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saturnsorbits · 26 days ago

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Bugs and Hisses

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Kidnapping, Drugging, Lacking Prep, Con-Non-Con, The Tiniest Amount of Blood, Word Count: 4.9k,

Summary: A Halloween date goes exactly to plan.

A/N: w/a surprise cast.

‘So…’ You run a finger down Sero’s chest, skating from leather jacket, to pressed shirt, to skin. There’s a covering of hair peeking from his collar that tickles as you stroke it, conjuring visions that make you want to know just how far the hair goes. ‘Do I get a second date?’

He chuckles, a deep, throaty noise that vibrates the back of his neck. His palms are already cradling your waist, his thumb skating across the fabric of your dress. With each passing second, his composure frays. Fuck. You’d accidentally flashed him your fucking underwear back in the restaurant and he’d been a perfect gentleman and not looked. Well, he’d not stared at least - just tugged at the edge of your skirts and helped you readjust. He cocks an eyebrow, pulls you in tight. ‘Who said the first one is over?’

‘Isn’t it?’ You bite back a smile, but it doesn’t work.

‘My place is like a twenty minute walk -.’

Pressing your lips to his, you wink and leave him with the tingling of your apple-spiced lipgloss as you step away. ‘Say less. Just let me text my roommate, tell her not to wait up.’

The smile he gives you could light up a room. It’s crooked and too big for his face, but bleeds boyish charm as he rocks back on his feet like he’s just won the lottery. ‘Yeah, yeah. Of course.’

You hold up a finger trying to shake the nervous energy bubbling up inside of you. It’s always like this, no matter how many times you do it. You still get giddy. Slipping your hand into a pocket, you snatch out your phone and tap out a quick message. The usual stuff. And, then, you’re back with him.

His hands are broad and firm, callosed against your palms. He’d told you he was a painter, both commercially and artistically. In fact, some of the canvas’ he’d shown you had been pretty good. Almost as good as the small block of flats he was currently painting ‘Moon Shimmer’ on behalf of an unusually picky client. Slowing his strides so as not to hurry you, he lifts your clasped hands and kisses the curve of your knuckles leaving the stickiness of your lipgloss in his wake. ‘S’not far.’

The streets are dark at this hour, with only the jaundiced light cast down from the lamps making your path visible. Still, you’re not scared. Bumping your shoulder against his, you dissolve into a mess of soft giggles when he knocks you back and smiles. ‘I love this time of year?’

‘Autumn or Halloween?’

You shrug and swing your hands. ‘Both. But, I mean Halloween.’

As you near the estate, the decorations begin to crop up. There’s a string of pumpkins nestled in the leaves of a hedge, their mouths glowing with fairy light. In the front garden of the flats is an inflatable ghoul, in the window of a house across the way a model of the grim reaper covered in cobwebs. It’s pretty, quaint in its own pseudo-scary way.

‘Yeah?’ He cocks his head. ‘Didn’t have you down for someone into spooky stuff?’

You bat your eyes at him and bite your lip. ‘No? What did you have me down for then?’

It happens so fast.

Too fast.

One minute you’re staring up at him with stars in your eyes, flirting with the idea of letting him take you in the street and the next, you’re being held by the throat. Instantly, your hands are at your neck and clawing, desperately trying to free yourself. You kick out and thrash, suddenly aware that your feet are being lifted from the floor leaving you dangling.

‘Stop thrashing, Sweetheart - Or i’ll do a lot worse to your little boyfriend over here.’

The man with his hand around your throat is huge. His chest is barrelled, his arms almost the size of your skull and neither seem strained by the entirety of your weight dangling from his grip. There’s a scar on his face, one that cuts cleanly through his right eye and ends just below his cheek bone. The eye itself has gone cloudy, a white marble nestled in the socket that seems to glow in the low light. Around his threats, his lips seem to shimmer.

You stop, muscles freezing.

‘Fuck. You can have my wallet, my phone… Just, just fucking take it.’ Sero’s back is pressed to the wall. Despite his lean frame and gangling height, the other man towers over him - a head taller and then some. Although, it’s the blade pressed to his sternum that is doing the job of keeping him still. Stuffing his hands into his pocket, he retrieves his valuables and offers them up, shaking as he does.

The man laughs. He tosses his head, letting his hood slip backward; exposing a slither of hair. The root is black, an inch of midnight, but after that, fire-engine red sprouts like firelight. ‘I don’t want your shit.’ Smacking Sero’s hand, he sends the offerings to the floor.

Sero yelps. ‘What do you want?..’ He glances at you, his eyes wide with panic. ‘Just, just don’t hurt us. Okay?’

‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ Turning his head, he lets his eyes roam over your body. He looks predatory, with a set of teeth that would put a shark to shame. He winks. ‘Just play with you a little.’

The grip around your throat is gone in an instant, abandoning you to collapse to the floor in a heap. You suck air into your lungs, greedily inhale until the blurriness fades from your vision. Scrambling back, you bloody your palms on the floor in an effort to escape, to distance yourself from the man in front of you.

If he notices, he certainly doesn’t care. Setting one of his large hands loose in his pocket, he retrieves a thin piece of cloth. The handkerchief is red, soft to the touch and monogrammed - an embroidered gold ‘BR’ sitting neatly in one of its corners. It smells of rubbing alcohol and apples.

‘No. No. Fuck… What the fuck do you want, mate? I’ll do whatever you want.’ There’s a rawness to Sero’s voice now. A broken edge that grates on his throat. Panic swells in his chest. It constricts his lungs and makes his fingers twitchy, his stomach burning on his every vowel as more pleas are kicked up his throat. He glances to you, watches as you scramble backwards and hopes that at least you’ll make it away.

Flashing his teeth, the man lifts the cloth, pressing it over Sero’s mouth. ‘I told you. I just want to play.’

When Sero finally wakes he’s cold. His whole body is curled, his jacket and jeans stripped, leaving large breadths of skin exposed to the bite of the concrete floor. The roof of his mouth is dry, his tongue shriveled, forcing his throat to convulse and spasm. Placing a palm on the floor, he lifts his head.

The room is dark, unlit apart from a singular light bulb that hangs by its wire from the ceiling. Sero squints. The light puddles at the far end of the room, bathing a fully made bed in clear white. It looks out of place, odd in its decadence considering its surroundings, but it’s there nonetheless and atop it, splayed on its sheets is you.

Sero’s up. His limbs are numb and heavy, fighting him with every step as he drags himself across the room, but he does it. Collapsing at your bedside, he claws his way to his knees and almost chokes when he notices the state you’re in.

Thick cuffs wrap your wrists and hold your arms above your head, the chains that connect them securing you to the metal grill of the headboard. Your body is bare, exposed and draped with only the thinnest of shifts to cover your modesty.

‘Oh, no… Hey. Hey. Wake up, c’mon. Wake up.’ He reaches for you, his fingers gracing the curve of your cheek and the plush of your lower lip. Your breath tickles his fingers, makes him sigh with relief.

Groaning, your eyes flicker open. You swallow and try to sit up. ‘Sero?’

The chains keep you down.

‘What the fuck?’ Yanking on your cuffs, you try to rise again.

‘Not getting out of those, Sweetheart.’ A smokey laugh trickles from the far end of the room through glistening lips. Leant back in a chair far too small for his frame is the man. He’s shirtless now, wearing nothing, but a pair of black military pants and matching boots that look as though they’ve seen better days. On his knee rests a gun. His arm is relaxed, fingers parallel to the trigger as the butt digs into the flesh of his leg.

He looks… comfortable.

Sero’s heart stops. He’d awoken at the man’s feet, defenseless, before scampering off to you. He turns his mind away from the thoughts of what could have happened had he not chosen to move. ‘Where are we?��

The hair on the back of your neck stands to attention and salutes your demise, the chill slinking down your back to make a xylophone of your spine. You’re shivering, your lack of dress making self-consciousness and self-preservation war in your chest. A scream freezes to your lungs. ‘What are you going to do with us?’

‘Me?’ The man relaxes further, the slope of his broad shoulders an upturned bracket balanced on his collarbones. ‘I’m not gonna do anything…’ He lifts the gun, gesturing between the two of you. ‘You on the other hand -.’

