest, eating you away as seconds slip by.

There once was a home that you shared with Seokjin. Perhaps, home was home because it had Seokjin. Now, there is none.

But when did it start? When did you two simply lose your minds to the point he had to be admitted to a hospital, to the point that you, despite seeing him laying in a pool of blood, did not lift a finger?

Let’s start at the beginning of this. Let’s start on June 6th.

══════◄••❀••►══════

You were sitting in the living room, the faint sound of the aircon almost lulling you to sleep, and on multiple occasions, you did fall asleep for what you thought were five minutes or so, but could’ve been more.

You were waiting for Seokjin to come back home.

Lately, it had always been like this, so you weren’t surprised he was late, yet again. But still. Welcoming him home was the least you could do for him.

Not because you were married or anything, no— the thought actually sounded ridiculous to you, your cheeks burning red at how wild your fantasies were becoming— but because you were roommates.

That was all.

Just a roommate waiting for another roommate to come home. Suspicious? Maybe. Maybe you did like Seokjin a little (or a lot), and maybe you did want to do this so he’d think nicely of you, but still! It wasn’t as if other roommates wouldn’t wait for theirs to come home from work.

Looking at the clock to your right, you sighed. 1 o’clock. Yup. They’d definitely wait this long.

It was then, finally, that your phone rang. Picking it up, upon closer inspection, you realised it was Seokjin calling you.

“Where in the world are you? You know how worried I was!?” Your brows furrowed. You didn’t give him a chance to speak, simply caught up in the pent-up frustration.

“Relax, damn it. It’s not as if I was out with friends at a club or anything—”

“—You were, weren’t you?”

“No, no. I wasn’t.”

“Then why do you sound drunk?”

You heard him sigh on the other side. “Forget that. Can you please come pick me up?” You wanted to blow up so badly, so fucking badly. But it’d be better, you frowned, if you met him face-to-face and gave him your 2-cents on this whole catastrophe.

“Send me the address and wait there. I’m coming.”

══════◄••❀••►══════

You watched as Seokjin got into the car next to your seat, glaring daggers at him. “You better not think I’m your personal driver or anything,” but I’d love to be your wife, “Because I’m not going to be around here for long.”

“You say it like you’re going to die instead of moving away,” he rolled his eyes. “Shut it. I’m just telling you not to rely on me for everything. I’m not going to die,” you said, trying your best to keep most of your attention on the road, the flashing lights of the passing cars. Seokjin was the biggest distraction (and oddly enough, you loved it).

“Mhmm,” Seokjin slowly hummed, arms crossed in front of his chest as he sank back on the seat. Hand finding the mp3 player, he turned a quiet melody on.

In the midst of the wet season, today after the rain,

a lukewarm wind blows through the quiet night streets.

You sighed, head nodding along to the rhythm of the song. “So you’re really moving away?” At his naive question, you turned silent.

You were moving, in just less than two months, in fact, to another city. You were leaving the apartment you shared with Seokjin, all those laughs and joy you two shared. It hurt a little. Just a little. Knowing Seokjin didn’t find it difficult at all, it helped.

I can’t tell how you feel. The more I want, the more it hurts.

Even so, I could never hate you.

Unlike the pain you had, leaving behind someone so precious to you, Seokjin didn’t like you in that way at all. And maybe that’s for the better, you smiled faintly, because at least then, you wouldn’t have to go through the pain of parting. After all, parting only matters if both individuals care, right?

And if he didn’t care, then it was all for the best.

“Yup,” you replied. “But anyway, you came here with friends, didn’t you?” You raised a brow, stealing a glance at him before turning back to the road.

He nodded lightly. “They left me.”

“Wow.”

“What do you mean “wow”?” He pouted. “I was so scared someone was going to kidnap me for my handsome face or something.”

You rolled your eyes at the so-very-humble answer. “You’ve got some great friends there.”

“They aren’t even my friends, just co-workers.”

“Shows how much they respect you,” you grinned, watching how his brows furrowed and he pouted even more. “You’re really mean.” Letting a snicker escape, you rolled eyes once more. “I saved you from potentially getting kidnapped, like you said. I’m not mean. Your co-workers are. Maybe you should get some better friends.”

“Like who?”

