#all masked or faceless this is embarrassing guys | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ryverbind · 2 years ago

Text

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Lexi-Flavored Denial [11]

"Y/n-- take that ridiculous fucking mask off right now!"

I pinch my lips together in an attempt to hide the giggle that gets caught in my throat.

Ash and I have just gotten back into my hotel room after splitting up with the guys for the night. We took a taxi here and Ash shoved me into an elevator, ripped my door open, and is now staring at me with the cutest little angry expression I've ever seen on her face.

"Can't I go shower first or something?" I ask, purposefully trying to rile her up a bit more. I just can't help it, especially when she's trying to force anger that just isn't there.

Ash's eyes narrow as she kicks off her shoes by the door. "No. Take it off now." Her manicured hand lifts and she points an accusatory finger at me. "Miss 'I-won't-show-you-my-face-for-six-years.' I literally have not seen you since you were in high school, and that was only a singular photo!"

I snort. "Be happy with that one picture. You can wait a bit longer."

Ash groans, tilting her head up to the ceiling. She even lightly stomps her foot on the ground then grabs at the air. "I absolutely cannot wait any longer! I need to see the face I kissed. It's driving me insane. I just know you're hot." Her screeches are wild and crazed at this point, so maybe it's time I put her out of her misery.

With a little giggle that I can't quite keep in, I put my hands on the cheeks of my mask and push it up my face, then ease the band that held it to my head out of my hair.

I look up at Ash, a spear of anxiety rushing through me. It's not like it matters-- this is my best friend-- but it still feels a bit scary. I'm not all that pretty and what if she expected someone better looking? I don't even come close to comparing to The Faces.

Ash doesn't have a physical reaction-- she just stares, mouth gaping a bit. Her eyes flit over every little inch of me. It makes my anxiety even worse to the point that I'm twiddling my thumbs and looking at anything but her... and my feet seem extremely entertaining right now.

I've never ever been confident in myself and that's something Ash knows well. Watching her watch me but not say a word makes me feel like she doesn't think I look very good. Which, honestly, I'd rather her tell me the truth instead of lie. So maybe her reaction is better-- Ash would never lie to me.

I peek at Ash through my lashes, watching her smack her lips together, lick them, then gape at me again. Well fuck. It must be bad.

So I grimace and tilt my head down again. I'm about to just go take a shower and call it a night. Try to ignore the embarrassment barreling through me in a never-ending wave of remorseless shame.

"Y/n," Ash says, and I pick my head up again. She's still blankly staring at me. "I have made out with so many women in my life, just so you know. But I have to say that you are, by far, the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure of kissing. Wow. I want to brag about you."

I gulp, heat enveloping my cheeks immediately. I'm relieved, even a bit shy as Ash's eyes start to go wide and she blinks at me, eyes going in so many directions as she looks over me some more.

Truth be told, I'm seconds away from either breaking down over her words or cackling at her manic eyes.

"Holy-- wow." Ash squeals, taking quick steps toward me and grabbing my warm cheeks in her hands. "And your little blush just makes you so much prettier. Do you even exist?" Her eyebrows scrunch together, accentuating her wide, bright eyes. "Bellissima, principessa!"

She puts her face right up to mine and my heart skips a beat as our noses brush together. Her wide, crazed, beautiful eyes clash with my own wide ones. Her warm coconut scent fills my senses and I have to blink through the strong, hypnotizing smell.

"Dude," she murmurs. "I'm going to kiss you again. That cool?"

I blink at her, my breath catching in my throat and my hands growing clammy. "Are you sure?" I choke out, chewing on my bottom lip. "I mean I don't really mind," my mouth continues blabbing even though I'm completely okay with another kiss-- I'm just nervous. Maybe Ash thinks I'm the most beautiful woman she's ever kissed, but she's the only woman I've ever kissed. Not to mention, the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Period.

Ash doesn't say a word, just brings her mouth to mine, the remnants of her strawberry lipgloss melding our lips together. I'm filled with deja vu, the memory of our kiss from earlier tonight bouncing around my head. Fuck, now I'm going to associate strawberry lipgloss with girl kisses and Vegas. I'm going to get sad every damn time.

Ash pulls away as quickly as she began our kiss, her eyes shining ecstatically. I stare at her, still mentally stuck with her lips on mine.

Then, she screams.

"Fuck, you are so amazing! You're my best friend for a fucking reason. Holy hell, I got so lucky, you beautiful little bitch!" My eyes go wide as she continues to loudly ramble on and curse about how great this moment is, nuzzling her forehead against mine the entire time.

I'm still in shock as she lets me go and skips off to the bathroom, muttering something about taking a shower. I simply nod, unable to comprehend much.

Does she really think I'm that pretty? How is that even possible?

Either way, I feel like a little school girl as I grab one of the shirts I packed and slide it under the door for Ash to change into. My heart's racing, my lips are a bit sticky from lipgloss (I don't dare wipe it off, by the way), my body is on fire and frozen all at the same time. Because someone thinks I'm so pretty that they just had to kiss me again. I feel... I feel happier than I've been in years. I didn't think anything could top reuniting with my old friends, but this really comes close.

I bite into my cheek, trying to contain the smile growing on my face, but then I have no reason to hide it in the first place. So I let a powerful grin envelop my lips as I skip over to my bed and pull my phone out of my pocket.

I text my boss about having the flu then call dad and give him an update on my plans. He's excited for me, basically fangirling over the phone with me.

But Ash walks out of the bathroom as I'm talking to dad.

Her flushed, makeup-free face is set in a confused expression as she notes my phone held up to my ear. Her hair is twisted into a towel that sits on top of her head and she's in the shirt I gave her with just underwear. No shame whatsoever-- all beauty, legs, and a little bit of really nice ass.

I smile at her, waving her over to my side of the bed. "Hey dad," I say into my phone, cutting my poor father off as he's talking about how I need to go to the Venetian tomorrow. "Ash is here. Want to say hey?"

Before dad can even answer me, Ash is ripping my phone out of my hands and slapping it against her face, her lips parted in a huge grin that falls into her voice as she squeals. She wiggles around on the bed as she tells dad hello, giggling and cradling the device against her like it's a lifeline.

So I shower in the meantime, only to walk out and find Ash tucked under the comforter of my bed. She's sleeping with her mouth open and her leg taking up the entire mattress, but that's okay. I push her leg over, put a finger under her chin to close her mouth, then tuck myself in beside her.

And when Ash and I both wake up the next morning, I think it's the best sleep I've ever gotten in my life. Yea, even though Ash had every single one of her limbs on me throughout the night, it truly was the best sleep.

"Y/n!" Ash squeaks in the morning, waking me with an immediate start. She's prancing around my room like a deer, still no pants on just like last night. But this time, with the curtains to the window wide open.

Even through my groggy, disoriented mind, I can see the little problem.

I jump from the warmth and comfort of Ash and I's shared bed and throw the curtains closed with one single leap across the room. No, I don't think gamer and online personality Ash Campbell needs a scandal. Not in Vegas, at least.

With a huff, I throw my head over my shoulder to glare at Ash who looks... too happy for me to be angry about anything regarding her at all. So I smile instead as she yanks her shirt off and throws last night's dress on instead.

It's quick, like this is something she's practiced-- which, I wouldn't be surprised if that was true-- and then she's urging me to get dressed.

"We have to take a taxi all the way to Caesar's Palace, ma'am," Ash tells me a few moments later, as I'm staring into the hotel mirror and brushing my teeth despite wanting to sleep a bit longer. It's so hard to even open my eyes again after blinking.

"Thaethar'th Palathe?" I try to say around the toothpaste frothing in every corner of my mouth. But the point is that my interest is piqued and my eyebrows are touching my hairline.

Ash giggles at me. She's sat criss-cross in front of another mirror in the room while she carefully and expertly applies winged eyeliner to her eyes. Like paint to an already perfect canvas of colors. "Yes, Caesar's Palace," she says matter-of-factly. "The guys are fucking obsessed with The Hangover and insisted that we get a suite there. They wouldn't have it any other way."

Her mouth falls open a bit, face going slack as she switches over to applying mascara to her lashes now.

I nod understandingly. The guys have good taste in movies. I've wanted to see Caesar's Palace just because of The Hangover too. But something about the situation tickles my brain so I turn back to Ash with furrowed brows and my toothbrush hanging from the corner of my mouth, watching as she starts lining her full lips with what looks like a dark red pencil.

And then it hits me.

"Ash," I ask slowly, hesitantly. "Where the hell did you get makeup?"

She glances at me through the mirror and shrugs. "I brought the eyeliner and mascara in my little purse, but I bought the liner and lipstick downstairs when you wouldn't wake up earlier." She smudges the liner with her little finger, frowning momentarily before filling in the spot again. "Turns out the shitty little convenience store in the lobby isn't too shitty. I even scored a pack of tampons."

Can't argue with that.

Ash continues to work on her makeup while I get dressed. I choose to put on one of my last outfits-- which was supposed to be my flying outfit-- and call it an L for myself. It's fine. Sure, I'm in my comfort sweatpants: a black pair of Twenty One Pilots Clique merch, in fact, that I've had since I was 15 (they're falling apart but I don't fucking care). And to go wonderfully with it is a plain, black Deftones shirt. I'll be comfy for the rest of my time in Las Vegas.

I try not to let my anxiety seep in as I stress over my appearance. I'm going to be the odd one out in a group-- a very LARGE group-- of city-goers who will be decked out to the nines.

Not to mention, I'll have to attend the Dark Autumn Complex concert like this tonight.

I sigh at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, tongue in cheek as I try to stuff down all of my insecurities. Seeing Sally and that woman fawning over each other last night did nothing to help me. And again, it's all about my lack of self-confidence. I'm not jealous of anyone-- only jealous that I'm unable to do anything without stopping myself because I don't feel like I'm good enough.

It's going to suck staying here two more days with just clothes from the past day.

But like the godsend Ash is, she pipes up from her makeup. "Oh, and we're gonna stop somewhere and get you some clothes. I know you probably need some," she says cheerily. But then she's not so much of a godsend, and more of something that makes my heart skip a beat because no. Just no. "I'll pay for anything you want, so pick out whatever!"

"Ash--" I start to shoot down that offer, but she shuts me up with an icy look instead.

"I won't take no for an answer. Consider this a..." she ponders, pursing her lips and glaring at the ceiling before she looks back to me with a sly grin. "A reconciliation gift."

I still don't like this and she can see it on my face. I know she can because she starts trying to appease me.

Ash puts her tube of blood red lipstick down and frowns at me. "Look," she says softly. "If it bothers you that much, we can stop and get you some clothes from someone working at a restaurant for all I care. We'll sneak into the back and peel the fabric right off their bodies if it makes you feel better. I just don't want you to feel like you don't have options. Plus, I'm seriously dying to style you."

That makes me giggle a bit, but that can't happen so I'm still nervous about it. I'm stubborn, I know.

"How about we go halfsies on the price?" I ask sheepishly. I know Ash is trying to be nice, but it... I don't know. I just don't like burdening others.

She rolls her eyes with a scoff to follow, but nods her head regardless. And that makes me smile because thank God. I don't know if I'd be able to recover if she paid for all of my stuff for me.

My last little touch is to put on my mask while Ash adds some finishing touches to her makeup, then I'm tying the shoelaces of my Vans and walking around the hotel room to make sure I haven't forgotten to pack anything.

Ash and I are in the clear moments later, so we check out of my room, stop by a Marshall's on our way down the Las Vegas strip (much to Ash's chagrin as we pass up a Gucci store which, again, no. Absolutely not). I grab some clothes, all of which are just two skirts since jeans are way too expensive nowadays, fishnets, and two shirts. Thankfully, humanity is starting to finally notice how amazing the rock genre is because this store is just dripping with band merch. I manage to snag a Guns 'n Roses shirt and a Nirvana shirt. One is white and the other is grey, but that works fine with me. I can make do.

Then Ash and I are hobbling into Caesar's Palace with tons of Marshall's bags and my suitcases in hand.

But the weight doesn't affect me for long.

When we're finally fully inside the hotel, the ceiling seems to stretch on for forever. It's all eggshell white, tall glass windows, intricate and golden chandeliers, and so many Greek statues.

I feel like I can't breathe as I look up at the giant feminine statues that are almost two stories tall. Such beautiful representations of femininity and womanly beauty taking over every single sense I have. And that's not counting the dome, glass ceiling surrounded by painted art on every other part of the roof. If it's not painted, it's carved. And then the spiral staircases and instrumentals filling the air around me... I've ever been around so much grandeur in all my life.