Sero stands, willing his knees not to shake. ‘I’m not hurting her.’

‘Not even a little?’ The man pouts. ‘What if she likes it? I bet she likes it’

‘What the fuck are you? Some kind of fucking -.’

‘Pervert?’ He spreads his legs, showing off the thick bulge stretching the tension of his zip. It’s massive, the outline evident as his cock sits across his left thigh lazily, leaning into the crease of his pelvis. ‘Something like that.’

A snarl twists Sero’s mouth. He’s been in his fair share of fights, come out of them alright too. He swallows, but there’s no way he’s coming out of this one on top. For fucks sake his waist is the same size as one of this guy’s biceps. His heart hammers in his chest, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he runs a million and one outcomes through his mind.

‘Don’t even think about it, baby boy.’ The man chuckles. ‘Think you’re quicker than a bullet?’

A groan ricochettes around the room, echoing off metal walls.

You still. Squinting beyond your pool of light, you let your eyes adjust to the din. There, in the darkness are cages. Human sized cells bracket the room, the thick metal bars hiding whatever lingers inside.

The moan comes again.

‘Oi.’ Kicking at the bars of the nearest cage, the man silences the occupant. ‘Patience. It’s a virtue, y’know.’

Sero steps back. He’s out of his depth. The blood in his veins is cold, his skin frostbitten and pale. In the back of his mind, he writes to his mother - apologizes for not coming home more often, for not teaching his little sister to drive like he promised. He makes his peace, condemns himself to whatever might happen next. ‘What the fuck…’

‘We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.’ The man laughs at his own joke, pecs bouncing as he settles himself again. ‘You were going to fuck her anyway.’

‘Please.’

Sero’s head snaps to you. You sound terrified, broken… Expectant.

‘Just… Just do it.’ The skin around your wrists is raw and bleeding, but still the cuff’s won’t give. There’s no escape. Your stomach turns, bile crawling up your throat as a tsunami of tears threatens to spill over the basin of your eyelid. ‘Please, just - just give him what he wants. I -’ A tear slips your lid, rolling over the curve of your cheek. ‘I just want to go home.’

Puffing up his chest, Sero lays a hand on your arm and soothes you with a swipe of his thumb. There’s a heat under his skin, one that makes something disgusting roll in his stomach. He bites the edge of his tongue. Is he really considering this? ‘And you’ll let us go if we…’

‘Yeah, with not a little hair harmed on your heads.’

‘Okay. Fuck. Right. Okay.’ There’s a shake in Sero’s hands when he finally clambers on the bed. It wobbles the mattress, making his progress tricky as he perches above you. Splayed out underneath him, you look beautiful - a Princess in chains, all ready for the taking. His stomach clenches.

A chuckle. ‘If you need a name to scream, mine’s Riot.’

Sero’s stomach flips.

‘Do you need me to -.’

Your voice distracts him, pulling him back immediately. He inhales, smells apples on your skin and lets his body relax.

You glance between his legs and let your words die on your tongue. You’d been about to offer your mouth, or maybe your tits - something to assist him, but as you watch his cock twitch in the confines of his boxers you realise your service isn’t needed.

He shakes his head, swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth. A tendril of shame wraps itself around the back of his neck and dives, poisoning his organs as it squirms its way to his guts. There it nestles, promising to rear its head again. He coughs, humming through his hesitance.

‘What?’ Riot laughs, the noise bursting out of his chest as he seems to spread his legs wider. In his hand, the gun jumps. ‘You waiting for lube or something, pretty boy? Because if you need help getting her wet you’re gonna have to get it from the tap.’

Craning your head, you squeak when you see it. There’s a wet patch on the front of the man’s pants, the material darkened where the head of his cock bulges. It’s obscene… And so is your body's response. Your cunt pulses, drooling as you feel arousal drip down the inside of your thigh. It makes something roll in your stomach, something deep and twisted and sickly sweet.

Shaking his head, Sero tries to rattle his brain into shape. His thoughts race, colliding into one another as he attempts to make sense of his imprisonment, but nothing sticks. His chest hollows. ‘I’m gonna… Gonna put it in now, okay?’

You nod and lift your hips, watching as Sero takes himself out of his boxers. He gives himself a long, tight stroke, twisting his wrist as he reaches the head and squeezing a droplet of pearlecent pre-cum from its tip.

His cock is long, peaking an inch past his fist as he glides his hand back towards his base, and slim. A nest of black pubic hair nestles at its base, a series of gently purpled veins snaking from their hiding place to skirt up the underside of his shaft. The head is plump, a brown rose, slick and glistening from his own excitement. He’s pretty, but the thing that draws your eye the most is the trio of bar-bell piercings decorating the underside. Looking at them makes your mouth wet, your tongue an upturned umbrella as you swallow.

A hand stretches across the turn of your thigh, splaying over the joint as his thumb comes up to swipe at your folds. Holding you open, he feels his lungs stutter as he watches your clit twitch. It’s sickening how he feels his stomach clench, how his cock kicks in his hand and leaks through his fingers. He continues to work himself as he explores. His fingers brush over your entrance, almost dipping in, but never quite breaching you.

‘C’mon, Pretty boy…’ From the corner Riot sings, his voice silky smooth until it’s not. Boiling in the back of his throat, his words turn to grit as a growl slips through his lips. ‘We haven’t got all night.’ He bends back his wrist, cocking the gun.

Sero swallows. His Adams Apple bobs in his throat and catches, sticking there as he tries to calm his nerves. He feels frayed, wired as he shifts forwards on his knees and settles down on his haunches. Jutting out his hips, he offers you a smile that is not quite laced with enough guilt before he’s forcing the blunt head of his cock into you.

One minute, you’re empty, your cunt fluttering around nothing, and then, you’re squirming and struggling to take him. The metal of his piercing rubs at your insides, itching at you, digging in and making you want to lift your hips. The lack of prep is immediately apparent. You’re tight, too tight, as he feeds you another inch. Even with his arousal mixing with yours and dripping back down his cock, it hurts. Your skin burns, heart hammering in your chest as you lift your wrists and grip onto the metal chains of your restraints.

Still, there’s no denying it.

‘Fuck.’ Sero feeds you another inch and squeezes shut his eyes. It’s too much. The feel of you, warm and wet, is enough to make him falter. For a moment he forgets. He forgets about the man in the corner - his cock hard in his jeans. He forgets about the gun. He forgets about everything that isn’t you. His hips jerk, stomach muscles twitching excitedly as he struggles to rein himself in. The blood in his veins burns, threatening to set his whole being alight.

‘How’s she feel?’

Sero answers. His throat cracks, his words coming out garbled as pleasure leaks over his tongue and fights for acknowledgement. ‘Feels… Fuck, she feels so good. So, fucking wet.’

‘Wet, huh?’ A chuckle rocks through the room. ‘How else?’

‘She’s…’ Sero moans as he feeds you the last inch of him. Once bottomed out, he relaxes, his rib cage filling once more as he tries to haul in a full breath and fails. ‘Tight.’

‘Yeah? How tight?’

‘So fucking tight. So fucking -.’ Dipping his head, Sero locks eyes with you, mouthing a silent ‘You okay?’ as he struggles to contain himself.

You nod with your eyes half-shut. Each shallow thrust has you feeling him in your lungs. He rocks forward slowly, pressing himself firmly inside of you before withdrawing - only to repeat the gesture again. It takes your breath and makes you wriggle, hips pulling back to stop the fullness as he seems to fill you more and more. The roll of his piercing has you lost, a sea of ecstasy just waiting for you to drown in it. ‘I -.’ You try to speak, but the words don’t come. Instead they transform, leaving you in the form of a pretty moan that makes both men groan back an answer.

From around Sero’s lithe frame you catch glimpses of Riot. He’s relaxed, his broad shoulders sloping as he lifts a hand to grip the plush side of his chest. A moan shakes his throat as a thumb brushes across his nipple, his eyes flickering from Sero’s back to your face as you roll your head back and moan.

It should scare you. He should scare you. But he doesn’t.