Your face felt hot at the reply that came to you, as you hesitated whether to say it or not. “I don’t… know. Like… me, maybe,” you shrugged it off, heart skipping beats. You kept your attention on the road, not wanting to see his reaction.

I can’t hold it, I can’t reach it.

I can’t hold it, that heart of yours.

He chuckled, patting you on the head. “Careful, we could get killed, y’know,” you said, referring to the traffic ahead. Your gaze averted to him for a moment, taking in the sweet look on his face. That pretty smile, those starry eyes.

“I wouldn’t mind dying with you, it’s fine.”

The temptation to pull him in and kiss him kept growing. Your grip on the wheel tightened, you barely being able to suppress the desire to tell him about your true feelings.

“And what if I lived and you didn’t make it?”

“Then you could tell everyone that the last person I ever looked at was you.”

You tried not to laugh, you really did; but ended up giggling anyway. “You’re ridiculous. I’d never let you die.”

“For as long as you’re here, I know I’ll be fine.”

“Good. Because… I-I’ll keep you safe.”

‘It’s just my own thinking.’

I want to cry when I feel this way,

I want to know how you feel.

══════◄••��••►══════

“YN-ah,” Seokjin pouted the next weekend, arm around yours, head resting on your shoulder. “Give me attention.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m working on my blog, Jin, I can’t right now—”

“Do you want me to cry, then?” he smirked, causing you to sigh. “I love the way your hair smells. It’s pretty too.” Managing to somehow keep your cool, and refrain from melting into a pool of milk (you did not like coffee, had never drunk tea. Milk was the only thing your body had, excluding water, you mused), you looked to Seokjin with a very intimidating face. It didn’t faze him.

“Stop acting like a creep. What do you want?” You quirked up a brow, curiosity increasing as the slight annoyance slowly locked itself away. You could never be really mad at Seokjin, sadly.

“So,” unwrapping his arm from yours, he pulled out his phone, “I made a Tinder account recently, and—”

“...You what?”

“I made a Tinder account! Get over it. So...”

You watched him in silence as he opened the app, showing you the conversations he had with his matches, the very recent one only finished fifteen minutes ago—

As he came to you, just fifteen minutes ago. And here you thought he liked you.

‘It’s just my own thinking.’

I want to cry when I feel this way,

Our feelings can’t become the same.

You’re really pathetic, you thought, biting down your lip so you wouldn’t break down crying right next to him. How do you be enough for him…?

“...And she’s the last girl I talked with. I really like her, do you think I should take her out? YN?” Seokjin frowned, waving his hand in front of you to catch your attention.

“YN-ah~!?” he exclaimed, making you blink at him in surprise. “Oh.” The cute frown on his face was the first thing you saw, bringing you back to reality. “What are you thinking about? The blog?”

Unwillingly, you slowly brought yourself to nod. “...What were you asking?”

“I really like her. Should I take her out?”

She’s pretty. Really pretty. You could see her and Seokjin together. It made you happy. As happy as you could be, you added, blinking away the tears that suddenly made themselves known.

“Y-Yeah! Give it a try. I’m… I’m sure she’ll love it.”

You didn’t spend the night working on that blog. You spent it crying over someone you’d never have.

I love you so much. Why don’t you notice me? Try as you might, you hated this stupid little crush (you promised to yourself you’d never call it love), but it wasn’t as if you could stop it. Everyday, you’d wake up to his sleepy face, sweet little acts of affection, the cute pouts and laughs. Even that would change very soon. And you couldn’t stop that either.

What could you even do?

Even so, I could never hate you.

══════◄••❀••►══════

It’s two weeks later that Seokjin came back to your shared apartment, all down and pouty.

“What happened?” you asked, adjusting the space on the couch so he could sit comfortably next to you. Your laptop sat on your lap, as you typed away.

“I messed up. She called me cocky.”

You bit down on your lip, trying to hide your smile. “Oh, really now? Who would’ve guessed?”

“Shut up. I feel really sad right now.” He rested his head against your arm, pulling you closer. Pink dusted your cheeks, you felt light enough to float away but you tried your best to show you were unaffected.

Shining with light, it steals my gaze,

I want to hold it.

Putting your laptop down on the coffee table, you sank back on the seat, hands finding Seokjin’s soft hair. “It’s okay. There are… others who like you for who you are,” you said, smiling faintly as your fingers gently glided through his locks.