I wish I could see this for the first time again.

"Holy hell," I murmur as Ash takes in the beauty beside me.

"I know," she says breathlessly. "I've taken my time to walk through every bit of this hotel that I can get too, but it never gets any less beautiful. Crazy, right?"

"Beyond crazy," I reply. "I don't even need to go to Greece anymore. I think I've seen it all."

Ash laughs lightly, her head tilted back to stare at the gorgeous architecture before she sighs happily and juts her head toward the spiral staircases-- fuck yea-- and says, "We've gotta take those, honey. Then we'll head over to the elevators."

I eye her carefully. "Do we really have to take the stairs?"

She grins sheepishly. "No," she admits. "but I know you want to walk up them anyway."

I try to contain the rising bubble of excitement and appreciation in my belly, but it doesn't take much to have me bursting in moments. "Damn right I do," I finally say, skipping over to the stairs as Ash jogs over behind me.

Just before we start heading upstairs, someone calls Ash's name. Her smile goes from 100 kilowatts to 1,000 kilowatts in just a millisecond as she turns to a group of girls who are grinning ear-to-ear.

"That's my name!" My friend says cheerily, a little high-pitched squeal following as she rushes over to what I can tell are young fans. She hugs each of them then takes photos before politely dismissing them with some kind of excuse I don't quite hear. I assume it has something to do with the tons of people suddenly invested in the fact that strangers are taking pictures with another stranger. Any more time to think about it and they'll realize it's someone famous, so Ash takes the liberty of practically shoving me up the stairs before a herd can jump us.

So maybe I'm not able to look at the lobby too much with Ash rushing me away, but I'll have plenty of time later.

Ash and I scurry off to the elevators and pile in with at least five other people. It's a squished ride to the very top of the hotel, but we make it without anyone realizing that Ash is a popular streamer.

Thankfully.

Ash and I step out of the elevator on the top floor and she lets out a breath that she must have been holding in for a while.

"I love my fans," she suddenly says, looking over at me nervously. "I mean, really, I absolutely love seeing their smiles and I appreciate them so much. But in a place like this... I'd get completely swamped. And I don't think that's very safe or healthy." She worries a bit more, concern and guilt dancing in her jade eyes. "Is it bad of me to.. to feel that way?"

My stoic expression deflates a bit as I take a step closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "Oh, Ash," I say softly. "No, that's not bad of you at all. It's your right as a human to have personal space and privacy. And your fans should understand that. Don't worry." I offer her a little smile even as I stress over the situation. If I ever end up with even half as many fans as Ash, I'll be panicking over this too, specifically because it's hard to take my own advice even though I know I should.

Life just sucks like that, I suppose.

But there are always upsides and we all have to remember that.

Ash smiles back at me and places her hand on top of mine, squeezing it just like I did her shoulder. Then, she takes a very dramatic and audible breath before walking a couple more doors down.

Three doors down, to be exact. And as Todd would say, laughing my ass off.

And she throws said door open, showing off all three boys who had way too much fun in the suite on their own.

Larry is on perched on the edge of a white couch with an Xbox controller in his hands, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration and wide eyes glancing every which way at the TV screen across the room from him.

He's dressed in a ridiculous black tank top. I say ridiculous because he's toned as shit and I can feel metaphorical drool drip down my chin from just looking at every muscle hiding beneath his smooth, tan, tatted skin. Other than that though, he's in slutty grey sweatpants and black socks with little cats dressed as Abraham Lincoln on them.

I peel my gaze away from him with a shake of my head and look at Sal instead-- who is practically the exact opposite of his friend.

Where Larry is tense and alert, Sal is relaxed and kicked back, leaned on the couch with his legs haphazardly spread apart. Xbox controller in his hand, focused but lax look in his eyes, and the bottom of his prosthetic unlatched.

I'm curious about that at first, but then a puff of smoke falls from under his prosthetic and my questions are answered. But to follow those answered questions is a throbbing deep in my soul. Why is he always so damn hot?

He's wearing black Playboy Bunny sweats and a black Atreyu hoodie to go with it. Then a pair of red socks with the same photo of an orange cat in several spots on them. It's a real cat, that's for sure. I just wonder who's cat he has on his feet.

But his outfit shows every bit of him and nothing at the same time, which leaves me incredibly frustrated. He's gorgeous even in comfy clothes-- pale skin on display, blue eyes shining in the sunlight. And do I have to talk about the tattoo peeking out of the collar of his hoodie?

A muffled laugh falls from Sally's lips as Larry groans, effectively pulling me out of my little trance.

Sal tosses his controller to the side before he lifts a hand under his prosthetic. When his hand reappears a moment later, a cigarette is perched between his middle and index fingers just as he swerves his head to the side, a grin in his eyes while Larry throws his controller onto Sally's lap.

Larry has a sour expression on his face. "Really, man?" he grumbles. "Mortal Combat is so not fun when you just button smash and hope for the best. You need some technique."

Sally lifts his hands in lazy what-do-you-want-from-me fashion before chuckling some more. "Button smashing is working perfectly for me. You're just pissed that I'm winning and you're not," his uncharacteristically happy, but very characteristically smug, raspy voice fills me with so much energy that I feel like I could somehow brave the crowded bottom floors of Caesar's Palace for a moment.

But then I think better of that spontaneous assumption.

Ash walks further into the room now that Sally and Larry's game is finished. She throws the two boys a little exasperated look before heading for Todd who's sitting at a dining table with his phone in his hands and a laptop in front of him.

That leaves me with four plastic Marshall's bags, a suitcase, and a my airplane carry-on bag. Which, by the way, are going to take me a few trips to get into Ash's room.

Well, it would take me that long, but I'm a strong and brave woman and I refuse to make more trips than I have to.

So I drop the bags in my hands, throw my hair into a ponytail in true Rambo fashion, then pile the Marshall's bags onto one arm, my carry-on onto the other, and then start dragging my suitcase behind me.

I march my way past Sally and Larry with my chin held high and my brain on overdrive as I think about how dumb I must look hauling all this into the suite by myself.

But, apparently, I must not look that dumb because a loud cat-calling whistle echoes around me followed by Larry's wild exclamation of, "Go, Vi! You look damn good in sweats."

I throw my head over my shoulder and grin at him-- a grin that he returns with a bright one of his own. But then I look past him and at Sally who watches me with calculating, wary, agitated eyes.

Maybe he just won a match in Mortal Combat, but I think I just won a point in our little unspoken game. I caught him off guard.

"Ash, where's your room?" I grunt out once I stop next to her.

She looks at me, surprised as she notices all the bags in my hands. "Oh, Vi," she says softly. "Don't worry about those, I'll grab them in a minute. Get Lar to take you on a tour of the suite though! We have a balcony." She wiggles her eyebrows then tacks on a few more words as she looks past me and her happy expression turns to the glare. "A balcony that Sal should be smoking on instead of on the white fucking couch."

I can just feel Sally rolling his eyes.

His problem, not mine.

So I drop my bags, choosing to listen to Ash once the weight becomes a bit uncomfortable, and I turn my back to her and Todd, walking a little closer to Larry and Sal. I don't get too close though-- not with Sally's unpredictable temper.

Larry stands up and meets me halfway to the couch, wrapping me up in a huge hug that sweeps me off my feet. He swings me around and I giggle wildly, a smile forming on my face even though I try to will it away. But then he sets me back on my feet and takes a step a way.

"Twirl for me," Larry says, eyes narrowing slyly.

My brows furrow as I tilt my head a bit. "I don't even have a skirt," I tell him warily.

"But you have a fantastic figure." He shrugs like it's common knowledge. "Just twirl for me."

I watch him, debating in my mind. I could twirl— I mean, it's just me spinning. That's all it is. No big deal. But, again with the anxiety, I absolutely cannot get myself to do that.

So I blink and follow up the action with a bland, "No."

Larry pouts at me, but doesn't take that as an answer. He simply walks closer to me, grabs my hand, and spins me around slowly. He nods appreciatively and I suddenly feel like some kind of doll on display. A mannequin, maybe.

"Mhm, mhm," he says contemplatively once the spin is over with and I've taken a quick and shy step away. I put my head down and pull at the end of my shirt, hoping this situation is over with soon. Larry is too hot and I'm way too damn not. "I can't believe you're walking out here with that thang thangin' like that," he adds.

My head snaps up to Larry and my jaw just about drops. Did I really hear that right?

"Motherfucker," comes Sal's exasperated voice. I turn my head over my shoulder, noting the smoke billowing around his face, and then his narrowed eyes that are zoned in on Larry. Then, he tilts his head back and groans.

When Sally sits up again, he gestures a hand over at Ash and Todd and nearly yells his next words. "This asshole is fucking twitterpated!"

The word 'twitterpated' leaving Sally Face's mouth makes me almost double over with laughter. Honestly, this entire situation is bound to put me on my knees at some point.

I look over at Larry again as a giggle slips past my lips.

But Larry isn't amused, at least, he isn't showing it. A frown is marring his features and his brows are set in an angry glare that's centered on Sally. "Hey!" He all but bellows, making me flinch. Damn, he's got a powerful voice. "You fucking leave Bambi out of this!"

What in the shit is going on?

I watch as Sal and Larry throw out random Disney inspired threats and insults at each other back and forth, all the way up until Todd and Ash start to lift their heads and glance this way. And meanwhile, I'm caught in the splash zone simply because Larry just needed me to twirl and Sally couldn't help but call him twitterpated because of it.

At this point, I'm glaring into the back of Ash's head and praying she assesses this situation or breaks it up or... fuck, just that she does something. I can't do anything. I don't have the balls to step in nor do I want to.

But as I wait some more and the situation between Larry and Sally grows a lot louder, I wonder if maybe something else has spurred this argument. Maybe it's not as shallow as it was made to be.

Because Larry is in Sally's face, towering over him with harsh words and a mean expression to go with it. And Sally matches him head on with crossed arms and a glare in his pretty blue eyes, waiting for the taller man to finish talking about how Mulan could've squared Sal's ass up easily.

I absolutely agree, but that's not the point.

Is there something going on between them? Why else would they argue so horrendously? Fuck, have they always been this way? Because this isn't what I've seen online. In fact, I've never seen them act this way. Ever.

My breath catches in my throat as I glance between Larry and Sally, wondering what on earth has them so on edge. I feel... I'm scared. No one's stepping in to split them up and if fists start flying or their friendship ends, I'm going to feel guilty. Not that I am guilty, but hell. Everyone's standing around and watching like this is normal. And I'm definitely not a fan of aggressive arguing. I watched Mom and Dad do that enough to last me a lifetime.

I watch as Sal takes a quick step forward, his chest bumping into Larry's stomach (since Larry is a giant). It was supposed to be intimidating, but he looks like a little kitten beneath Larry. I almost giggle, but then the smaller man speaks.

It's aggressive, it's frustrated, and it's rushed. "Tiana wants her fucking hands back," he screams, voice deeper than I've ever heard it.

"What hands!?" Larry claps back, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He looks appalled. "She's a fucking frog!"

"Exactly!" Sally exclaims, hands thrown up in exasperation.

And it makes no sense. I don't know what the guy was going for and I don't think Larry knows either. Truth be told, I think they're both a little shocked at the ridiculousness of that last, indecipherable Disney comeback.

"You know, her friend was pretty hot. The blonde one. Lottie," Larry murmurs softly after a moment, his face blank.

Seriously. What the fuck is going on between these two?

Sally's eyes light up as a muffled chuckle comes from his direction— his unmistakable, heart stuttering chuckle. "I know right?" He replies.

I'm stunned, lips parted and eyes wide as I watch both men launch into a discussion on why Lottie was the ultimate girlfriend, but how Tiana tops her all the way when it comes to taking charge, relationship equality, and moral support.

Should I even question anything at this point?

"Vi," I turn to Larry upon hearing my name and a spark of aggravation electrifies my body when Sally groans at the mention of me. "Lottie or Tiana?"

"Uh," I start, glancing between the two men. Do I have to watch what I say? I don't feel like getting dragged into an argument nor do I feel like taking my anger out in Sally. I'm just not in the mood... unless he gets me in the mood. That's different. "Can't I have both? Lottie and Tiana both have fantastic qualities."

"He asked for one or the other, not both." Sally replies, voice monotonous.