A broad palm splays across his chest, slinking down the plain of his stomach until it reaches his pants. Tilting his hips, he yanks back the buckle of his belt and cracks the leather. The top button of his pants follows, popped open with a thumb as he dips in and hisses. His cock is hot and hard in his grip, kicking as soon as it meets the rough skin of his palm. Squeezing, he lets a groan vibrate through his chest. The thrum of adrenaline tickles his veins turning him into a live wire, one that’s likely to become deadly.

Sero continues to abuse your cunt. His thrusts have become sloppy and quick although each shock of his hips still has his cock nailing your g-spot like clockwork. The ache in your stomach has dulled, used to his assault, allowing pleasure to bloom and spread. Wrapping its tendrils around you, you’re dragged closer and closer to an orgasm that is sure to ruin you.

‘You gonna cum on his cock?’ Riot snickers. Removing himself from his underwear, he lets his cock bob against his stomach before taking hold of it again. He’s huge, far larger than Sero, with an upward tilt that makes your mouth water. It bobs there, struggling under its own weight, even with his hand for stability, and pulses when he strokes it with his thumb, spreading pre-cum down his shaft.

You open your mouth to answer, worried about the repercussions silence would bring and choke on a scream.

A weight falls over you. Sero’s arms bracket your shoulders, his spine concave as he loses himself to the feel of your velvet walls. Fear and arousal pool in his gut, creating a concoction deadly enough to make him fall. He’s wired, his entire being focused on pleasing as he ruts desperately into you.

The head of his cock bullies the roof of your cunt, forcing you to feel each pearled metal ball impaled on his shaft. They roll against your walls, making you see static on the insides of your eyelids. Your arms stretch, the muscles in your biceps straining as you thrash against your bonds. The cold bite of the handcuffs marks your skin, couples each of your movements with a starburst of pain that tickles your nerves in a way you’re not sure you hate. It makes you light headed. Around you, the air almost burns - it strokes your skin, licking at the beads of sweat that collect against your curves.

‘I -.’ Sero gasps. The light disorients him as his eyes snap open. So lost in you as he was, the shock of seeing you again almost makes him dizzy.

Below him you gasp. With your eyes locked on his, you’re almost able to forget the mess unfolding around you. Arching your back, you press up into him just as he drives down his hips. Your bodies meet, a harsh coming together that almost has your limbs turning to jelly, but you hold on - if only to feel the rush of him again.

‘I’m gonna.’ Stuttering, Sero’s arms band.

‘Inside.’

Riot’s voice echoes. Closer. Harsher.

You blink. Riot looms over Sero’s back, his cock is still hard, leaking onto the black of his pants and now, it presses to the fat of Sero’s thigh. A broad palm splays across the small of his back, pressing him forward, forcing his hips flush against yours as he leans in close and nips at his ear growling a singular word: ‘Inside.’

Sero spills at the command. You feel it, a rush of warmth before you even have time to protest. Each pulse of his cock brings another thought to the surface leaving no room for complaint. Forced to stay there, you get every drop - feel him fill you until you until his cum begins to leak back out and down his shaft, dripping onto the bed beneath you.

Sero groans, his body shaking as he attempts to come down from his high as reality hits him like a train. ‘I - Fuck, fuck… I’m sorry. I -.’

Riot rolls his eyes. Letting his hand slip up Sero’s back, appreciating the contours of his muscles, he wraps a broad palm around his neck and curls his hand into a fist. He tuts. ‘Well you were a fucking disappointment.’ Using his grip, he launches Sero from the bed and abandons him as he crumbles against the wall.

You scream. Lurching from the bed, you try and fail to rip the handcuffs from your wrists. The metal burns, cuts deep and dampens your struggle leaving you panting and vulnerable on the bed.

Riot closer, his cock bent under its own weight and weeping against his thigh as he lifts it to keel on the bed.

Against the wall, Sero feels his head spin. There’s pain radiating down his spine and spanning his shoulders, making each of his nerves scream as he tries to scramble to his feet. He can see you, chained and helpless, the insides of your thighs still shining with his spend as you lift a leg to kick Riot in the shoulder. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t even slow him, instead, he bares down on top of you to close the gap. Scrambling for purchase on the floor, he fights through the rising bile that threatens to steal his vision and tries to stand. He has to. He needs to get up. He needs to protect you. Needs to…

‘Bakugo.’ The man’s voice is surprisingly sweet when he turns his head and talks to the air, but the smile he offers is anything but.

Arms emerge from the darkness behind Sero and wrap around his shoulders. The grip is steel, the fingers digging into his flesh tight enough to leave reddened indentations on his skin. He struggles, but it’s useless. He’s stuck fast and tight. Twisting, he turns to sight his captor.

Bakugo’s eyes are dull. His ruby iris’ are shadowed and hollow, the echo of the bags hanging under them evident in his gaze. Sallow skin stretches across his cheeks, purple and red in all of the wrong places. The skin of his arms is much the same, although the muscle there betrays any thought of malnourishment. His biceps are thick, his hands strong as they pull, holding Sero to the bars of his cage.

He’s drugged, or something, he has to be.

His lips are shining.

He can smell it. Spiced apple.

Sero struggles.

Bakugo holds on tighter, pressing both himself and Sero closer together.

‘What the fuck - What the fuck.’ Sero glances down, feeling the press of something hard and wet at the small of his back. He hadn’t noticed, of course he hadn’t fucking noticed. Bakugo is naked, his cock hard and dripping behind his bars. He tries to pull away, but he should know better by now. There is no escape. With wide eyes, he looks back to you - panic rising in his throat as he swallows the pride screaming at him to save you.

Riot pauses his assault on you, thick arms holding him up as he hovers above you - a silent threat. He cocks his head, noticing Sero’s blown eyes and slack jaw. ‘Oh, there’s more where he came from.’ Clicking his fingers, he summons movement in the room.

From the bars of the cages, more arms appear. Another three men step forward with hollow eyes and hard cocks.

One wears a sleepy grin, his purple hair tousled and twisting from his scalp. Another has coloured hair, red and white, and the body of an athlete as he leans against the bars and stretches out. The third is blonde. Smaller than the other two, he kneels his cheeks pressed to the bars, eyes drawn to Sero’s, now flaccid, cock.

Behind them, more move. A woman with bubblegum pink hair wraps herself around one of the men, her nipples pebbled. A second appears behind Sero, the smell of her cunt palpable in the room as she smears her wetness across Bakugo’s shoulder.

All of them have shining stained lips.

All of them smell faintly of apples.

‘What the fuck is this?’ Sero yells. His throat is raw, his muscles screaming. ‘What the fuck - How many, are you drugging them?’

Riot laughs. He has no intention of answering. Instead, he licks his lips and tastes fruit. ‘They’re all gonna have their way with you…’

There’s that smile again, the one that makes Sero feel like he’s being held under a guillotine.

‘You can have Bakugo last, he’s not the…’ Tongue at his teeth, he thinks. ‘Gentlest. Best you’re nice and pliant before he has you.’

Sero’s mouth runs dry. He can feel them looking at him, feel their eyes burning into him, dissecting him like meat. Behind him, he feels Bakugo rut into his back, catching the head of his cock against the cleft of his ass. Then, a sticky kiss is pressed to his shoulder. A gift from the girl.

He swallows. Hauls in a breath. Condemns himself.

‘Don’t - don’t hurt her. Do whatever you want to me, but don’t… Don’t hurt her.’

‘Awe!’ You twist, roll on your side and cock your head. ‘You’re so sweet’ There’s a pout pulling at your lip, a break in your wonderfully terrified persona. ‘But you don’t have to worry about me.’

Riot leans over you and wraps a large hand around your jaw. Holding tight, he yanks you into a beautifully bruising kiss that leaves your lip bloody when he pulls away.

You smile, and this time - it’s full of teeth. You lock eyes with Sero, just in time to see the last of the hope drain from them. ‘He was right, you know. I do like it when it hurts, just a little bit.’ You giggle.

Letting the noise ricochet around the room, you reach forward and swipe a small metal fob from Kirishima’s belt loop and press the button at the centre. The screech of metal fills the air, the smell of sickly rotten apple flooding the room as each of the cages opens.

‘Please…’ Sero begs, watching as people slip into the room from the darkness hunger lingering in their dim eyes. Even Riot shifts, bewitched by your siren’s whim. ‘Please, I’ll… I’ll do anything.’