“You don’t think I’m cocky?”

“Nope. Not at all. I don’t think that you’re cocky, maybe sometimes a little too much to handle, but—”

“Hey!” Seeing that frown on his face, you became silent. “Mmm, well… If you want, we could watch a movie together. Try and cheer you up, yeah?”

“Yeah! Forget Tinder, I’ve got such a great friend like you.”

Your shoulders drooped slightly at the last few words, but he didn’t pause to give you time to reply. Taking your laptop and opening another tab, he started typing, “I want to see that horror one a co-worker suggested a few days ago—”

Obviously, horror movies gave you the heebie-jeebies, but that didn’t stop Seokjin from putting on one before, and it wouldn’t that day, either. At least, you had an excuse to cling onto him for the night.

“I’m scared,” you said, blanket in hand. You had woken up at two in the morning, and too paranoid to go back to sleep, woke Seokjin up by knocking on his bedroom’s door.

“Are you serious?” He didn’t seem annoyed, but instead raised a brow.

“Yeah, what do you mean if I’m—”

“You’re a twenty-five year old adult, wearing her pajamas and asking for her roommate to sleep with her because she watched a horror movie and is too scared to sleep alone,” he rolled his eyes at the end, making you huff. “Well, we’re friends, consider this a sleepover, just lemme—”

“Argh, fine. Come in.”

“Can I, uhm, sleep in the bed?”

“You sleep on the floor.”

“What!?” you exclaimed, making Seokjin groan. “Nevermind. Get in the bed.”

At least you got to hug him as you tried to sleep. Keyword; tried. It was hard not to just admire his glowing features, or freak out over the fact that if you moved any closer, you could’ve kissed him. Your heart couldn’t slow down, instead racing faster and faster until all you could do was blink at him, wanting to tell him how much you liked him.

His heart, on the other hand, just a little way from you, was calm. You watched him as he breathed in, then out, and in again, only to breathe out once more at an even pace. Unlike you, who lost her breath every time she discovered a new thing to count about Seokjin.

How many times do you breathe in a minute?

How many eyelashes do you really have?

How the fuck are you so amazing?

It was another restless night, except this time, in the arms of someone you loved.

I want to try touching it,

you are just like this firefly.

══════◄••❀••►══════

It’s the weekend before you have to move on that coming Thursday. Incheon was a bustling city, Seokjin had told you, you’d enjoy it a lot more than you did here at Gwacheon. But you had been in this place since you were born, always loved the locals. The best point was that you knew the city like the back of your hand, exploring and blogging about your adventures.

If it wasn’t for the company that you wanted to work for, wanting you to work from their building itself, not from home, you wouldn’t have to leave everything behind. Both Gwacheon and Seokjin.

Though you had always wanted to work for them, so that was one good thing about it, you supposed. Besides, driving to work everyday from Gwacheon and taking about an hour to reach there and then driving yourself home for another hour? Too exhausting.

You were eventually going to buy yourself a house anyway, as soon as you got enough money to buy one. Till then, you’d settle for an apartment at Incheon, a lot more convenient since it was closer to work.

That meant leaving Seokjin and Gwacheon was something you couldn’t change either way.

It still hurt. But that’s fine. You were going to be fine.

As a sort of farewell, you and Seokjin decided to go around and visit places on that weekend, since he had the two days off from work. You had been trying to keep your distance so as to not get attached even more, but that didn’t seem to work, because as much as you pulled away from Seokjin, he pulled you even closer.

Still.

A day out wouldn’t hurt, right?

“Gimme your ice cream,” Seokjin pouted.

“Buy yourself another cone if you want, I’m not giving you mine,” you frowned, rolling your eyes as you licked it over, again.

“How rude.” Saying so, Seokjin rushed over to the nearby ice cream parlor to buy himself some more.

You lied to yourself; this day was painful as hell.

“I want to buy you this necklace,” he said, pointing to the cute accessory at display right behind the glass.

“That’s… I’d like that, actually.”

“But did you give me your ice cream?” He raised a brow, looking at you in a suspicious manner.

“...No?” you squeaked, before watching a frown tug his plump lips down.

“Then why should I buy you the necklace?”