"You didn't specify that, so I asked," I snap, taking a breath to try and quell the brewing frustration in my bones. Why does he have to attach his dumb input on everything I say?

"Oh," Sally laughs humorlessly and tilts his head at me. "I get it now. So you're just an idiot then."

I swallow down the urge to gouge his eyes out for a moment, trying to get a grip on reality and the fact that gouging out his eyes would get me arrested. But the longer I look at his smug blue irises, the harder it is to resist temptation.

And then hands land on my shoulders from behind.

"I'm coming save the day since Todd and I have figured out our next two days," she says with a little breath. "Now leave my girl alone, will you?" she calls to the two men in front of us. "Why can't she be everyone's girl?" Larry huffs, crossing his arms with a little pout on his lips.

Ash doesn't bother answering him, simply rolls her eyes and turns to me. "Are you hungry?" she asks, walking toward the little kitchenette in the suite. "We probably have some leftovers, snacks..." she trails off as she opens a mini fridge. "And we definitely have alcohol," she murmurs next. I can't help but giggle a bit at that.

"Um," I start, closing in on myself when a gust of never-ending air hits me dead in the face. That's some powerful air-conditioning but it's way to cold in this room for all that. "I don't want to eat anyone's leftovers. I'll just get something when we go out later."

"We don't care," Todd says from the dining table, so I turn to him while rubbing my arms. "Honestly. None of us are going to eat the rest, so take what you want."

"Are you sure--" I start to say, but then Sally cuts me off.

"Don't eat my shit," he yells from the sofa, watching me with narrowed eyes.

I purse my lips and hold back a really vile retort. "If y'all are housing macaroni and chicken strips, I don't care who it belongs to," I reply. "I'll eat it anyway." I add quietly, sucking in a breath as I walk toward Ash as the cool air starts to become unbearable.

I lean down next to Ash to look into the refrigerator when Sally's running up beside us and shoving me back. "What kind of freaky fuckery are you up to?" he scoffs, grabbing a to-go plate of... oh crap. "I said to leave my food alone, you damn hog," he all but sneers before kicking the fridge door closed behind him.

Okay, so it was freaky. I somehow managed to correctly predict his leftovers of macaroni and chicken strips... but how the fuck was I supposed to know that he was a fan of my favorite meal too? "I'm not a hog, you mannerless mongrel," I snarl back, directing my glare at the asshat just as he sticks his leftovers into the microwave.

Sally punches in his time, then slowly turns his head to look at me. The meticulous way he moves his head makes me feel starstruck for a moment. His cerulean hair billowing in the strong air circulating in the room, his pretty fingers wrapped around a brand new can of Dr. Pepper that he grabbed with his food, and his neck tattoo on full, beautiful display.

He practically glows in any light, but when he's stuck up and far too confident, he glows most. He's also hella infuriating.

"You're the hoggiest hog I've ever seen," he says, like that's something he spits out every damn day. "And I'm absolutely a mannerless mongrel, but women dig that so I don't see the problem." A ridiculous sound of disapproval leaves my throat as I glare at him. But Sally doesn't say a word or acknowledge me anymore. He just grabs his food, tips his can of Dr. Pepper towards me, then walks back to the sofa and proceeds to light another cigarette. It's hot. But I'll never admit that. I'll ignore it for now. I'll let it go until I have the right moment to let out all my frustrations. Then he'll realize I am not to be fucked with--

--or he'll just fuck with me more. With a sigh that's meant to try and calm me a bit, I bend down and reopen the refrigerator. I grab a plate of what looks like lemon pesto pasta and start piling it onto a plate to heat it up. "I'm eating someone's pasta," I announce, "Take it from me now or forever hold your peace."

"That's mine," Todd says. He raises a hand, never looking up from his laptop screen. "Please eat it. It'll just rot otherwise."

I hold up the plate in a bit of a salute before putting into the microwave. "Sounds good to me. I love leftovers." But then my arms grow cold again. My small argument with Sal heated me up for a moment, but it's over now and I'm freezing again.

"Ash," I murmur, leaning toward my friend. "Can I borrow a hoodie or something? It might as well be snowing in here. I know you're all hot, but I thought that stopped at looks."

Ash scrunches her brows together at my last comment, but I just grin, waiting for her to get it. And she does-- shows that she understands by pinching my cheeks and smiling widely. I giggle with her before she breaks away. "Yea, there's a hoodie around here somewhere, Vi," she says, walking toward Todd who holds up a black hoodie. "And that was the best pickup line I've ever heard. Where'd you get that one from?"

"My brain," I tell her with a shrug before pulling my food out of the microwave.

I look up just in time for Ash to chuck the hoodie toward me. I catch it, folding it over my arm for a second as I place my food on the cabinet.

I spread the hoodie out and look at the front of it. It's a Breaking Benjamin hoodie. One from their Phobia album. It takes everything in me to not start bouncing around with joy.

I don't ask any questions, I just happily put it on and try not to squeal when it fits me perfectly. Fuck, I might ask if I can take this home with me.

For most of the day, I lounge around in Ash and I's shared room. She and I get dressed and she does my make up (after locking the door to stop anyone from walking in and discovering me, of course).

At about 4:30 in the afternoon, the group of us are getting ready to head out to the concert and I can practically feel my soul shaking.

I'm in the most basic of outfits when I walk out of Ash's room to meet up with Larry, Sally, and Todd-- that grey Nirvana shirt, a black skirt, and fishnets underneath. But it works. I still have the hoodie on though. I might as well keep it on for the night.

I wait by the door as everyone gathers their things. They all look equally as lavish and delectable tonight, as always. But Sally glances to me when he walks out of his room, then looks away. He's looking nice too-- not that I'm surprised. Black jeans and a white Ice Nine Kills shirt.

His gaze cuts to me quickly, eyes narrowed as he looks over me from head to toe. My fawning gets cut off by the wild look in his blue eyes and I hold my breath while red flags start floating around in my brain.

"Where the fuck," he growls out, shaking his head disbelievingly. "did you get my hoodie?" he finishes, voice high pitched and and full of anger.

My blood runs cold. This jacket will never be warm enough to melt the ice that forms in my veins once I realize what he's just said.

No wonder it fit so perfectly-- Sally is the only one that's anywhere close to my size in this room. What the fuck was I thinking? Why didn't I realize sooner? I--

I dip my head down and sniff the collar. Oh, hell. It even smells like him. And I enjoyed every stupid second. Within just a millisecond of finally realizing the severity of this situation, I damn near rip the article of clothing off my body and fast-ball it at Sally who catches it out of instinct, but then immediately drops it like it's burning hot.

"It touched you!" he screams, looking up at me with wide eyes. "I don't want to fucking touch it!"

"Oh my-- Sally," I ground out from behind clenched teeth. "I don't have cooties. I don't have the fucking plague. Just take your hoodie back before I shove it down your damn throat."

His eyes narrow, animosity swimming in his bright irises. I automatically roll my own eyes. It's like his negative emotions can't take a fucking break.

"You're going to find out how much I'll be able to shove down your throat if you keep this shit up," he snarks. "How did you even get my damn hoodie?"

"It's not even my fault," I laugh bitterly, stretching my arms out in a come-at-me-bitch motion. "If you'd take a second and let me explain, you'd know that. But no, you're a damn wall and don't give a fuck about anyone other than yourself."

I hear him huff out a breath, and then he switches his stance-- goes straight into defense mode. "Oh, yea, bitch? Just who--"

"Can you two cut it out for, like, five seconds?" Ash asks as she walks out of our shared room, a sigh slipping past her glossy lips.

She's dressed in black ripped jeans and a Dark Autumn Complex merch shirt. She looks so dark and sweet-- such a contrast compared to her usual self.

I mentally count to five in my mind, and the fact that Sal and I have both gone quiet seems to sate Ash. She huffs then plasters a smile on her face.

"Alright, I think it's time to go now--"

But I've reached five and I whip my head to Sal. Shockingly, he does the same.

He and I both start throwing out random, unintelligible insults and I almost laugh over our dynamic. Because, somehow, we both had the same idea to appease Ash with five seconds of silence before jumping into a vocal brawl again.

"Fuck," Ash groans and grabs my hand. She effectively cuts me off by yanking me out the door and nearly dragging me through the hallway behind her. "I can't stand you two together."

"That's what I'm saying," I grumble, glaring at Sal who appears in the hallway next. He matches my glare, but we at least stay quiet now.

I'll absolutely get him again later. I have too much pent up rage to let him go this easy. We take the elevator to the bottom floor— only to realize that we've ended up on the wrong side of the hotel.

Caesar's Palace is giant— so big and confusing that it's impossible to walk through the entire place in just one day. Ash stresses this as we realize we have to parade past the thousands of people littering the casino that separates us from where we need to be.

But it's easier to do it this way than to go around the behemoth building from the outside...

"Sal," Ash calls, head turning over her shoulder to look at the man behind me. "Please, if anyone stops you just let them know we have somewhere to be. Okay?"

I hear a grunt of disapproval from Sally— one that makes Ash frown.

"I can't do that," he grumbles, almost like he's embarrassed to say this. "You know I don't do that."

Ash simply sighs and looks ahead again. "I know," she says softly, sincerely. "It was wrong of me to ask that of you. If any of us get stopped, it's alright. We left early for a reason."

I know Ash is a bit insecure and nervous when it comes to interacting with fans. She loves them, but she's anxious about people flocking around her. She wants to blend in, show her love in a way that won't harm anyone. I get it, but... not everyone else does.

I wish there was a way for her to find a happy medium, but is there ever a way? Everyone's opinion is different. What matters to Ash won't matter to some of her fans. And you can't change a person's opinion. I can only hope that things will become easier for her with time.

Ash takes a breath, then starts walking forward— so the rest of us do too.

We move fast, watching the ceiling signs like hawks so we can navigate our way through this maze of a casino. It's not easy. We follow a direction only to find out we were led the wrong way, then we turn around and start the process all over again. But as we continue, any anxiety is absolutely stomped to hell and replaced with the most apparent disdain I have ever seen.

"Dude, the directions said this way. I don't know what to do," Larry says, completely flabbergasted as we meet a dead end disguised as a bar. Or the other way around. I'm not too sure.

"It wasn't a straight arrow," Sally huffs thoughtfully. "It was diagonal. We went the wrong way— which is what I've been trying to tell you guys." His voice isn't scolding. In fact, it's reassuring. "The signs are right, we're just terrible at reading directions."

Had I met this side of him— the side of Sally that's reassuring, thoughtful, intelligent, and not rolling his eyes at me all the time— our relationship would be much different right now.

But I lose the thought when he and I make eye contact. Because he rolls his eyes at me again and faces another direction, adding the harshness to his voice yet again as he says, "We need to go back to the center. Find the signs again."

"You know," Todd says with a sigh. "I could go ask the security guard right there. He'd tell us where to go."

Todd is on to something, as always. He's going to save the day—

"I absolutely fucking refuse," Larry's proud voice cuts off my thought, "to give into this labyrinth of alcoholic curiosities. This place will never consume me."

I blink. Is this motherfucker serious? "Fuck that," the words leave my mouth without my permission, so I just go with it. "Let's just ask someone."

"Hell no!" Ash exclaims, clapping a hand onto Larry's shoulder with a triumphant grin on her pretty lips. "I'm with Lord Lar on this one. Caesar's Palace will never eat me alive."

"I—" I start, unable to really understand the absurdity of this situation. I mean, come on. Who's this prideful? Not to mention, I've somehow managed to befriend two people who are this prideful. "We—"

"You're talking to a brick wall, dumbass," Sally murmurs behind me as I watch Larry and Ash turn to each other. They start speculating on what to do next.

I have the mindset to ignore Sally for once— my anxiety is a tripwire and I'm so close to hitting it right now. We need to find a way outside of this hotel or I'm going to flip the place upside down. But as I glance over to ask Todd what we should do, I see him conversing with the security guard he had previously mentioned.

Oh, thank God. He's handling the situation.

That means I can handle my lightweight as well.

I whirl around, facing Sally with my arms crossed over my chest. "So you must be the brick wall then, jackass. I can't recall a single time you've listened to me."

Sally scoffs, ring-clad fingers drumming against his biceps as he crosses his arms as well. "I can't recall you ever giving me any sound advice. More importantly, I can't recall ever asking you for advice. So I consider everything you say to be invalid and unworthy input."

Leave it to the hottest and most infuriating guy to piss me off when I think there isn't a single thing on this earth that can distract me from my nervousness. But in all honesty, I'd rather be angry than nervous.