‘Yeah.’ You lick your lips, tasting apple-spice. ‘You’ll do anything for me.’

-> Masterlist

#sero smut #Sero x reader #kirishima smut #Kirishima x reader #sero x reader smut #my hero academia smut #halloween smut #saturnsorbits #saturnscribbles

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echojulietfoxtrot · 18 days ago

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Okay, everyone's had a few days to be sad. But the world didn't end, so there is stuff to be done. Mid terms are in 2 years.

This post isn't going to tell you anything other people haven't done better or in more detail, and I'm not even American, so what the fuck are you listening to me for, but I think it might be useful to somebody as a place to start, and I think it's useful to keep in mind that none of us are helpless - no matter how much it might benefit somebody else to let you think so.

I'll add to it as and when I can.

NOW

Check your ballot. Tell everyone you know to check on their ballots. Spread the word to everyone you can possibly tell to check their ballots. The Presidential election is absolutely not going to be reversed, but local races and initiatives can be decided by twenty, a dozen, two votes. The window's closing on this by now, so check into this immediately if you haven't already. And if there is any possibility for a recount where it might achieve something, make noise for one.

You would be absolutely amazed how much harm can be spared and how much good can be done at the Parks & Rec level, no matter what's happening up top. Do not waste the chance to make friction for bad guys later on, or lay down some tools for the good guys in advance.

Then, if you have a Dem Senator, call their office and urge them to confirm all Biden's judicial nominees now, right now, ASAP. Here's a rough call script.

Btw mid terms are in two years.

Spend the next two months -

Buying a little extra boring ass shelf stable food and water on your grocery runs, and build up as much food security as you can. You're probably not gonna need it, but it's good to have, even only as a hedge against inflation or unreliable weather/disaster relief responses.

Stock up on medication you might need if you can. Organize whatever procedures you might need done if you can, including contraceptive measures. And find a reason to need a Morning After Pill or two in the next few weeks, somebody you care about might be real glad you did.

Consider making any big ticket purchases that will be affected by proposed tariffs (electronics etc), or any... slightly less conventional things you want to buy, now - but otherwise it would be a good time to lay some money aside if you can.

Get in the habit of paying for things in cash, and limiting how much information on your habits are out there. Stash a little cash somewhere, for if you want to buy something less visibly in future, too.

Do your homework about your digital footprint. Accounts, posts, doxxable clues, data, behavioral info, browsers, wifi links, cookies, consumer history, always-on "Smart" speakers and devices, think about all of it. Your phone is telling everyone where you are at all times whether the Location stuff is on or not - get in the habit of leaving it at home, so that suddenly not having it is not, in itself, a sign of anything. Your fitness wearables are mapping your entire lifestyle - it is effectively recording where you work, what time you finish, what routes you take, what stores you go to, where your friends live, where you go for recreation, where your family lives and what your relationship is like with them (where's your fitbit at Thanksgiving, Christmas etc?). Don't use fingerprint or facial recognition for anything, ever, if you can help it - apart from cataloguing your biometrics, it is much easier for a third party, police included, to use these to access your stuff than a password. It probably goes without saying, do not digitally document your menstrual cycle in any way.

Figure out what channels you can use in future to retain access to as much as possible if someone decides you shouldn't have it, or wants to know if you look for it. VPNs are a starting point, but not the end point. Do your homework on this now, before you need to know it.

Look into securing documentation that might be of use in future, this includes property, legal stuff like Power of Attorney, passports etc. (Though that doesn't necessarily mean carrying it at all times to everything, just sayin'.)

What's your ACA status? Are you currently availing of absolutely everything you're currently entitled to? If not, work on it. Government resources are always harder to take away from you once you're getting them than to deny you outright.

If there's any gay shit you like or want preserved, it would be a good time to buy/download/back it up. This includes movies, fics, books. It would also be a good time to seek out and subscribe to independent and non-digital gay media, zines, etc, and get to know your in-person scenes. You might be surprised how much stuff still exists and happens in ways that are invisible to the internet, gay and otherwise.

Don't forget that mid terms are in 2 years.

THEN

The mid terms are in 2 years.

Mid terms are 2 years away. Which means the campaigns for them start in a year, which means the work for them starts now.

All else aside, Democrat flips elsewhere in the government structure at that point would make it way, way harder for them to keep smashing everything, and there is work that you can do towards making that happen. For better and sometimes worse, the American political system is a very big and very awkward machine, and King Dipshit and his cronies cannot wave a magic wand to get their way everywhere all the time as a result. Look into your immediate local political scene, and figure out what you can do for it.

You might be getting sick of everyone talking about "building community". What this usually means in practice is firstly, seeking out local or neighboring orgs and groups that are doing what you want done, and joining them; or else, starting them yourself.

That might sound daunting, but it's not hard to start an interest group, just very annoying early on. You'll have to do a lot more printing than you might expect. You're going to have to deal with some deeply irritating people who are, nonetheless, very good at getting good shit done, and you're going to have to learn that's a You problem to deal with.

I'm involved in a couple of local groups in my country and it is WILD how much even one person can get done purely because nobody else gives enough of a shit about boring small potatoes stuff to notice or oppose it. That can be a blessing and a curse, so make it the first one.

Apart from this stuff being generally good, it will stop you losing your fucking mind. No, you're not going to community garden your way out of this one, sure, but that community garden might stop you letting the bullshit beat you into the ground before you can do something more important down the line. And it might introduce you to the girl who knows somebody with the thing that can do the shit you need around then too; it might teach you a lot of practical and psychological stuff you'll be glad of sometime.

It might even teach you how to get much more important things done in your local political infrastructure, who is on your side, who isn't, how to get the best from either - some of the most valuable shit I've learned about my little universe was picked up in the course of volunteering for a haunted house.

I am as guilty as everyone else as looking at the outlook and saying fuck it, bad guys won, but that is legitimately irrational no matter where you live. They never win, not outside of stories, because real life doesn't end like a story does. There is stuff to be done to make life more bearable than it would be otherwise, more bearable until it's possible to make it even better. There is so much stuff to get doing, instead of just feeling bad.

#election 2024 #2024 presidential election #us politics

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heygerald · 6 months ago

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Falling Without a Harness - Chapter 6

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When he actually starts to behave like a normal person, Parker is left to wonder if it's an act, or if the rest of him is.

Read the story here: prev / next

"Tom," Parker hedged ten minutes later, as the teams took their places in the arena. She was currently standing in the middle of everything, watching as her teammates discussed strategy, pointing to various platforms and inflatable shields whilst the white team did the same. She was relieved that Dan was on her team; his general height and demeanor boded well for engaging in (paint) warfare. Tom, on the other hand, didn't seem all that interested in anything as he fiddled with his phone. "Er, you've played paintball before right?"

He shrugged. "A few times, yeah."

"Right," she let out a breath of relief. "I'm going to follow you around then."

That caught his attention, and he glanced up from his phone screen with a frown. "What do you—no, don't do that."

"What? Why not?"

"Because you're a target," he said, matter-of-factly, and gestured to the paint already splattered down the front of her coveralls. "I'm not trying to end up looking like that."

"Wh—but—!" she blustered, popping a hip at him as she pointed out, "you're the one that shot me! And you don't look much better. And—I'm not a target anymore than you are. Don't be so sexist."

He scowled. "How is that being sexist?"

"You're just saying that because I'm the only girl on the team."

"No," he said, stooping down into her eyeline with an overly dramatic look on his face as he slowly and surely said, "I'm saying that because I'd bet you're awful at paintball, and Colt and the others are going to go for you first."

Parker's mouth dropped open as Tom tucked his phone away and started off towards a patch of haybales off to the far side.

It was a totally mean and unnecessary thing to say, and, worst of all, true. Parker sucked at paintball; sports in general. Colt knew this, as well as several of his friends that she had attempted to play beach volleyball with once, but there was no way that Tom knew that as well.

"Well, thanks for inviting me, Parker," she ranted, miming his deep voice as she followed after. "It's totally fun, I love it, you're too nice! That's what you should have said, by the way."

He cast her a dry look. "Are you done?"

She shot him a sour look, but...