“Aw c’mon!” You stomped on the ground, crossing your arms when you realised he wasn’t listening to you. Sighing, he shook his head as he came to the conclusion that you weren’t backing down.

“Alright, you big baby, I’ll buy it for you.” Rolling his eyes, the two of you entered the shop, particularly you, excited.

Are you ready? I still want to look.

Are you ready? At that heart.

“Thanks for today,” you said, a little more quieter than usual. Maybe it was the blues of leaving your home. Not Gwacheon, but Seokjin— your real home.

“No problem,” he replied, smiling, no, not cockily, but sweetly; actually smiling. Flicking on the mp3 player once more as you drove the two of you home, or rather, to your apartment— because you were already home with Seokjin— you heard the same music playing as you had heard weeks ago.

I can’t tell how you feel. The more I want, the more it hurts.

Even so, I could never hate you.

You blushed a little, turning red. “I appreciate this a lot more than you think.”

“I know.”

“Thank you,” you repeated, smiling faintly as you looked down to glance at the necklace you were wearing, the one he bought you.

“Thank you, YN.”

══════◄••❀••►══════

Thursday. It was the moving day.

Part of you was excited for what was to come next, however overshadowed by the solemn feeling of leaving behind everything you know to work on your own. Especially Seokjin.

“Don’t forget to call me when you reach, okay?”

You nodded to his words. The last of the boxes were being taken away by the truck, to be dropped off at the new flat. You could only hope for someone to help you get those boxes up to your room once you got there, because you definitely couldn’t carry those. It was only because of Seokjin that you had gotten those boxes outside from the current place.

“I—” Your voice failed you at that point.

You didn’t think about it. Only moved in to pull him close as you felt tears boiling in your eyes. He put his arms around you in return, running his hand over your back to calm you down. “I’ll miss you so so much,” you sniffed a little, never wanting to let go.

“Me too. I’ll miss you.”

He’d miss you. Somehow, the pain of parting felt a little more heavier then.

‘It’s just my own thinking.’

I want to cry when I feel this way,

I want to know how you feel.

However strongly you held onto him, time would never let you say the words you wished you could to Seokjin. Taking in his features, his scent so you’d never be able to rid yourself of how beautiful he was; the one you loved. You wanted to hold on, tell him to never let go, maybe then, at least then, you could wake up to a new, bright morning with him next to you—

“...Promise me you’ll come back to visit?”

“I will. I promise. You too, okay?”

“I promise.”

══════◄••❀••►══════

August 19th. It was about 8 p.m. when your phone rang, and you had to look away from the computer. The office place was filled with the sound of distant conversations, papers being handled left and right.

You picked up your phone with a sigh, a little annoyed that it ruined your momentum.

It was Seokjin.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Why is he calling me? It hadn’t even been a full month since you moved out, was he simply that smitten by you? You had tried so hard, so hard to move on from him, and drowning yourself in work seemed to be the best way to get your mind off him. But now that he was calling you…

There was this sick feeling in your stomach that you couldn’t ignore, you weren’t sure if it was just your anxiety or something else, something bigger.

Regardless, you put the phone to your ear, your heart palpitations being the only sound you could hear.

Then came him panting. “YN, please— YN, help me,” he was on the verge of tears, you could tell. Your hand found the desk for support as you stood up, alarmed. “Jin, what happened?”

“I’m so sorry. I forgot to close the window, and I don’t know how, but some fucking man jumped into the apartment and he has a gun, I’m so fucking scared, YN, please—”

You took in sharp breaths, head zooming in and out consciousness, it seemed, as the world seemed to spin around you. “Jin, call the police.”

“I did. They aren’t here yet, they’ll take time, I’m so fucking scared right how, please help me.”

You trembled, hearing him sob on the other side. You wished so bad that you could be there, to help him, keep him calm, hug him, just so nothing would—

The desperation in his voice left you panting.

“Where are you right now?”

“I’m in the bathroom, I’m hiding, but he has a gun, I locked the door, what do I do!? YN, please come and get me out of here, please—”

“I’m coming. Stay there.”

Saying so, you quickly grabbed your bag, and telling your manager about how you had a family emergency, left the building.

Getting into the car, your heart was racing at the speed of light. You weren’t sure what to do, it’d take about an hour and a half with this traffic to reach your old apartment. You weren’t even sure if you could drive in this state.