And I'm angry now.

"Invalid and unworthy?" I ask, my words clipped and aggressive. I chew on the inside of my cheek for a moment as his eyes light up. It's like he wants these fights. "I've never heard such a precise description of you in all my life, Sally."

And just like that, the light in his eyes evaporates and gives way to a darkness, one that he doesn't try to fight for long.

He uncrosses his arms and takes a step closer to me. For just a second, my instinct is to cower away. He's looking over me like some kind of monster— something to fear. But then I remember that I can't be afraid of him. I mean, what's there to be afraid of in the first place? I've never seen someone bark so much and never bite.

"You say that as though you're worth so fucking much," he says coldly. "No one even knows your damn name."

"Yet." The word leaves my lips immediately. I don't even think about it; it was instinct. And it worked because Sally narrows his eyes.

But before he can clap back at my "invalid and unworthy input," I see a little hand tap his shoulder from behind. He feels it at the same exact time that I notice it, and our aggressive eye contact softens at the interruption— simply because we have to put on a game face. We don't know who's happened upon us in the middle of an argument.

He spins around and takes a step to the side, unintentionally giving me a view of the two women standing behind him.

Both are short, pretty, and wearing little sashes that say "Birthday Girl" and I can only imagine how much damn fun they're about to have tonight. One has beautiful, natural red hair, while the other has the prettiest, most luscious brown hair.

"Holy crap," one says, bending her knees like she's about to fall, but then she catches herself. She slaps her hands over her mouth and says, "It's Sally Face!"

Sally turns into something I haven't seen before in a moment's notice.

His normal defensive nature is flipped in an instant and I watch the most innocent look envelop his ocean eyes. His entire aura changes into something positively unique and, all over, nice.

His shoulders relax compared to their earlier tense state. His fingers aren't flexed or balled into fists, they're relaxed at his sides and his head is tilted to the side.

Fuck, he looks happy.

"Hey, yea that's me!" He says to the woman who addressed him before glancing over to the other woman with a smile in his eyes. "Happy birthday to the both of you." His words are cheery and sincere and, damn, am I going to get whiplash? No way is this the same guy I've been bickering with for weeks.

"Thank you!" The redhead says, flashing a gorgeous smile— dimples and all. "It's our 21st."

"Really?" Sal says, a tinge of excitement in his voice as he sticks his hands into his pockets. "That's so exciting, especially since you're celebrating in Las Vegas. You guys hit any good bars yet? I'm gonna need some recommendations."

Holy shit? Is this really the Sally Face I know and despise? He's kind right now. He's being so sweet. And he's fantastic at small talk. It feels like he's really interested in what they have to say. I'm not on the receiving end of his words, but his sweet persona makes me feel special. That's how powerful he is in this moment.

"Oh my gosh," the brunette says, resting a hand on Sally's shoulder in excitement. She's eager to give him a good recommendation and it shows in the way her automatic response is physical touch. Honestly, it's adorable. "Yes! There's this restaurant slash bar in Excalibur called 'Dick's.' It's so damn funny." She laughs, pulling her hand away from Sally and looking down at her feet before continuing. "The waiters and waitresses insult you. Like, she and I walked in," she points to herself then to her friend, "and once we were sat down, our waiter came up to us and literally said, 'What you hoes want?'"

Sally laughs, I mean a full on, bent over belly laugh that makes the girls giggle along with him. "Damn, that sounds like a fun place. I'm gonna have to check it out." He pushes a hand through his hair, an action that I pay way too much attention to. "Were the drinks any good?"

The redhead winces. "I mean... I had the most basic drink. It was just a strawberry daiquiri." She shrugs, then leans forward. "But it was really good."

"I had a cosmopolitan. I'm not... sure what's in it," the brunette says sheepishly. She runs her fingers through her hair, an anxiety thing I'm sure.

I want to comfort her— let her know that it's totally okay. None of us know anything the second we try alcohol for the first time. And it seems like this is truly both girls' first times drinking.

But I don't want to butt in on their time with someone they admire. That's just wrong.

"Ah, there's nothing wrong with that," Sally reassures. "I'll be honest, I fucking love daiquiris. They aren't basic. They're delicious. And Cosmopolitans are pretty good too! You both had great picks."

The girls beam excitedly, little blushes enveloping their cheeks. I know the feeling. To be praised and acknowledged and validated by your idol? Absolutely nothing compares to how empowering that is.

"Can you, like, give us a list of drinks to try?" The brunette asks bashfully, kicking the toe of her high-heels against the carpeted floor.

"Yea, absolutely! I don't drink all that much though, so I'm kind of a lousy recommender." He chuckles lightly. "Try a hurricane if you can. It's a daiquiri, just really tasty. Um... lemon drops are pretty good too. Blueberry lemon drops are my favorite. Moscato white wine... a sweet one preferably. Um..." he trails off, covering the mouth of his prosthetic with his hand as he thinks. And dammit, just dammit. I want to give the girls a recommendation too. I want them to have fun while they're here because if they're anything like me, it may be a while until they're able to come back.

The girls smile as Sally sits on his thoughts for a moment longer, and then the redhead glances at me. She still has a sweet smile on her face, but I can see confusion and curiosity there for a moment too. I mean, why am I hanging around there watching them talk to Sally? I just know that's what's going through her head.

And maybe it's shitty of me. I should keep my mouth shut, but I decide to throw in one more drink to the girls.

"Malibu and pineapple juice," I say softly, entwining my fingers together when an overwhelming wave of anxiety takes hold of me. Fuck, I can't believe I said that. They didn't ask for my recommendations.

Sally's head snaps up, his blue hair in his eyes. But it doesn't hide his eyes enough for me to miss the way they narrow in my direction. And upon noticing that is when a trickle of fear makes its way down my spine.

"Uh, what's Malibu?" The redhead asks me. She tilts her head, thinking about it.

I glance to Sally, note the way his eyes are drilling into me and not in a good way. But then I look back to the redhead who's focus is solely on me in the moment.

"It's coconut rum," I tell her happily, licking my suddenly dry lips. "It goes really well with pineapple juice. I mean, it's one of the best drinks I've ever had. It's like... the opposite of a Cosmopolitan but just as tasty, pretty much." I give them a little smile, wondering if I should apologize for interrupting their conversation.

But the brunette looks over at me with a hesitant smile. Then, she looks at Sally who's unwavering gaze (which is full of animosity) never leaves me. And gears start visibly turning in her area. Until she looks back at me with wide, unbelieving eyes.

"Holy crap," she says enthusiastically, shock sprawled across her freckled face. She's addressed me the same way she addressed Sally. "Don't tell me you're VioletViolence."

I gulp down my instant excitement as well as the nerves slowly building within me. No way this is happening.

After all the times I've been told that no one knows who I am, I started to believe it. But here I am, in the middle of Vegas, with a girl who's just spoken my name without me having to inform her of it.

I suddenly feel alive, like I can feel every little cell that makes up who I am thrumming with happiness and contentment. It's a battle of staying calm and throwing my arms around this poor girl who doesn't know how much she's just changed my life.

But I steel myself— force myself to hold my emotions at bay so I can have my first positive fan interaction.

Hopefully.

I smile at the girls. "Looks like we've got a Todd 2.0 on our hands," I say sweetly. "He guessed me right away too." Suddenly, both girls flock to me and I nearly regret it. I just stole Sally's thunder... and he's definitely going to show me just how fucked this is later. For fuck's sake.

"Oh my gosh!" The brunette says, hanging off of my shoulder. "I can't believe you and Sally are both here-- and alone at that! But to be honest, I was really hoping the animosity between you two was a farce the whole time because I love both of you so much so this just makes the little arguments even better since I know they're fake now." My mouth gapes as I look down at the girl wrapped around my arm excitedly. I should tell her the truth, she deserves to know that, even now, Sal and I are more than pissed about being stuck together. That every argument we've had thus far has been very real.

But the happy, glistening smile on her face makes me hesitate, and I only gape at her some more while the redhead hangs back a bit and bounces on her toes excitedly while watching my every move.

I can't make myself say it. I can't get the truth out.

Sally's next to me all of a sudden, and I look up at him. He has the world's most vicious glare in his eyes, but only I can tell-- because it quickly changes into a grinning gaze as he throws an arm around my shoulders and looks between both girls.

He gives my neck a squeeze, and somehow, I interpret that as a sign to keep my mouth shut on the truth behind this topic.

But his warm arm wrapped around me makes me tense up. No matter how angry he makes me, his skin on mine and any little bit of proximity we have makes me go crazy. Unintentional butterflies are making me nauseous, my cheeks are hot, and my heart is stuttering in my chest while my thoughts run rampant. It's a mix of confusion and questions and absolute anarchy.

Then he slams his other hand on top of my head and ruffles my hair.

"Yep, all a farce. I can very much stand this bitch," he says cheerily to the girls, tacking on a little giggle that makes me want to punch him in his prosthetic face so hard that it actually manages to somehow hurt him.

Fuck butterflies. What the fuck is he trying to do? I can't tell. And all I'm getting out of this is extreme fucking anger. He really has the audacity to call me a bitch in front of both our fans?

The brunette's eyes light up and she backs away from me, grabbing onto her friend instead with exhilaration glittering in her eyes. They both squeal for a minute, then watch me expectantly.

So, how do I put my game face on? We're killing this situation with a mix of a lie and honesty-- so surely I can do the same.

I grab onto the jaw of Sal's prosthetic and jiggle his head around aggressively before putting my cheek against his. "This little shit eater is just so easy to be around. You have no idea," I chirp, going as far as to begrudgingly squeeze closer to him and shut my eyes as I slap a smile onto my face.

And then the rage is gone. I've gotten my revenge and I can already smell the way he's about to yank himself away from me and start screaming. It's going to be fucking epic.

But he doesn't pull away, just puts the hand that was resting on my shoulder onto the side of my face and uses it to keep me pressed to his side.

I didn't expect that.

The smile drops from my lips for a moment, but I quickly throw it back on, no matter how hard it is.

Sal's thumb is pressed against the corner of my lips, almost like the placement was thoughtful. Like he meant to put his finger there. But the contact also has me faltering a bit-- and the sudden tummy butterflies and excitement I convinced myself were misplaced feelings just moments ago nearly overpowers the instant anger taking over my body, but it doesn't. Thank God it doesn't.

"Aw, thanks Vi! So are you. You're constant bitching and chihuahua-like yapping just lights up the darkest of my days," he answers, but his voice is so happy that it seems more bitter than anything.

His thumb brushes over my bottom lip and I nearly topple over at the contact. His skin is soft and the way he touches such a sensitive, hyper-aware, and intimate part of me makes me wonder what it is he's trying to do again.

Clearly, he doesn't want our fans to know that our constant bickering and aggression is real, but then he's letting it slip through anyway. And he definitely did not need to touch me to make his excuses seem more plausible, and yet, he did.

Is he... is he trying to... fuck, is he trying to get clout off of this?

"You shouldn't have, Sally! Your shitty attitude and God's-gift-to-women persona is just so inspiring," I bite out, trying to keep positive sounding tones to my voice, though it's proving to be harder with each passing second. But this time, I try to separate myself from him. I don't want to be some publicity stunt for him because there's no way I'll be able to do this bullshit again for fans. I won't say a word about the truth of our weird relationship, but I'm not going to let him hang on me like we're besties because he thinks it'll gain some traction.

I really don't understand what's going on here. At all. And yea, I should expect everything when it comes to Sally, but this one hurts a bit.

I feel a bit better when Sally cuts his gaze to me, malice swirling in his icy irises. And then, he all but shoves me off of him.

I try not to stagger away from him with the girls standing right in front of us, so I catch myself quickly and stick close to his side-- still trying to sell this bullshit he's yanked me into.

"Would you guys like a picture or something?" Sally asks them, his sickly sweet voice nearly knocking me over again.

"Oh, yes, we'd love one with both of you if that's possible!" The redhead says, bounding a little closer to us, bouncing on her toes some more. She's adorable.

"Absolutely, it would be our pleasure," I say as kindly as possible. These two girls fill my heart with joy-- not so much Sally, but he doesn't matter all that much when these two sweet ladies have just changed my life.

The brunette turns to Sally while the redhead looks for someone to take the picture for her.

"Would you sign my phone case?" she asks sheepishly, wincing a bit. "It's about all I've got that's, like, sign-able."

Sally chuckles and takes her outstretched phone. "Of course. I'll sign anything," he tells her. It's so odd to see him acting this way.