Well, yeah, she was done. Rolling her eyes at him, she hefted her gun onto her shoulder, and leaned her back against the haybale. Her mask was still propped on the top of her head, coveralls only half zipped up as she languished. "Whatever. Do you really think you can shoot Colt?"

He arched a brow at her. "Is that really a question?"

"He's slippery."

"And an idiot. I'll shoot him."

"Do you ever get tired of having such a huge ego hanging over your shoulders or do you like the shade?"

Tom's only response was to roll his eyes and, at the sound of a warning whistle, pull his mask down over his face. He tensed, peering around the haybale as if this were serious, and—

Wait, hold on a minute. This was serious.

"Not to be that person," she chirped with a nervous glance towards the other team. "But if I were to be a target—"

The sound of a whistle blew loud, and within seconds paintballs started flying through the air. Parker shrieked, and plastered herself to the haybale.

Tom, now realizing he was stuck with a target at his side, sighed loud enough that she could hear it warbled through the mask. A flash of white as he rolled his eyes before, "for fuck's sake."

He pulled her mask down to cover her face before yanking her zipper the rest of the way up to her neck. Then, he shoved her gun against her chest.

"Just follow me."

"Oh," she breathed out, relieved. "Thanks."

"At least that way I can use you as a shield," he added, and the relief in her chest burst like a water balloon. Through her mask, Parker glared, and she was certain he could feel the heat of it. Another flash of white, another eyeroll as he slowly started ambling around the bale. "That was a joke."

Parker stood to her full height so she could properly jut her hip at him.

He, of course, ignored it.

But as the chit-chit-chit of paintballs flying overhead ramped up Parker was reminded that this was not the best place for judgement. She had already shot him once, after all, and if she stuck by his side perhaps she would get lucky enough to watch someone else shoot him as well.

When he disappeared around the corner she took a deep, calming breath and rushed after.

---

"Left."

"I know."

"Left!"

"I know!"

"Christ, fucking left!"

Parker paused in what she was doing, straightening to her full height so she could glare in exasperation at Tom, arms wide. "Do you want to do this?"

"I would, yeah," he responded with as much exasperation, though his wide eyes are hidden beneath his expensive sunglasses even though it was well into the evening now. "But it's still your turn!"

The pair are locked in a tense stare down when a third head pops into frame. Colt, his own eyes obscured by the overhang of his bucket hat, lifts his pointer finger with a meddling smile. "Not to rush you or anything—"

"Oh, shut up!" they both exploded at the same time, now turning their exasperation onto Colt.

It's uncanny how similar they look in that moment—wide eyes, frown lines, furrowed brows—and while Jody stuffs her laughter into her half empty can of White Claw, Colt responds by lifting his palms up in front of him with years of practice placating his sister. "...yup, that's my bad."

Together, they face one another, preparing to go again.

Only for him to promptly ruin the silence to add, "all I'm saying is you just have to get it—"

"Tom, I swear to god!" she hissed, struggling to focus on two things at once. He hadn't stopped backseat coaching her since the game started, and though she desperately wants to win, every time he speak the temptation to aim at him got stronger. But that would help nothing.

Swallowing down that frustration, Parker realigned her arm up, returning to the half-crouched position she had been in earlier, and once more practiced her swing.

"Alright," he mutters under his breath, shrugging as if he didn't care. But it's obvious that he does care, and for that very reason, he continues, "but I just think you should aim a little further to the..."

Parker swings her arm forward, sending her last bag arching through the air. It flipped several times, twisting bottom over top, before hitting the board with a heavy thud, teetering on the precipice of the hole.

The four held their breaths, watching, waiting, hoping that—

The bag stopped teetering, and the crowd let go of their breaths.

"Ha!" Colt shouted, letting out a whoop that likely could have earned him a noise complaint. He threw his arms up in victory, and Parker and Tom watched in miserable silence—him, arms crossed, foot tapping; her pinching the bridge of her nose—as Colt raced across the beach and hefted Jody up by the waist. "Winners! Winners! That's right everybody, win-ah-ers!"

"I told you to aim left," Tom muttered.

Parker dropped her hand to glance over at him.

She wasn't any happier about the loss—yet another one to add to their list of defeats over the evening—and the pair sported matching frowns as they were forced to watch her brother do a victory lap around the beach. Ever the graceful idiot, that one.

"I hate him," she said miserably.

Tom gave her an irritable side eye while shaking some overgrown fringe out of his eyes. "Well, if you had listened to me—"

"Oh, stuff it," Parker huffed, throwing up her arms. Colt had gotten halfway through his victory lap before his attention was stolen by Jean-Claude, and was now lying on his back as the dog licked him cleanly across the face. "You weren't any better than I was. I did all the hard work that round; sorry if I didn't get another three points."

Tom furrowed his brows crossly. "At least I hit someone during paintball," he snarked. He beat her to the retort by gesturing sourly to his own chest. "Someone that wasn't on your team."

"You still owe me five hundred bucks for that, you know."

"Sue me."

She narrowed her eyes at him, turning to face him fully, and though he towered over her quite a bit, she tried to not be intimidated. Easy enough when he still had blue paint in his hair. But, the standoff didn't last any longer than that; Parker was sore herself��both in spirit and body—after their paintball session, and her beer was getting disrespectfully low for a party.

So, she rolled her eyes with a huff. "You sure love lawsuits, don't you?" she chirped while making her way over towards the cooler.

It had been Dan's idea to have the afterparty on a small slice of beach on the edge of Hollywood acres; far enough away from the city to avoid the crowds, and close enough to everyone's houses that ubers or taxis wouldn't be too difficult to get. He had brought a few coolers of cheap beer, while a couple of the other guys had brought stuff to grill, and, though it certainly wasn't an expensive party, it was certainly a nice one.

Tom hadn't seemed all that convinced when they pulled up, of course, his standards being higher than everyone else's, but the longer they drank and ate, he seemed to loosen up a bit.

That is, until they lost yet another game. Parker would have blamed her shit aim on the drinking, but...

Well, she had always been better at smack talk than athletics.

"I love winning them, anyway," he said, following her.

Parker hummed while fishing out two beers. She cracked them both open, taking a long dredge of the first, before handing the second to Tom. "What is it like to be rich?" she mused.

He smirked at her. "It's pretty nice."

"Hm. I'm sure it is."

"Beats being poor."

"The servants and undying fans must be a plus."

"Well, they certainly don't hurt," he hedged, the corner of his mouth turning up after he took a sip of his beer.

She had noticed throughout their interactions that his mood seemed to be fluid; from pleased to bitchy in moments, always lingering on cagey indifference when no one was watching. As if he was always expecting some sort of criticism or veiled insult, and so he was always prepared to dish it out first. It was still baffling to her what his triggers were, but at the very least, he had seemed to be enjoying himself.

Mostly, anyway. Tom Ryder certainly was a sore loser.

"Not to say that I was the weak link on the black team earlier or anything, but I felt a little unprepared for how good everyone was today."

Tom pulled a face, scoffing. "You don't think you were the weak link?"

"Don't be an ass," she said, before tilting her head side to side in concession. "But, obviously. I'm not blind."

He smirked. "You sure? You were pretty awful for someone that talked so much trash. What happened to seal team six?"

"That was just a joke, obviously."

"You sounded pretty sure."

She rolled her eyes while plopping down onto an washed-up log. It was well into the evening now, and as the sun set on the horizon, a pair of Colt's friends were attempting to get a fire going.

"It was just some pre-game taunts," she told him, shifting as he sat down beside her—not before checking that the log wasn't going to stain his pants, first, of course—and Parker tried not to focus on how warm he seemed to be in the dying sunlight. "Everyone does it. You know, get the other team all jazzed up. I didn't mean it literally."

"You literally said, 'literally'," he deadpanned.

"Well—that's—that's just something people say!" she argued on her behalf. It wasn't at all convincing, however, and Tom arched a brow at her. Parker waved a hand at him, fighting back a snicker. "Whatever. Sorry I suck, but it wasn't just my fault. Jody shot me right in the tit!"

He laughed. "Yeah, I saw that. It looked like it hurt."

"Eh. Nothing more than my ego."

"You still have one?"

She snorted into her beer, and gave Tom a half-hearted elbow to the ribcage. He didn't seem to notice as he laughed into his own beer, however, and Parker would have bet she did more damage to her own bones than she did to his. "Not as big as yours, obviously, but it does exist. Just, you know, it's probably on life support."