But you did it anyway. You’d do anything for Seokjin.

Dialing his number as you stopped at the red traffic signal, you knew what you were doing was bad, but you needed to know he was okay.

“Jin, are you okay!? I’m coming, please, stay there,” you waited hesitantly for a response, and then heard a hiccup. He usually started to hiccup when he cried.

“P-Please get here quickly… The police still haven't come and I hear him in the living room, I really need you right now, please…”

“It’ll be okay. I’m coming.” It enraged you to know that the living room you shared with Seokjin, the one where you worked, the one you sat in watching movies together was now being checked by some burglar so he could steal things from there. But even so, every second that passed made you even more paranoid, since you kept wanting to make sure Seokjin was safe.

“Please don’t go out. Lock the door— I love you.” Your blood ran cold. Heart beating faster, as if that was possible, your world seemed like an illusion, zooming around in circles, almost as if someone casted a spell on you. You sighed shakily, your breath leaving you.

Why did you…? Stupid YN, you can’t tell him this, right now, you—

You shook your head. “I-I… I want you to be safe. Okay?” it was quiet on the line for a while, but you heard him hum in response. You sighed once again, body tense. “Please, take care... I love you.”

And saying so, with no more courage left within you, you ended the call.

══════◄••❀••►══════

You reached there about an hour later. Things are a blur from then. It all happened so fast, so suddenly…

You bite down your bottom lip, tears boiling in your eyes as you put on a song, starting the engine of your car.

I can’t hold it, I can’t reach it.

I can’t hold it, that heart of yours.

You remember the apartment being quiet after you entered, dark and silent. You didn’t have anything to protect yourself with, in case the intruder was still there, so you managed to get the frying pan from the kitchen without walking in on anyone.

Inspecting the whole apartment carefully, you concluded that the burglar had left.

But how did it continue? When did you two simply lose your minds to the point Seokjin had to be admitted to a hospital, to the point that you, despite seeing him laying in a pool of blood, could not lift a finger?

You found him in the bathroom.

‘It’s just my own thinking.’

He laid there, covered in the blood; the sight took your breath away. You were frozen, you were stuck in time until your breath returned, until your heart skipped a beat. You hastily took out your phone, tried calling for an ambulance. It was then the police finally managed to come, but it was too late.

You were all too late.

I want to cry when I feel this way.

The ambulance came. They took him to the hospital, you went with them. And then—

Our feelings can’t become the same.

They announced him dead. He wasn’t shot, the doctors explained. He had lost too much blood after he slipped and hit his head on the bathtub, they guessed, trying to get out of the bathroom.

It doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters.

You died when he did. Home died when Seokjin did. You promised yourself you’d never call it love, but fuck, you love him. You love him so much. And you miss him, now that you are driving home from the hospital.

Tears brim your eyes as you look down at the necklace he bought you. It reminded you of your day out together, except… except he is gone. Gone, spirited away, whatever the hell people called it. He’s dead.

I want to hear you laugh, hear you chide me for eating too much.

I want to see you smile, see you pout.

I want to brush your hair, I want to hug you.

I want to tell you about how you’re my most favourite thing in the whole, entire world.

You hum along to the song he loved, the one he always played in your car.

I can’t tell how you feel. The more I want, the more it hurts.

Even so, I could never hate you.

You’re still not over it. Over the fact he died, that you won’t be able to hear his cute laugh anymore, or the way he winked at you everytime you made eye contact, or the promises that you had made together, now all broken because of him not… being here anymore.

And it hurts as if it is the end of the world. All of it hurt. How do you live without the only person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?

Did he even like you? You’ll never know.

You could cry all you want, but he is gone. A part of you expects him to laugh about it, about how you’re crying over him, or for him to hug you, tell you it’s going to be okay.

But how can he do that? How do you tell him you love him more than anything else, that you want to see him laugh once more?

There’s so many words you wish you could’ve said. “I love you,” were only three of them. You could say you were driving home, but home resided with Seokjin.

There is this hollow feeling in your chest, eating you away as seconds slip by.

There once was a home that you shared with Seokjin. Perhaps, home was home because it had Seokjin. Now, there is none.

Hotaru.

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