But then I remember that he was this way with me once too. He was kind like this. He was gentle like this. He was actually enjoyable and even stole my heart for a moment or two.

Maybe he really isn't that bad. He and I just have some qualms-- and I don't know what those qualms are, but if we actually have a conversation, I think we could become friends. I'm willing to put everything aside.

Sally takes the small iPhone in his hands, flipping it over to show the clear case. His black fingernails are a contrast to the pastel yellow of the phone and his veiny hands are ridiculously noticeable in the low casino lighting. And not to mention, the light reflects off his metal rings and makes them glow-- it seems otherworldly, which only adds o the mystical, mysterious, and unique air about him.

I watch a light pink paint the brunette's cheeks just as I feel my own heat up. How embarrassing.

So I turn to look at my feet just as the redhead finds a couple to take our photo and has a quick chat with them, then they begin walking toward us.

"What's your name?" Sally mumbles as he fishes a random sharpie out of his pocket. Does he just carry that around everywhere? Holy hell, my heart is going to beat out of my chest-- he cares this much for his fans. I don't care how infuriating he is, that is just too adorable.

Okay, y/n. Don't lose sight of the truth. You hate Sal Fisher right now-- you hopefully won't in the future, but you definitely do right now. He can be hot, but you absolutely cannot fawn over him.

"Oh," The brunette perks up and glances at Sally's face for a moment. "My name's Lexi."

I stop breathing. My stomach falls straight out of my ass. And I suddenly feel like I'm going to vomit.

What are the damn chances?

I watch the moment the name resonates within Sal. I'm hoping he doesn't recognize it, just sees it as another name, but he actually flinches. A wave of recognition flits through his gaze as he snaps his head up to examine the girl closely.

"Shit," he breathes, the word so quiet that the girl, Lexi as we now fucking know, asks him what he just said.

Sally shakes his head and throws a smile on his face if the crinkling of his eyes tells me anything. But there's still some kind of lingering emotion, something that looks a lot like guilt.

"Sorry," he says to her then scribbles something else onto the phone case and hands it back to her. "Just recalling a friend I have. Her name is Lexi too." His voice comes out a little softer than usual, like he's reminiscing.

It's damn hard to keep my gaze directed past Sally and Lexi and not directly on them. I so desperately want to gauge his reaction and make sure he doesn't catch onto me. I'm scared. Horrified, really.

This is the first time I've heard him mention Lexi. I'm actually shocked that he's talking about her at all, and that terrifies me even more.

"Wow," Lexi says, moving in next to him as her friend finally reaches us. "What a coincidence," she continues as Sal tucks her into his side, putting an arm around her shoulder and holding her close.

Sally smiles down at her then motions over to the other girl, opening his free arm up for her.

She happily skips over to him, scooting in beside him like it's natural for her. And truth be told, just the sight of the three of them together makes me happy. Everyone is content in this little picture.

But then the redhead looks to me. And she smiles so brightly that my knees nearly buckle. "Come on," she says, but hesitates after a moment. "Well, unless you don't want to anymore. I'm sorry, that was--"

I launch into a speedwalk toward them and curse quietly. "Oh, no, sweetheart," I try to reassure her. "I was stuck in my head for a minute. I don't mind a picture at all." I smile at her then wrap my own arm around her shoulder.

The second my arm settles right on top of Sally's, we both look up at each other-- a mix of fury and shock mingling in the air between us. My skin tingles from the warmth of his arm and it takes every bit of my dignity to not grab onto Sal whenever he rips his arm away from me, switching sides with Lexi so both girls can be between us.

We take a picture with both girls. They suggest a couple different poses, and Sally and I manage to laugh together over some of the stuff we do, but then Lexi and her other sweet friend, who we've discovered is named Kennedy, are leaving us to what we were previously doing.

All of the sweet things I'd witnessed within the past few minutes, all of the kindness and loving embraces-- all of it is washed down the drain the second Lexi and Kennedy turn a corner and are no longer in our sight.

Todd is talking with Ash and Larry at a slot machine, but Sally's whirling on me with the most hate I've ever seen him bear.

"You fuck up absolutely everything," he snarls, taking a step toward me, and then another. Menacing, dangerous. And I nearly take a step back as terror sweeps through me, but I hold my own somehow. What helps is that I'm appalled at his claim that I fuck everything up. I've never done anything wrong.

He takes a deep breath, shuts is eyes in an attempt to calm himself, but then he groans frustratedly and looks into my eyes again. His gaze makes me flinch, and he notices, and fuck, he's got a lot against me right now and it's actually... I'm kind of scared.

"You can't just keep your mouth shut?" he whisper-yells, gesturing a hand out behind us. "Had you shut the fuck up for once, I wouldn't have had to lie. Clearly you don't know a thing about me-- but I will do everything I can for them. For my fans. Even if that means lying. But I don't want to fucking lie, and now you've made me do just that."

He's so angry and speaking so fast that his breath is coming out in pants and all I'm good for right now is sitting there and taking it. His words cut deeper than they should and I genuinely don't think I could stop him even if I wanted to. Lucky for both of us, I guess, I'm at a loss for words.

"And on top of forcing both of us into a lie," he continues, tilting his head in a threatening way. "I just remembered that you screwed up a lot for me and I'm only just realizing." He laughs humorlessly.

Is he talking about Lexi? Me? Because if he is, that's all his doing.

I'm about to say that, but I think better of it. That would give me away. Worse, I shouldn't interrupt his little temper tantrum right now. I'll hit him where it hurts later, but for now, this is what's best. Even if it physically pains me to shut my damn mouth.

So much for trying to become friends with him.

"I can't believe some of the things I've said and done with you. More specifically, the fact that I just about fucked you over a phone call," he takes another step. Sal is suddenly so close that the tips of our noses-- prosthetic and mask-- brush together for just a fraction of a second.

And then his cool fingers are gripping my chin tightly, almost painfully. But instead of scaring me like it's meant to, a wave of warmth rushes through me. And I have to gulp down whatever physical reaction I almost instinctually act on.

I can feel his rings against my skin, the anger seeping through his cold fingertips and into my body, the tips of his fingernails digging into my jaw.

I find myself holding my breath again at his words and our proximity. I know I claimed that I didn't care f he kept his word, but now that he's regretting our little nighttime call and actually touching me at this exact moment, I think I'm about to be a little disappointed.

He would've been a good hate fuck.

"So don't expect shit from me. Because I'm better than you. And I deserve better than whatever kind of half-assed pleasure I was looking for in you."

The words hit me straight in the gut, digging into me like a sharp sword that just keeps getting twisted. At the same exact time, he rips his hand away from me and takes a step away.

All of the insecurities I've been squashing down since last night rush to the surface. All of the hurt, all of the jealousy, all of the anxiety. Every single bit of it, even the parts I thought I managed to conquer.

I can't help but fold in on myself when Sally looks past me and then moves around my stunned body to reconvene with The Faces.

I stand there for a moment. I just stand with my arms wrapped around my middle, hugging myself since no one else can right now.

Sally and I's entire situation is less than ideal and we insult each other back to back with the intention of pissing each other off, but this is different. This wasn't him trying to make me angry, he was intentionally trying to beat me down. And now, I'm expected to stand around with him all night and act like what he just told me didn't tear me right open.

It's not him, it's just the words specifically. I couldn't care less about who said them to me. But they were said. And one of my beliefs that I've never given up is that everything that's spoken has some kind of truth to it.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I pull it out as I bite into my cheek, trying to calm my racing heart and numb limbs.

When I lift the screen to my face, I see an unknown number and immediately scrunch my eyebrows. That's weird.

But then I see the text.

Unknown hey lexi, it's sal i know i never texted and i'm really sorry could we talk later?

My breath catches in my throat and I can't help but spin around to where my friends are standing. And there's Sally, looking down at his phone and tapping his fingers against the back of it. But then he quickly shoves it into his pocket and turns back to Ash, Larry, and Todd.

I really don't understand with him.

He's forgotten about Lexi this entire time and blames me for it. Why?

There's something weird going on with him and I don't know if I want to find out what that is or not.

___________________

A/N:::::::::: I'M SORRY I'VE BEEN MISSING FOR SO LONG :((((((

i hated being away just as much as you guys have, but it couldn't be helped. on top of finals and the end of the semester, i also took a trip to las vegas and got to visit all the places i've been writing about! it was so amazing! so while i've been missing, my time hasn't been spent in vain. i've been researching and getting SUPER crunk in casino's ;)

but i'm home now and finally putting out this chapter! she's EXTRA long and she's mainly filler, but things will be getting spicy soon. and i am BURSTING with excitement over it :3 so stay tuned!

as always, i love you all with my entire being. thank you for being here. have a wonderful morning/day/afternoon/night! <333

#sal fisher #sally face #larry johnson #ash campbell #todd morrison #travis phelps #enemies to lovers #sally face fandom #sally face fanfiction #fanfic #future smut

62 notes · View notes

theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

Note

You wrote your opinions on the Order of the Phoenix, what about the Death Eaters? That's another way of saying Lucius, Bellatrix, and anybody else. I honestly feel that we're running out of HP characters for you to write your opinion and reasoning about, so yeah~

We honestly are. When people start asking me questions about Harry’s nameless and faceless classmates I feel like we’re scraping the bottom of my barrel of Harry Potter opinions.

Though, that said, this is still a very large ask if you want me to analyze very Death Eater ever or even the Death Eaters as a whole (which is worthy of its own post).

So, we’ll compromise, and I’ll just look at the two you name dropped.

Lucius Malfoy

To me, Lucius is by far one of the more intelligent Death Eaters. He’s the guy who makes them almost look classy. I say almost, because Lucius is still a racist domestic terrorist and as the series goes on Tom gleefully drags him into being less classy by the minute (his house becomes a POW camp and housing for the dregs of society, Lucius just sobs, trying to be thankful he’s somehow still alive).

Lucius is rich, sophisticated, and is probably the most politically powerful man in the country. He has a beautiful wife he has... a son (sorry Draco, but you do not live up to your father) the guy has it all.

Which makes it very surprising that he got dragged into this mess. But you see, Lucius is paying for that tragedy we call youth.

Also, as a caveat, I’m about to headcanon hard and will not bother to get into the details of why I think x, y, or z in this post.

Ten years prior to the start of canon, Lucius is a very young man, probably very charismatic, certainly believes he’s intelligent and probably gets decent grades, but nonetheless the kind of stupid you see in men ages 15-25.

He’s likely chafing under his aging father’s strict guidance, knows he’s not going to be Lord Malfoy for years yet, wants to get out there, prove himself, and make a difference for his country. More importantly for Lucius, there’s this hip, exciting, new thing that all his cousins and friends are getting into called “The Death Eaters” (yes, I don’t believe the Knights of Walpurgis/Death Eaters 1.0 ever happened, I think it’s ridiculous that fandom and JKR does, I could go into why but not in this post).

The Death Eaters are led by the single handedly most beautiful, charismatic, man in Britain. (Yes, I headcanon Tom’s still blindingly attractive at this stage, because it makes much more sense to me but we’re not getting into that here.) A mysterious man by the name of Voldemort, Salazar Slytherin’s long lost heir, who has come to resurrect the wizarding world’s true heritage and purge the land of the muggle stain. (Yes, I do believe that no one, not even Lucius who is later given the diary, knew who Tom really was. I believe Regulus’ had only the vaguest idea, informed mostly by Tom’s use of Kreacher to place the locket.) This is the most exciting thing to have ever happened, the rallies probably consist of rich kids drunk out of their minds and maybe even high on a little wizard cocaine, and Lucius is down for it precisely because his father says “Lucius, this is stupid, please don’t embarrass the family.” WELL LUCIUS IS GOING TO EMBARRASS THE FAMILY, DAD! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?!

And for a while, it looks like Lucius made the right choice. Things are happening, they’re actually going out and killing the mudbloods! Unlike Regulus, Lucius never has that “wait a minute” moment as he realizes that Voldemort’s actually far more efficiently eliminating pureblood families and sowing dissention in what was once a unanimous force among the Wizengamot (the other pureblood lords aren’t necessarily pro muggleborn, per se, but they get a bit queasy at the thought of blowing them up or Merlin forbid actually blowing up their own public venues wizards use).

And then October 31st, 1981 happens, and it all comes crashing down. Lucius has to desperately lie his ass off, having only the flimsiest lie to rely on, has to hand out a shit ton of bribes, and manages to squeeze his way out of being imprisoned in Azkaban.