To that, he let out a true laugh, and Parker couldn't help but grin when he shook his head at her. "You and Colt, Jesus. I swear you say the stupidest shit."

"Maybe you should try it sometime."

"Saying stupid shit?" he deadpanned.

"Not taking yourself so seriously," she corrected, swallowing down another quarter of her beer. It was only her third, and despite the fact that she had work in the morning, Parker was quite determined to get drunk with her brother. Seavers' sibling traditions, and all that. "I mean, I know that you're in the media a lot, but you just seem so..."

Tom shot her a warning look. Both brows arched into his hairline. "So?"

"Practiced," she finished, mirroring his look with a mock one of her own. The adjective clearly surprised him, and Tom twisted away from her with a scoff. Down the beach, Colt and Jody were standing with their feet in the tide, happy as all get out. "Which is crazy because some of the stuff you say is definitely going to get you cancelled one day by the working class, but most of the stuff you say just sounds like you're doing a bit interview with TMZ."

"You mean my job?"

"Oh, plgh," she blew a raspberry at him. "Whatever. I thought being a perk of being rich and famous meant you had immunity to say, or do, whatever you wanted."

"Whatever I want?" he drawled distastefully.

"Well, I mean, you treat people on set pretty awfully."

"I don't—"

"And you're always getting kicked out of clubs for partying too hard or being an ass or, actually," she frowned, frozen in thought, "I don't know how you get kicked out of a club, really. But I know you do. I've seen the, you know, tiktoks or whatever. Melissa's, not mine," she added quickly.

Tom finished his beer with a sour look. "You think anything about me gets put in the news that Gail doesn't allow to be there?"

Parker frowned. "I thought she was just your producer."

"Producer, manager, media agent," he listed off blithely, taking another long sip of his beer. When he finished it, he crushed the can in his hand, and stuffed it into the sand. "She handles everything for me. I think by now she has half of the news outlet in her pocket. Probably a good bit of Hollywood in general. Which, she should, given how much I fucking pay her. That's not even including movie revenues and bonuses."

"Oh," she said, not knowing what else to say.

Parker had known that Gail had helped Tom get his first big movie, and had stuck by his side since the beginning. But, in the way that Colt talked about it offhandedly, Parker had always assumed that Tom wanted Gail to be his producer because they were good friends. She hadn't ever assumed that their friendship was anything other than mutual, but if Gail Meyers really did control all aspects of Tom's life—professional and private—well... how mutual could that really be?

He had that look on his face again—brows furrowed, eyes downcast, jaw line clenched and shoulders tense—and Parker decided that any further questions she had about Gail could wait another day.

"Well, next year Colt is definitely getting a less violent birthday party," she said in a not-so-subtle change of conversation. Tom glanced at her sideways, and she forced something nonchalant into her tone. "Something that doesn't require any physical prowess. Maybe, a movie marathon or, like, a pool party."

He harrumphed. "Do you have a pool?"

"Hardy-har-har, no. I don't have a pool," she snarked. But, well, that was probably a good point. Parker turned to Tom in consideration. "Now, you wouldn't happen to have a pool at your—?"

"Don't even think about it."

"Oh, come on! I doubt you even use it."

"I use it plenty," he sniffed. Parker didn't give in so easily, however, and when she batted her eyelashes at him with a conniving smile, Tom shoved her lightly on the shoulder. She saw the smile he bit back. "You'll have to find someone else to host. I don't invite set hands to my house."

"See? That!" Parker laughed, pointing at him. "How have you not gotten cancelled yet when you say stuff like that?"

Tom, biting back a laugh, made a show of glancing around them at the empty space of sand. "Because I don't say stuff like that when I'm around people."

She remembered very clearly an offhand comment Jody had made to her at drinks, about how Tom Ryder was a complete idiot when it came to wearing his microphone. "I beg to differ," she taunted.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hmmm, nothing," she snickered, deciding to keep that particular piece of information to herself. Besides, she wouldn't put it past Tom to get Jody in trouble for blabbing about him—nondisclosure agreements and all that. "Whatever. Maybe I'll take him to one of those fairs where you can learn how to do trapeze. I bet the daredevil would like that."

"He's certainly got the... flair of a gymnast," he said, and together they watched as Colt attempted to do cartwheels in the sand. He managed three in a row before popping up, grabbing the beer out of Jody's hand, and shot gunning the entire thing. He finished with a dazzling grin. "Alright, that's not bad, I'll give him that."

Parker snorted dryly. "Less so when he throws up doing it."

Tom, not questioning how she knew that, grimaced. "That's disgusting."

"Oooh, is throwing up on a beach too low-bro for you, Mr. Fancy Bathroom?"

To that, Tom pointedly grabbed her beer, and finished half of it in a single go. When he shoved it back into her hand, he added drolly, "hilarious, as always."

Parker thought she was hilarious, and grinned as she took a small sip of her beer. Besides, he didn't seem all that put out by the joke. Rather, he seemed quite at ease sitting there with her on the beach, no phone in sight. Or she suspected so, anyway.

It was always hard to tell with him.

Musing, she asked, "what do you normally do for your birthday?"

"What do you think? Gail throws a party."

"Fun."

"Yeah, it usually is," he said. Parker could picture it; a glamorous mansion, decorated out in whatever pompous theme they had decided on that year, giant photos of his face plastered throughout the building, a string of scantily dressed woman drifting throughout. "Open bars, cocktail waitresses, DJ Aoki."

She rounded on him with wide eyes. "Wait, seriously?"

"Usually, yeah."

She swung her glance around to the beach, watching as Colt's friends laughed and played hacky-sack and threw a frisbee, all slightly drunk, and most with paint in their hair. It was an intimate party, with something easy going and happy electrifying the air, but...

Well, it certainly wasn't going to beat DJ Aoki.

"Alright," she conceded, rolling her eyes at the overly smug smirk he shot her. "That sounds pretty fun, I'll give you that."

"Better than this."

"Hey!" she exclaimed, half serious and half in amusement. "Jody and I planned this for a while. Plus, this is exactly the type of thing that Colt would enjoy."

Tom made a face. "He certainly enjoyed shooting me."

"Oh, you noticed that, did you?"

"Hard not to," he groused. It was all to Parker's amusement, however, and while she tried to hide her laughter, she did a really bad job at it. "Oh, fuck off. You're lucky I don't have a photoshoot this week; I'm probably covered in welts. If I did, you can bet your ass that—"

"You'd sue me?" she taunted.

Tom's mouth ground together, obviously not having any retort, and in response she peeled forward in giggles.

"Fuck off," he said.

But, well, the longer that Parker laughed—beer quite clearly working its way through her system—the more the sour look he was wearing wore off. Until, eventually, the pair were giggling like teenagers.

"I totally could," he said anyway, if only just to re-insert himself as a rich asshole.

Parker hummed, still shaking in laughter, and leaned over to wiggle her brows at him conspiratorially. "Could, but... won't," she teased, cheeks well rosy red by now, and, honestly, she didn't even care. It was fun just joking around with him. "Some might even say that you're a big ole softie, Ryder. All talk, and no action."

"I'm serious," he said, and, well, he certainly looked serious as he bent towards her.

And while Parker probably should have focused on that fact—he absolutely could ruin her with a single lawsuit until she was desolate and on the street—but, now that the fire was going, her attention was stolen by the flickering light in the depths of his eyes. They were a lighter blue than she originally thought, not so icy as deep, and when set against the rich color of his skin and the blonde (natural, supposedly) hue of his hair....

Well—Tom Ryder wasn't just hot, he was breathtaking.

She knew she didn't look the same. She was rosy cheeked, covered in hues of green, white, and blue paint, smelling like paint lacquer and sweat, with the firelight surely darkening the already murky color of her eyes.

Still, she swore he leaned closer; swore his gaze swept over every bunch and inch of her skin as she did his.

It was odd, being that close to him, but nice too.