I’m sure Abraxas looked at his son, with his tattoo on his arm that makes him another man’s slave, at the utter destruction of the Black family, and just shook his head going, “Clean up your mess, Dumbass Son”

And Lucius does to the best of his ability. While some will always suspect him of being a Death Eater, while some know it, he’s able to climb very high in influence in their ridiculously tiny community. Granted, I do think he messed up, and could never for example run for minister given everything (if Crouch can’t rerun then Lucius certainly can’t). He also shows us that in some ways he is not above the law, he’s very afraid his house will be searched without warrant in The Chamber of Secrets, and this is in part why he dumps Tom Riddle’s diary off onto Ginny.

However, he wields total control of the Prophet, has a seat on the Wizengamot, has the ear of the current Minister, is on the Hogwarts’ Board of Governors, and has his hands in pretty much every pie he can.

I imagine during this period Lucius grows up. He brushes the indiscretions of his youth under the carpet, gleefully leaving it all behind him, and the only real friend he maintains contact with from that period is Severus, the least zealot like of all of them. (Crabbe and Goyle Sr aren’t friends, they’re minions).

Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a racist slime bag, and I don’t think he really regrets the domestic terrorism. He just regrets nearly getting caught and putting his entire family’s security on the line. He witnessed first hand what happened to the Blacks.

And then the worst thing happens: Tom Riddle rises from the dead. He rises, impossibly, from the dead when Lucius has his own hand caught in the cookie jar.

Lucius has been living a life of luxury and influence while his great master, the man he had pledged everything to, was dead. Worse, Lucius took what was described as a treasured item to be protected at all costs, and not only threw it away but sent it to Hogwarts where it caused massive havoc and was ultimately destroyed.

And Lucius, I imagine, no longer wants to serve a master.

But he has no choice. And so begins Lucius’ descent into misery and hell as he’s given an increasing set of impossible, horrific, tasks in punishment that involve him watching as his wife and son are put through hell.

I believe Tom holds a special place in his cold, black, passive aggressive heart for Lucius Malfoy.

First, Tom makes Lucius’ house his headquarters. Oh, Lucius, you have a very nice, very large, estate? Why don’t you host your beloved, mad, cousin, her equally mad husband and brother-in-law? Oh, Bellatrix threatened to cut off your ear? Well, she’s just so passionate!

Second, Lucius is told to go get the prophecy. Well, this is easier said than done. He nearly succeeds but then it all turns into the world’s largest clusterfuck that ends in two notable things. First, the prophecy is lost forever, shattered. Second, the government admits that Voldemort is truly resurrected. Both of these things are very bad in Tom’s book. And the blame can easily be put on Lucius’ head.

In response to this, Draco is now given an impossible task that Draco is too stupid to realize is designed to cause him (and his family) as much misery as possible. Draco is to assassinate Dumbledore.

Likely, Tom was already informed by Snape that Dumbledore was dying. The blackened hand was too obvious a tell coming from too obvious a source for the pair to have hid it. I think trying to hide such information would have immediately blown Snape’s cover. So, Tom knows the man is dying, and doesn’t see fit to tell Draco this.

Instead, he tells Draco, “Kill Dumbledore as soon as possible or I deliver you to Fenrir Grayback.” Draco, however, is young and stupid, so he honestly thinks he is doing this to restore the family honor, earn glory for himself and for the cause, and is expected to do this entirely by himself. As a result, when Narcissa begs Snape to aid Draco, Draco blows them both off and only accepts help from Bellatrix because HE CAN DO THIS ON HIS OWN! DRACO IS A MAN.

This, of course, doesn’t work out either. Draco doesn’t deliver the killing blow, Snape does, but Tom decides to give him a pass.

Instead he moves on to his next plan which is making the Malfoy manor his torture chamber and POW camp. Even Draco, at this point, realizes this all kind of sucks.

And then Voldemort finally dies a second time, and I’m sure Lucius just stares numbly at his malformed corpse, wondering if it will really take this time.

So that’s Lucius for you, paying always for his mistakes, and pretending he’s just as much of a nutcase as Bellatrix to fit in.

Bellatrix LeStrange

God, compared to the novel that is Lucius’ ridiculous life, I really don’t have much to say about her because I feel like there’s not much too her.

Bellatrix reminds me a lot of the Manson family, she gives off those same vibes. Point being, I think even before Azkaban (while Azkaban certainly didn’t help), she was insane and a little too worshipful of Voldemort.

I guess I can start there, I don’t think Bellamort is a thing, at all.

Tom may have, probably did, have sex with her before he died but afterwards? In that body? Forget about it.

That said, I’m sure Bellatrix both wanted to have sex and is convinced she did have sex to produce whatever the hell Delphi even is. It just wasn’t with Tom, and probably was Rodolphous with a Halloween mask on his face as they got a little too into role play.

And there we go, I suppose, I can’t take Bellatrix seriously. You often see her portrayed as sexy femme fatale Death Eater, the most competent of all of them, if a bit of a sadist.

Oh she might be a very good duelist but she’s... Bellatrix.

She prances around in corsets, shrieking madly, and just what part of that is supposed to be femme fatale? I literally cannot take her seriously on any level. When I even try to write her seriously, in very serious stories, I end up with lines like the following:

"My lord, if there's anything you need… Anything from me, specifically, as a woman…"

- Bright Eyes

That was my best attempt. That was the best I could come up with. It’s still something that belongs in a comedy.

So, I don’t think Tom really corrupted her. I think without Voldemort she still probably would have been blowing up Diagon Alley, just in a much less organized manner.

Even in canon she does ridiculous things. For example, Bellatrix, frankly, could have easily avoided prison.

For weeks after the dark lord fell neither she, her husband, Barty, nor her brother-in-law were arrested. Bellatrix in grief and utter disbelief that the dark lord could ever do something so mortal as die, said “remember that other house our lord mentioned, THEY MIGHT HAVE INFORMATION, LET’S GO MURDER THE LONGBOTTOMS!” They torture and kidnap Frank, demanding he tell them where their master is, THEY KNOW HE KNOWS. He doesn’t know. They go too far and torture the man into being a vegetable. “Shit, GET THE WIFE!” They go get the wife, do the same thing, with the same results.

They now have no information on the dark lord, two well regarded aurors tortured into brain damage, and are quickly caught and brought before the court with absolutely no “I was imperiused” excuse they can give out.

How am I supposed to take her in any way seriously?

I mean, to end your life killed in a duel with Molly Weasley. That just says it all.

#ask #anon

280 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

Text

Marital Discord

Warnings: noncon/dubcon (rough sex, toy, fingering).

This is dark!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader finds her marriage falling apart; Bucky’s never home and when he is, he’s not really there, but he’s not as aloof as he seems to be.

Note: Alright, we finished Summertime Sadness, I gotta figure out HSB and my other few series that need to be tied up. Hopefully by my one year mark we have some new ones in swing. Thank you. Love you guys!

Leave some feedback, like and reblog if you can <3

The front door clicked and you lifted your head. You scrolled up quickly on the tablet and hit sign out. You locked it and pushed it against the wall in hopes it would go unnoticed. You grabbed the oven mitt and rushed over to the stove. You opened it and pretended to check on the roast inside, lifting the lid of the pan to glance over the darkening meat.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice was dull as you heard him enter the kitchen. “Smells good.”

“Thanks,” You stood and removed the glove and tossed it on the counter. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He narrowed his eyes but the tension quickly left his face. “Skipped training,” He shrugged. “Just wanted to… relax.”

“Oh,” You nodded.

Relax. Alone. He didn’t need to say it. That was just how things were these days. He was monotone, bored. So were you. He came home late most nights. You were already in bed. He didn’t bother to wake you. Didn’t think to. And when you were awake, he barely spoke to you. Even when he was right beside you, it was as if he wasn’t there. How had it come to this?

Three years of marriage and the ring chafed on your finger. Your relationship had begun when he started talking and it would look to end as his words turned again to silence. He no longer told you about his day, just grumbled when you asked about it. He kissed your cheek diligently but not out of love. And he hadn’t fucked you in months.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. You were sweet to him. Tried to be. But he echoed your ‘love yous’ like a child reciting their homework. And he bristled when you touched him. And so you stopped. You let him be. Small talk and tense silences. That was all that remained between you.

“Hungry?” You asked.

You leaned on the island between you as your thighs rubbed together. You were wet. You had been halfway through a particularly fiery fic when he arrived. You hoped you could find it again later.

“Sure,” He said. “Is it almost ready?”

“Twenty minutes or so,” You replied.

“Ok,” He stretched his shoulders. “Let me know.”

“Of course, babe,” You smiled. He didn’t.

You watched him disappear into the living room and the tv flicked on. Baseball commentators sounded over the drone of the crowd. You sighed and turned back to the counter. He’d eat his dinner in front of the screen again. His eyes would cling to it as if you weren’t even there. You took out two plates and some cutler. You looked to the stove timer and the seconds ticked by slowly.

You reached for the tablet again. You peeked at the door though you knew he wouldn’t appear again. You punched in your code and reopened the app. You signed in and scrolled through your dashboard until you found it again. You found your spot and leaned in the crook of the counter as you began to read.

‘He held her. No, clung to her. She was everything he needed and his love was laced with that inherent fear, the knowing, that one day, she would be gone. He kissed her like it was their first, like it was their last. Her touch left fire across his skin as she traced the line of hair that led to his--”

The fridge opened and you looked up with wide eyes. You hit lock on the tablet and set it down softly as you turned to watch Bucky pull a beer out from the fridge. He popped the cap off with his vibranium thumb and tossed it in the bin. He barely looked at you but his eyes didn’t miss the tablet face down beside you. You turned before he could see your guilt.

You listened to him retreat back to the living room. You shook your head; at him, at yourself. Why should you feel guilty? He was neglecting you. You weren’t his wife anymore, you were a burden. So why shouldn’t you find solace in words? That’s all they were. Why shouldn’t you pull out that buzzing toy when he was gone and grasp at that fleeting release? Why should you try when he wouldn’t?

The timer beeped three times and you shoved the tablet back against the wall. You turned off the oven and opened it up. You lifted out the large roasting pan and set it on the stove. You focused on the aroma. You were suddenly very hungry. You took a carving knife and set to work.

Just another night alone.

💍

Bucky knew she was lonely. He was too. And he tried to try but he couldn’t. Not since that night. Not since…

He didn’t even want to think about it. It was the last time he touched her on his own accord. He was too embarrassed to try again. He could blame it on the stress, on the lingering scars of the past, on all that he felt mounted on his shoulders, but he couldn’t help but feel it was just him. His own inadequacy. The fear that he could never truly make her happy. That he could never truly be happy.

She had said goodnight twenty minutes ago. He echoed her words and glanced over at her briefly. She had her phone in her hand, the screen black, though she held it tightly. He waited for her to kiss his cheek as she did every night. She didn’t. He watched her go and his chest tightened. It was over. It was really over.

He flipped through the channels absently as his mind returned to that night. They were on the very couch he sat on. She was atop him, her mouth on his, her hips rocked as she teased him through his jeans. A whole hour of fooling around like teenagers and he was still soft. He wanted her but his body just wouldn’t respond.

When she tried to undo his fly, he pushed her away. He didn’t mean to be so abrupt but he also didn’t know how to say it. It’s not you, it’s me. He hated that empty cliche. He apologized but was otherwise speechless. He’d left her there and waited until she went to bed to come out of hiding. He slept in the recliner.

He sat forward and held his head as he thought back on it He just couldn’t find the courage to talk to her about it. To fix this thing. He was a coward. And he let her down just like he had everyone else.

He slid his metal fingers along his bottom lip as he thought. He closed his eyes and saw that peculiar expression on her face. The way she had looked at him in the kitchen earlier. He knew guilt when he saw it. Recognized the shame he felt so deeply. And more. She had a secret. She’d never had secrets before.

His mind strayed to the tablet, to the phone gripped in her fingers. That had to be it. She was talking to someone else. Could he blame her? Well, yeah. She was his wife, his love, but hadn’t he pushed her to it? It didn’t matter. She was his.

His blood boiled and he sat up as he thought about it. About this other faceless guy. The man taking her from him. His own shame, his own regret, slaked away and he was overwhelmed by his anger. He let out a growl and stood.

He went to the kitchen. The tablet was gone but she hadn’t had it with her. Maybe she’d already put it in the bedroom. He shook his head and paced the tiled floor. He returned to the living room but couldn’t sit. Well, maybe she was already asleep. He could sneak in and grab it.

He went to the hallway and listened. He didn’t hear anything. His eyes were drawn to a cord as he slowly began across the carpet. Her tablet was on the side table charging. He should’ve remembered. She always kept it there at night. She’d wake and take it with her on her way to the kitchen. She’d pore over the news as she drank her morning coffee. It had been a long time since he’d shared it with her.

His fingers grazed over the screen. He held his breath as he peeked over at the bedroom door. It was closed. He hesitated before he picked it up. He exhaled slowly and turned to stand with his back against the wall. He hit the button and the screen lit up. He typed in the four digit code; she hadn’t changed it. Was it careless or was it a sign of her innocence?

He looked down the hall again before he began to swipe through the apps. Her messenger was almost dead; a conversation with her mother, several with her friends, but nothing recent or suspicious. He opened the browser and checked the history; a few recipes, some articles, but again, nothing untoward.

Then a notification popped up. ‘We found something you might like, sugar-plum-17.’ That was what he called her; sugar plum. She always cringed at the pet name but he adored that crinkle in her forehead. He blinked and hit the bubble before it could disappear.

He frowned as he scrolled through the post that came up. It was some story or another. He hit the back arrow and found her page. He dragged his finger up the screen. He read the comment she’d left on her last reblog.

‘This was so hot. I’d love a rough ride, if you know what I mean? Can’t wait to see how dark this gets.’

His heart was racing. He swiped back up and hit keep reading on the original post. His eyes glossed over until they caught on a particular passage.

‘This stranger knew her and yet she knew nothing of him. Not his face, not his voice, not his scent, only his touch. Rough and demanding. He held her hands in one of his as he pinned her beneath him. The mask hid all but a pair of bright blue eyes. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and moved up her body to keep her arms in place. He wrapped the black fabric around her eyes.’

He stopped and looked up at the wall. The words were burned into his mind. He was stunned. She liked this? He looked back to the tablet and continued to read. The scene was graphic and he found the heat crawling up his spine and into his cheeks. When he got to the end, he was hard. And shocked.

He hadn’t had an erection since before that last time. He had tried anything and everything but nothing. And now he was so hard it hurt. He wanted her. Too bad, she didn’t want him.

He closed out of the app and set the tablet back down. He braced himself as he walked down the hall. Maybe he could apologize. He’d wake her up and explain it all. His fear, his embarrassment, his stupidity. He stopped by the door and leaned against it, his hand on the knob. He couldn’t turn it as a noise from the other side held him in place.

There was a low buzz mingled with her heady breaths. Soft moans muffled and strained. He knew what she was doing. His cock twitched and he pressed his hand to the front of his jeans. He listened intently through the wood. She was getting close. He rubbed himself through the denim and she squeaked and gasped. She had cum but he couldn’t. No, he had to wait.

He drew away from the door as the buzzing stopped and quickly retreated down the hall. He went to the living room and grasped the back of the couch as he hung his head and thought. This had to end. This interminable stalemate. And he knew just how to draw out a truce.

💍

The house was terribly empty. Having Bucky home, even as a shell, was preferable to not at all. He texted you earlier to tell you he would be away for a couple days. Last minute mission in Prague. There wasn’t much you could say. It was a good excuse for him not to face you. His work was always a convenient out.

You made sure to lock up the house before you settled down in bed. The usual; alone, snuggled up with your pillow against the headboard as you scrolled through your dashboard. A good fic and you’d be ready to sleep. Your bedtime work-out made sure of that.

You clicked on the newest fic by your favourite author. Another part in her twisted tale of a robber and his mark. The way her antagonist taunted her main character was chilling but delectable. The man behind the mask stalked her towards the line of insanity. His desires were more than monetary and entirely arousing.

You reached for the toy nestled against your leg atop the blanket. You were getting to the good part. You bit your lip and your thumb hovered over the button. You kept yourself from clicking it as you heard a creak. You sat up and set your phone aside, the vibe clutched in your hand. You listened; silence.

You laid back and reached for your phone. As you picked it up, you heard the familiar groan of the floorboard near the front door. You shot up and hit the phone icon. No signal, no wifi. You tried to reconnect, checked that you hadn’t hit airplane mode unknowingly, but nothing. It had been working a minute ago.

You didn’t hear anything else. You hung your legs over the edge of the bed and assured yourself it was all in your head. You stood and neared the door. You’d go out and confirm your paranoia then sleep before it got the best of you.

You stepped out into the hall. You peered down the living room than to the bathroom. You slowly made your way to the former and looked around. Just the shadows of furniture and dim glare of street lights through the window. You shook your head at yourself and turned back.

As you did, a darkness suddenly enshrouded you from behind. You barely had time to react as strong arms surrounded you. You thrashed out and yelped as you were dragged backwards. Your phone slipped from your hand and the vibe clicked on in your panic. You kicked and flailed as you struggled to escape the intruder.

His hand wrapped around yours as his arm tightened around your waist. He turned you with him and dragged you around the couch. He pried your fingers from the toy and took it in his own. He chuckled and spun you away from him. He shoved you roughly and you fell onto the cushions.

“Please--” You begged. Was this your karma? Maybe a nightmare all too vivid to escape? It couldn’t be… real.

“Shut up,” His voice was gristly beneath his mask. “This what you like?”

He held up the you, still buzzing, and you tried to stand. He caught your shoulder and pushed you back down. His hand slid to your throat and he bent over you, his breath seeped through his mask and against your temple.

“Stay.” He snarled. “Or I’ll hogtie you with your own panties.”

You whimpered and his other hand pressed the vibe along your chest and rolled it down your stomach. He slid his fingers beneath the elastic of your pajamas and forced his hand between your legs. The toy glided too easily between your folds. You gasped.

“Ah…” He snickered at your lack of underwear. “Well, I can always figure something out.”

“What do you want?” You breathed.

“What do you want?” He countered as he angled the vibe against your clit. “I think I can guess actually.”

“There’s a safe--”

“We’ll get to that… once I’ve had my fun,” He snarled. “Doesn’t seem like you need much help.”

The toy was slippery in his gloved hand and you trembled as his fingers squeezed your throat and he pushed you harder against the couch. He cradled the toy with his palm and slipped a finger inside you. You squeaked and he shoved another past your entrance. He moved his hand steadily as he pressed his masked cheek to yours.

“That’s it,” He purred. “You like that?”

You tried to shake your head and sobbed. You did. To your disgust, you did.

“Where’s your husband, hmm?” He asked. “Leaving a thing like you all alone.”

“My husband?” You wisped.

“A lot of shoes for one man.” He remarked. “Lined so neatly by the door. Was that you? Such a sweet little housewife.”

You nodded and gulped. Your thighs were tingling and your core glowing. You thoughtlessly grabbed the wrist of the hand at your throat and tilted your hips. You panted. His touch felt familiar and strange all at once. It had been so long that even the roughest touch could make you shudder.

“Cum for me,” He growled against your cheek. “You can try to fight it but we both know… you can’t.”

Your thighs closed around his hand and you spasmed. Your moan was strangled by his hand. You slapped at his shoulder as you orgasmed and pushed against the cushion behind you. He released you suddenly and you sank into the couch as he pulled his hand away.

“So…” He undid his fly. “You gonna play along or do I need to go find one of your husband’s belts? Wouldn’t that be hot?”

You shook and hung your head. He pushed his fly apart. “Get undressed.” He ordered.

You sniffed and stood carefully, afraid to provoke him. You pulled your tank top over your head and shimmied out of your pajama pants, the remnants of your arousal dampened the fabric. You gulped as you looked up at the stranger. His hand was in his pants, stroking himself.

“Turn around,” He sneered. “Up on the couch… on your knees.” You glanced around and he stepped closer. “Try it.” He challenged.

You blanched at him and turned reluctantly. You neared the couch and climbed up. You braced the back of it and closed your eyes. You sensed him behind you. His gloved hand caressed your neck and tickled along your shoulder. He trailed down your back and his fingers hooked around your hip. He pulled you back until your knees were at the edge of the couch and you were slightly bent.

He slapped your ass and pinched it sharply. You cried out. “Shut up!” He growled. “You don’t want the neighbours to hear, do you?” He spanked you again. “Gossip travels quickly.”

You gritted your teeth and hissed. His cock touched your ass and he rubbed it along your skin. A line of precum left across your cheek. You dug your nails into the couch as he guided his tip lower and squeezed your hip until you arched your back. He slickened himself with your juices and lingered at your entrance.

He bent over you as his hand slipped from your hip and he felt around for your clit. As he teased you with his fingertips, he sank into you, his stomach firm against your back. You moaned and slapped your hand over your mouth. He hummed.

“That’s right. Nice and quiet,” He nuzzled your hair as he began to thrust. “Fuck…”

He groaned and continued to play with your bud. The sharp teeth of his zipper dug unto you with each thrust. Your breath hitched and you moved your body in tandem with his. You didn’t realize you were doing it until you were biting down on your knuckles and the sounds of fucking filled your ears.

His other hand returned to your throat. He stood and pulled you back. You grasped at his hand as he sped up. He jolted your whole body as you balanced precariously on your knees. His grunts swirled around you and your moans were barely stifled by your own hand.

You were carried away by the sheer pleasure. It was as if your body couldn’t handle it. Your mind was smokey and your vision a blur. The snarls sounded more and more familiar as they grew louder. You reached back and gripped the man’s thigh as you met your peak suddenly. You swallowed back the whine and your walls twitched around him.

“That’s it,” He purred.

He pushed you up against the back of the couch and climbed up behind you, his knees between yours. He pounded into you and his hand left your clit as he reached up. He didn’t waver as he pulled off his mask and held it out before you. He swore as the gristle left his voice and he came in you.

He leaned against you as he stilled and nibbled at your ear. He kissed your cheek and his hand fell from your throat. He dragged his nose along your temple and chuckled.

“Is that what you like, sugar plum?” Bucky’s voice cut through the haze of your thoughts.

#Bucky Barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!fic #dark fic #fic #one shot #mcu #marvel #au #captain america

1K notes · View notes

toujourseven · 4 years ago

Text

Under the Radar | 3

A/N: Flashback!

Sorry for those expecting a steamy continuation of the ménage à trois. We'll get back to that in the next chapters. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

I kind of decided to include a plot. It just flowed and it would be nice to put some late 20s perspective as the boys are slowly growing up to be dadd-- adults ahem. I hope you enjoy and I am SO SORRY for the late update.I will try to add Chapter 3 next week. keyword: try!!

Do you guys prefer --short chapters but frequent updates OR --long chapters but longer updates?

Stream PTD for baton pass!!! （＊＾ω＾）♪ hugsssss find me on twt @toujourseven ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ

Plot: RM of world-renowned group BTS met you on his private vacation. Things get serious as you both value the same things, including relationships– monogamous relationships, or?

Flashback-- 2 months ago

You moved the gear into park and reached for your camera bag haphazardly thrown in the backseat. You were so excited to walk around the hidden coast as part of your solo travels. You looked around the area and noticed that it was indeed a secluded place, judging by the lack of people milling around. There were a couple of local restaurants attached into the residents’ houses. And a lone bus stop can be seen just along the edge of the parking bay.

It was late in the afternoon and it was the perfect time to capture some photos. You marveled at the pink sand and long stretch of beach. Nobody was swimming, and only a handful of people were scattered along the beach. A couple were laid on a blanket on one area, and a man was sitting atop some rocks with his headphones on. You walked farther ahead where you won’t disturb the other nature spectators and filmed a couple of videos and photos for your travel vlog. The peaceful vibe also stimulated your brain and it pushed you to record some prose on your phone. Nothing can spark creativity better than nature, and sadness, you suppose.

After the sun has set, your stomach began growling. You only ate brunch and you realized it was not good to be this hungry if you were planning to eat lots of seafood for dinner. You traced back your steps towards the local businesses and chose a quaint restaurant with a rustic theme. The locals were friendly and one of the residents hanging out even sat beside your table to chat with you. After a comfortable pause, while the aged woman let you eat your meal, you heard her think out loud, “Oh poor dear, there are no more buses that come at this hour. He must have missed his ride. The next bus will arrive tomorrow morning.”

You followed her gaze and you saw the man wearing headphones earlier sitting under the bus shed, checking his watch and looking back and forth the road. Suddenly, the friendly woman stood up, presumably to inform the man of his mishap.