Nice and exciting and comforting and electric and—

"Oh, hey, there you are," Colt's voice, suspiciously chipper and high, interrupted them at the same time that his boots stepped over the log. He planted a hand on top of Parker's head to balance himself, the other not-so-subtly planting on Tom's shoulder, before plopping down into the few inches of log that separated them. Parker swatted his hand off of her head, while Tom smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. "I've been looking everywhere for you guys, my buddies, my pals. What are we talking about over here?"

"Nosy older brothers," Parker snarked, giving him a what the hell? look when he smiled at her. "I thought you were with Jody. Doing summersaults or something."

"Ah, she's good. That one, always—always good—but I thought I'd spend some more time with you. Plus, think I pulled something in the hamstring, you know. Can't let that happen, got to stay in tip top shape for this guy over here," he gestured to Tom with a thumb, awkward smile in place. "I feel like we never spend quality time together any more, Park. What have you been up to?"

"In the twenty minutes since our game finished?"

Colt laughed—a little too hard for a joke that wasn't at all funny—before swinging towards Tom. This time he jerked a thumb in her direction, saying, "she's so, so funny, you know. Loves to make jokes. Loves them. But, you know, you don't like jokes, so if she's bothering you—"

"I'm not bothering him," Parker huffed.

Tom's gaze jumped between the siblings. "Yeah, no, she's fine, man. Hasn't called me an asshole yet, so, that's probably a good sign."

Colt threw his head back with a laugh, clapping. "Ha! Right! Because the first time you met, she called you an asshole. A lot. Three times, I think. Which—super not cool. I know how you are about being called an asshole," he kept on going, a strong emphasis on the word as if Tom had forgotten. "So, sorry about her. I think I mentioned that she's actually adopted."

"Oh my god!" Parker whined, throwing her hands up in frustration. Colt didn't seem to notice, however, and he just barreled on.

"Did you get a beer?"

Tom blinked between brother and sister. "Uh, yeah man, I had a beer."

"Finished it?"

"Yeah."

"Great," he clapped his hands, grinning, before slinging an arm over Parker's shoulder. "Since you're done, you probably want another one, right? Well, I need one too, so, we'll go get that for you."

"Uh—"

"No problem! Two seconds! You just keep sitting there stunning, Tom. Like you always do on set! God, what a hunk," he rambled on in a single stream of consciousness, patting Tom far too hard on the shoulder despite their strained work-friendship. It stunned Tom, and while he only blinked at his shoulder in shock, Colt shot him some finger guns. "Don't sweat it, bro. We'll be back!"

Colt hauled Parker onto her feet before she could protest, and dragged her off in the direction of the cooler. Dan shot the pair an odd look, but upon noticing the glower she was wearing, wisely decided not to get involved. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

"Colt," she hissed, ripping herself away from him as he started digging through the cooler like a rat in a trashcan. She swatted his bucket hat. "What the hell was that?"

"You want a Bud or a Coors?"

"Colt!"

"Oh, I think this is the last Coors, so, sorry, all out of luck," he continued rambling, studiously avoiding the way she was glaring daggers into his back. "Man, we sure drank a lot of beer already."

"Colt!"

Colt stood to his full height, beer in each hand, and paused when he finally caught tailwind of her sour glare. "What?"

"Don't what me!" Parker snapped, gesturing wildly over her shoulder to the general direction of Tom, before crossing one arm over the other. "Brother? My man? What the hell was that?"

"Not sure," he whistled, popping the tab open to take a dramatic breath. "I think it's probably an expensive cologne, but it definitely smells a little off. Can cologne go bad?"

He offered the second beer over with a look of wide-eyed innocence, as if he had no idea why Parker would be upset. And, well, even though she was immune to his puppy-dog eyes and wobbly lip, not even Parker would shit on the sanctity of a birthday.

Snatching the beer out of his hand, she shoved a finger in his face, "I'll let it go this time," she warned. "But I swear to god if you pull something like that again..."

"Oh, what, you'll shoot me?" Colt mocked, before tapping his temple as if something had just occurred to him. "Oh, that's right! You can't hit anything. I think you actually shot yourself once today, Park, so, uh, you know—I'm not all that scared."

Parker stared, eye twitching, as her brother gave her a smug grin.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I think there's a nice little English lady just waiting for someone to—!"

Colt Seavers may have been a muscular guy that knew how to take a hit, but he went down surprisingly easy when his younger sister tackled him around the waist.

---

"Red."

"Black."

"Okay, then up."

"Mhmm, no," Colt shook his head, frowning beneath the fringe and bucket hat, as he shuffled three cards in his hand. He peered at them all with half-lidded eyes. "Down."

"King?"

Colt held up a card, turning it to face Parker with a drunk grin. "Ha!" he shouted, holding the card high above his head—as if to put it on show for everyone nearby—before he gave her matching middle fingers. "Drink up, loser!"

His sister whined. She did not, in any way, want to drink up.

But, the game was the game, and so she tipped her head all the way back, beer pointed toward the sky, and finished it in three, long swallows.

Then, she flopped back onto the beach with a loud, dying groan.

Among it all, Jody leaned forward to snatch up the card that Colt had just abandoned. It was an ace of spades. With furrowed brows, she asked, "I'm sorry, but I don't quite understand how this game works."

"What do you mean?" Colt asked, peering over at her.

"Like, what are the rules?" she emphasized, a long sweeping gesture over the stack of cards, the two quarters off to the side, the ever-growing pile of empty beers, and then to the siblings.

The siblings that were now wearing matching looks of confusion.

"Rules?" Colt echoed with even more emphasis. His eyebrows were screwed up beneath the brim of his hat, and his eyes had a hazy layer over them.

"Oh, Christ," Tom rolled his eyes. He hadn't been interested in the slightest when the Seavers siblings proposed a round of playing, what they called, Calico In The Woods, but there hadn't been anything else to do than stoke the campfire, and so he had spent the last twenty-five minutes growing more and more confused by their nonsensical rules dictated almost definitely by who was the drunkest. "Is this even a real game?"

Parker, sprawled beside him, inched onto her elbows. "Of course it is," she said. The slight slur of her syllables wasn't exactly confidence bolstering, however. "I learned it at camp, like, ages ago."

"Camp?" Tom couldn't even imagine what sort of camp these two idiots would spend their summers at while growing up. "What sort of camp teaches this?"

Colt wagged a finger crookedly through the air. "Family camp, technically. All the relatives would meet up every summer and it was all tent poles and mosquitoes for seven straight days. It was more fun when we were still kids, didn't have to pay for anything, and just got shoved together with the cousins. Made for good drinking too."

"And they gave you beer when you were kids?" Jody asked in bewilderment. She had been drinking steadily throughout the night as well, but whereas Colt sucked down drinks like it was his job, she had been slowly nursing her latest one for the last forty-five minutes.

"When we were—come on, Jody, don't be ridiculous. Of course they didn't give us beer when we were kids. This is America, you know. We had to find it."

"And technically it was hooch," Parker interjected. It didn't surprise Tom in the least that they would have been drinking some garage-brewed hooch, and he flattened his brows at her accordingly. Parker only response was a careless laugh. "What? Not mine! Sam would always bring it. Or, steal it. Something like that."

Jody giggled from her spot in the circle, and the distant firelight made her smile sparkle. "I think I'm starting to understand the two of you better, after tonight," she mused.

Colt leaned forward. "Impressed?"

"That you're still alive? Immensely."

"Pshaw," he blew a raspberry, waving a hand at her. "It's what we do, isn't it? Surviving the stunts, jumping out of buildings, getting set on fire. Pretty heroic if you ask me."

"What he does, anyway" Parker said pointedly. At her side, Jody laughed. It was a tinkly sound, delicate, and very much her. She understood where her brother's infatuation stemmed from; Jody Moreno was a stunning woman, gentle and kind in every way. "I stopped jumping out of buildings when I was, like, six. The heroics didn't really do it for me."

"Afraid?" Tom asked.

"Mhmmmm.... just not stupid I think."

Tom made a noise halfway between a laugh and a cough. Parker heard it—hard not to when she seemed to always be tuned in to him—but if her brother did, he didn't comment on it. Instead, he was in the process of finishing his beer.

"Are you sure you should have another?" Jody asked.

"Am I sure that you should have another?" he shot back, completely ignoring her concern to grin madly at the group as he stuck his head into the cooler. "I think we should all have another. Yeah? A White Claw for m'lady. Stripe for m'sista. Tom, man, what you having?"

Tom blinked at him for a long moment, likely considering whether or not he even still wanted to be there, before giving in with a long suffering sigh. "Anything that's not shitty."

Colt glanced between Tom and the cooler silently. "Er, when you say nothing shitty," he hedged, a hand lifting to run through his hair. It promptly knocked his bucket hat off with a thump, but he didn't notice. "What's your opinion on Red Stripe?"

"Awful."

"Natties?"

"Worse."

The sound of ice and glass tinkled as he continued to dig through the cooler. "Corona?"

Tom, surprised at the option, shrugged. "Yeah, alright."

"Right, nice," he said, snapping finger guns towards Tom, before he returned his attention to the cooler with a dramatic sigh. "Thing is though there aren't any more of those, but—next time, next time I'll get some more. We do have a lime Bud Light? Domestic, I think. IPA, eh... maybe? Think they're organic, too, cuz that's a whole thing for you, right?"

Parker stuffer her lip between her teeth to keep from laughing, and swung towards Tom. His brows were drawn flat, shoulders tense, a cloud of irritation hovering over his spot in the sand. A string of giggles rushed past her mouth.

She slapped a hand over it just as quickly.

Tom heard it though, and as he glared at her, he just made an impatient gimme gesture to Colt with the flutter of his hand. Ice tinkled before a wet can was pressed into his palm.

"If you—you close your eyes," Colt continued nonsensically, "you won't even know the difference, my brother. Same thing."

"Yeah, I'll fucking get right on that."

Colt didn't hear the sarcasm and gave him a thumbs up paired with a grin. "Nice!"

Jody giggled as Colt flopped down beside her. Despite her judgement on the drinking, she cracked open the drink he gave her, and lifted it into the air.

"I think now's a proper time for a toast," she said, nudging Colt gently in the side. He beamed at the attention; going so far as to sit up straight and pull his shoulders back. "I am very happy we got to meet on set, and, erm, hope you have a good year. Yeah?"

His face was almost entirely a grin now. "That's—that's nice. You have a nice accent, you know. It's the vowels."

"The vowels?"

"Killer 'o's."

"What does that even mean?" Jody asked, laughing, which only seemed to please Colt further. Shaking her head at his antics, she turned next to Parker. "Parker?"

"Hm? Oh!"

In a rush, Parker moved from lying on her stomach to pulling her legs up underneath her. She teetered too far into Jody's space for a moment before overcorrecting into Tom's. He didn't complain, but righted her with a gentle palm.

It was warm against her skin, comfortable too.

There was a flicker of a memory—the bathroom, the taunting and teasing, and feeling of her hand rubbing soothing circles into his flushed back—before she was thrown back into the present. He was blinking at her; calm and indifferent, as if not a bother in the world other than the lime Bud Light in his hand.

With a little effort, Parker moved her attention to her brother.

"Er, Colt, obviously I love you and I love spending time with you," she started. It felt like an awkward declaration with everyone watching her, but her brother didn't mind in the least. His smile had softened at the edges into something reminiscent. "You're my best friend, and the only person that I would follow to the West Coast."

He laughed. It was an inside joke between the pair that Parker had no love lost for the West Coast. She didn't like the valley girl accents or the overpriced cappuccinos, but at the end of the day, it was worth it.

She shook her head a second time. "Anyways, um, happy birthday. Another year, another bender, huh?"

Colt waggled a finger at her. "Don't let Mom hear you say that," he said, before adding in a bad stage whisper to Jody, "Mom thinks I'm a bad influence on her."

To which Parker added in a stage whisper of her own, "he gave me my first cigarette."

"And I never heard the end of it."

They all laughed; starry eyes and sand warm skin as the evening air fell over them, before, naturally, their attentions moved to Tom.

Tom who, for the life of him, looked like he had just been thrown onto a stage without any clothes on. How someone could be an international super star and so awkward at the same time baffled Parker.

"Oh, uh, happy birthday," he managed with a flimsy nod. Then, when no one cheered to that—clearly expecting more—Tom added, "...you're a, um, good stunt double man."

Parker furrowed her brows at him, eyes widening ever so slightly in prompt, and after a moment his shoulders sank with an exhale.

"Honestly, you're really good at what you do, professional, and... you make me look good doing it, so, you know—happy birthday. I haven't forgotten that you introduced me to Gail, or whatever, so... thanks. Happy birthday, man."

Sensing that he was uncomfortable with the attention on him, and pleasantly surprised to hear Tom Ryder thank anyone was enough for Parker. She lifted her beer as high as she could, and gave a cry of "here, here" that everyone echoed.

When Parker sipped her beer, she glanced at the man beside her.

He didn't notice her gaze at first, but when he did, she saw him stiffen, fluffing his collar and raking a hand through his hair all in a choppy motion that she suspected were more robotic than anything else. He wasn't smiling like the others either.

Odd, for someone so used to the limelight to be uncomfortable with a couple odd attentions on him. But Parker was odd herself, and so she spared him grace where others may not.

"That was nice," she muttered.

Tom froze in his ministrations, before giving a harsh scoff. "Nice? Yeah, you're welcome. I usually get paid twenty grand for doing something like this."

"Attending a friend's birthday party?"

"Public appearances."

She hummed half-heartedly. It was sad to think that Tom would think of a small birthday party like this in terms of what sort of check he could be getting out of it, and she was having too much fun to be sad.

Colt's bucket hat caught her attention. She swiped it up before promptly plopping it atop her head. "Are bucket hats still a fashion crime?"

The question was only worthy of a side eye. "You look ridiculous."

Parker shrugged, grabbing the ends of her braids and wiggling them at him. There was still paint in her hair, as well as on her hands, and she supposed he had a point about her overall fashion sense. "What about now?"

The side eye lingered longer this time, swinging from the hat to her braids to her cross-eyed smile she was giving him.

Through it all, she caught the flicker of his smile.

Parker grinned. "I think you're just jealous of my hat."

"Colt's hat."

"I have a matching one," she said, twisting and turning to try and remember where she had left it. "I think it's in my car."

"Thank god for that."

Parker stuck her tongue out at him, at the same time that Jean-Claude came crashing through the scene. He kicked up sand over the both of them, a stick in his mouth as he danced back and forth on his front paws. Parker laughed—the dog, pervy or not, was pretty fricking cute—and as she wrestled with the stick in his mouth, there was a cry.

"Time for a picture! Come on, everyone gather round!"

Colt leapt to the front and Jody clambered closer at her side as Jean-Claude practically sat in Parker's lap, stick forgotten in exchange for some gentle head scratches. She would have bowled backwards if Tom wasn't there with his warm palms, and as the rest of the remaining group piled in around them, she smiled up at him.

He didn't smile back; just looked at her, eyes sweeping over the length of her face, the dimples in her cheeks, and the curve of her nose for a moment so long Parker swore it lasted forever. But then there was a countdown, and together they tore their attention off of each other and looked forward.

"...two... one... say cheese!"

There was the click of a camera and a flash as the party called out together. The party came back to life with that single photo giving everyone a reason to group back together. People she had forgotten were even there started handing out the last of the beers from the cooler, marshmallows appeared out of someone's bag, and as energy threaded through them like a shot of her cousin's mystery hooch, someone turned the radio up just in time for The Spins by Mac Miller to come on.

It felt like a movie as everyone hopped to their feet, drinks raised, fire casting shimmer light over their drunken, grinning faces while sparks drifted up into the stars overhead.

Colt danced with Jody, limbs awkwardly thrown forward and backward as the alcohol fueled their steps, and when Dan grabbed her around the waist and spun her, round and round they went, Parker threw her head back and shrieked with laughter. The type of laughter that had her chest heaving, face hurting from splitting so wide, every worry disappearing as they simply lived in the moment.

And, though the speaker was awful, and the beer was shitty, and their dancing was more so jumping in a discordant swing of limbs, and though the people weren't exactly the upper brow of Hollywood's finest or the rich elites that he was used to, Parker swore in the dim glow of the firelight, that Tom Ryder was grinning as well.

#the fall guy #tom ryder #tom ryder x ofc #tom ryder series #the fall guy fanfic #falling without a harness

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