You finished your meal and was paying for it when the old woman returned, the man with headphones in tow. He was very tall and he was wearing a cap and a mask. He looked awkward and a bit sheepish, he must have realized his mistake already. “Oh hey dear, thank goodness you are still here. You mentioned that you were going back to the city tonight, correct? Would you be so kind to give this man a ride on your way?” Then the woman ushered closer to you and stage-whispered, “It’s fine, he’s a jolly nice man, and I made sure he is not dangerous.” Then in a normal volume of voice, “He’s a tourist too and he had some miscommunications back at the station. But he is in dire need to get back tonight, you understand, don’t you sweetie?” She hugged you close and offered the both of you a sweet smile.

The man rubbed the back of his neck and he looked completely embarrassed. You were more than happy to offer your help but you can’t say you feel too confident riding with a stranger for a 5-hour drive back to the city.

“I’m really really sorry to impose, but I have an appointment early in the morning and I won’t be able to make it in time even if my… friend drives down here at this hour.” You noticed that his voice was deep and he kept his face lowered which did nothing to ease your worries of driving with a stranger.

“Oh sweetie, you need to loosen up a bit. Maybe show a bit of your face to gain this lady’s trust. No one wants to drive with a faceless man.”

The man hesitatingly removed his cap and mask, then you gasped softly. You looked around to make sure no one else was around, or no one else had seen. No way. Maybe he just looks like him. But then, why hide? “That’s fine, you can put the mask back on.” You forced a laugh then addressed the old woman, “Better to be safe, right? With the virus and all.” You cleared your throat, and the man looked a little bit hesitant and more wary of you as he put on his mask.

“We’ll get going now, ma’am. Thank you so much for a delightful chat. I hope to get back soon.” You gathered your things and led the man to your car. Before you opened your door, you faced him and asked, “Best to get this out of the way first. My name is Jane, and I am an allied health professional. I live in New South Wales, and here’s my identification.” You showed him your drivers’ license. “Now, are you perhaps, a celebrity?” You stared him down- well, up, since he’s a lot taller. And your tone is reminiscent of a teacher scolding a child. But you just couldn’t help yourself. He must have felt the same way, because he answered with a small voice, “Yeah.” With his head still bowed down. You took a deep calming breath before continuing, “And you think it safe to travel in the suburbs of Australia, by yourself, without transportation??” You knew you sounded accusatory, considering you were talking to a stranger, but you just couldn’t believe how careless and thoughtless and dangerous the whole situation was. He squared up his shoulders a bit here and defended, “Well, I thought it was safe since it won’t be crowded in this particular locaion, and I did have a ticket back. I just…” he scratched his head and sighed.

A cold breeze fluttered your coat open, and you shivered. “Maybe, we should continue this inside.” He suggested, eyeing your shivering frame. You conceded, and both of you got comfortable inside your vehicle. You removed your coat, and he finally removed his cap and mask and ruffled his hair. You still couldn’t believe your eyes, but there was no mistaking it.

When you didn’t move, he looked at you and smiled, flashing his pretty dimples (curse him), and extended his hand, “Forgive me for forgetting my manners. Pleased to meet you, I’m Kim Namjoon.”

You gulped and shook his hand. You couldn’t say anything, so you just nodded and completed your pre-driving routine. You completely forgot that your phone automatically connects to your speakers and RM’s Seoul started playing. You froze and accidentally stepped on the brake. “Fuck.” You heard him snort and then laugh. “Sorry about that,” you muttered, referring to your embarrassing driving skills. Then he asked with dimples flashing, “So, you’re an Army huh?” You glared at him for a second then focused on driving.

“Well, the songs are good, can you blame me?” Then he chuckled and freakin rapped along. Your heart beat so fast because you couldn’t believe Kim Namjoon is rapping along Seoul while he is in the passenger seat of your car. Fucking surreal.

After a few minutes of silence, with just your playlist in the background, you told him, “You can sleep if you want, you did mention you still have a schedule in the morning.” You glanced at him and he was wearing an incredulous look. You paused, oh yeah. It would be more foolish to sleep in a stranger’s car. “Or not. Forgot about me being a stranger thing. And worse, a fan!” You chuckled. “No, it’s not that. I just don’t think it’s polite to sleep while you are driving for me. The least I could do is accompany you.” You smiled softly. You’re not even surprised he is that thoughtful. “Also,” he cleared his throat, “I don’t actually have a schedule. I just.. didn’t want my manager to scold me. I was about to call him using the phone in the restaurant, but the woman suddenly asked you to drive me. And well, I’d pick riding with a pretty girl than be scolded by the company any day.”

Your jaw dropped, and the man had the nerve to laugh. “Oh gosh, are you sure this isn’t a reality show, like- prank an army episode, oh god, y’all are not stalking me right?? How did you even know I was an army?? I was discreet!” And that just made him laugh harder.

“Relax. It’s definitely not a reality show. It is reality though.” A short pause, then, “Your music taste is so… varied.” And for some reason, that made you feel proud. Your playlist ranged from country music, to R&B, to anime OSTs, to Eminem, Barbra Streisand, and of course BTS.

After a couple hours of driving, your legs were feeling numb already. On your way to the coast, you had multiple rests since you were not in any hurry. But you were still a new driver and your legs are not accustomed to long drives. “Uhm, since you’re not chasing a schedule, is it okay if we stop over for a moment? My leg is killing me.” He instantly agreed, “Of course, Jane. Anything you need. Are there restaurants somewhere we can stop over? Do you want to eat? My treat!” You smiled. “Don’t be silly. You’re my guest and not everybody can do a favor for the Kim Namjoon so I’m treating you. I need something to brag about to my grandkids.”

Silence. “Oh. You’re married?” You laughed at that. “I wish. But, nope.” You took a deep disappointed breath. “What’s with the reaction? You’re still young?” He asked.

You parked the car, and faced him, “Well, you know how we have these certain expectations in our lives? Not other people’s expectations for us or society’s standards- just, a vision of how our life should be like.” You didn’t know what made you share your deepest disappointments in life with this man, but you thought, It’s not like I’m ever gonna meet him again anyway. I might even get a helpful advice or two from THE Kim Namjoon. You faced forward then, and played with your fingers as you continued. “I feel like nothing I envisioned for my life, back when I was just a youthful dreamer, ever came true. I didn’t live up to the expectations of 12-year-old me. And it bothers me everyday. As I get older, time feels so much faster and missing chances get all the more scarier and riskier.” There was a short silence as you both digested the sudden serious conversation. You didn’t want to make him feel more awkward so you showed him a bright smile and unlocked the door. “That was what the reaction for.” Then you laughed as you exited your door.

You noticed him looking out his window, at the queue for the restaurants. You walked around his side of the door and knocked on his window. “Maybe it’s better for me to just buy our food and eat in the car?” He looked worried but grateful at the same time. “I think that would be the best. Sorry.” He really looked apologetic. But you completely understand. “It’s fine, honest. Be sure to lock the doors then, and keep the windows closed. Do you know how to start the car so you can turn on the heater?” He rolled his eyes and held out his hand for your keys. “Sucks that my reputation precedes me. But yeah, I can do that much.” You started to hand him the keys and bit your lip. You were honestly worried he will wreck your car. You sighed, “Please. Don’t break my car.” Before turning and walking away, chuckling at his offended face.

Chapters: one | two | three

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32297806/chapters/80057497

#bts fic #bts fanfic #btsficrec #bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon fic #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bangtan fic #kpop fic #fanfiction #namkook fic #bts reader #ao3 fic #kim namjoon #jeon jungkook #namkook

19 notes · View notes

snowflake-of-destruction · 4 years ago

Note

let's hear about FFVIII seifer, if you're still doing this XD

Why I like them: You know my tastes. A green-eyed man is introduced throwing fireballs around, is kind of a condescending jerk but in a fun way, instigates deep conversations on high ground while staring at the sunset...Well, before we even get to villainy, immolation, and redemption arc, I start going “Is this a favorite character?” I’m joking...kind of. Some of that does factor in, even the fire.

Okay, so my favorite thing about Seifer’s arc is that, in the limited focus he’s given, he’s complex and layered from the beginning, and his villain arc is a clear and fascinating illustration of “No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks” ….with a side of brainwashing.

Let’s break this down:

What are some of the words used to describe him by those that know him (by himself, by Squall, by Fuu and Rai)? Romantic. Idealistic. Sensitive. He is the one who believes in making a difference in the world--not just as a wish or goal, but as an imperative to do what your heart says is right even if it’s going to cost you--where Squall is just follow-the-orders-and-do-the-job. If you’re already reading this and objecting, I’m not saying Squall doesn’t care...obviously he does, defrosting Mr. Go Talk to a Wall and getting him to a place where he admits how many layers of mask he wears is his character development...but Seifer isn’t just a hothead. He wears his heart on his sleeve.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not trying to deny that Seifer can be an abrasive, self-serving, hypocritical jackass sometimes, who can fight dirty, wants to “wreak some havoc,” and has a history as a bully--though, gentlefolk of the jury, I submit to the courts that he puts on a tough act like Squall does and they are both different flavors of trying to mimic toxic alpha male--but let’s not forget that some of his establishing character moments are throwing out his future to disobey orders because he sees that the higher-ups have possibly misjudged the situation and civilians could be in danger, and, again, going AWOL because he thinks Squall and Rinoa could be killed. And he calls himself the white knight and holds up a code of honor until the end, even though it gets twisted. He is about duty and honor, with honor even over duty.

Oh, this was only going to be the beginning. I haven’t even begun to touch on what I would want to touch on--this is just surface personality and the beginning of the game before we even get to joining Sorceress Edea, and even then not all I would say-- but this post isn’t actually supposed to be my Ted talk on what you missed if you just think of Seifer as a recurring boss fight. Let’s move on.

ONE MORE THING ACTUALLY. Even though we see a lot of Seifer at his worst, you can use Fujin and Raijin as a mirror. What do they say near the end of the game if we paraphrase/summarize? They knew pretty early on, before even the senseless slaughter and torture era that Seifer was going down a dark path with the sorceress, but they knew it wasn’t him and stayed with him, not because they agreed with his actions, wanted power, or out of fear, but to take care of him and try to break through to him--and not because they are saints, but because he, despite what had happened in the past year, is the type of person who deserves and inspires that kind of loyalty. Let’s think on that.

Now the rest goes under a read more, because I am going to keep rambling and be wordy

Why I don’t: He can be an asshole, and he’s an asshole in an embarrassing way. As in, if one is trying to say he’s not the little punk his KH counterpart is, you remember he still uses the insult chickenwuss (though that is a legacy insult/nickname since he’s known Zell since childhood--and, fyi, Squall uses it too) and he had a little gang in school. Even once he’s a military commander of an evil army set on world domination, he has some moments where his level of petty undermines him.

Favorite episode (scene if movie): The Dollet mission

Favorite line: Sorry, not sorry that the following is my favorite exchange of lines and that the prison torture scene is another of my favorite scenes. For context, Seifer has captured Squall, has him hanging up on the wall in crucified hero imagery, implied to be shirtless even though his character model isn’t because they talk about scar tissue or lack thereof from a recent shoulder injury/Squall being stabbed in the chest/shoulder area. Seifer has been electrocuting Squall for information. By this point, I might as well have put the whole scene here. Also, I am now going to blame Squall and Seifer text boxes in FFVIII for my own abuses of ellipses...

Seifer: " I was hoping you'd be there, Squall. So... how'd I look in my moment of triumph? My childhood dream, fulfilled. I've become the sorceress' knight."

Squall: [internal monologue] ...Sorceress' knight... ...His...romantic dream...? But... Seifer... Now, you're just a…[Out loud] "... torturer."

[Squall passes out.]

Seifer: "What did you say? [Steps closer] Passed out cold, eh? This is the scene where you swear your undying hatred for me! The tale of the evil mercenary versus the sorceress' knight!”

This isn’t just me all “mmm, tension.” Seifer has passed the moral event horizon, and it’s not just faceless NPCs that are collateral damage anymore. We’ve seen him on screen torture the protagonist, who is also one of the only people who he’s shown to have a real bond with that goes beyond superficial. Then we get this and see Seifer thinks he’s the good guy still, on a noble mission where he’s had to make painful sacrifices, and Squall is a representative of the power-hungry evil. Seifer’s been playing a different game, and had his will twisted via magic.

Favorite outfit: The Amano art where the white coat is cast off and he’s wearing the simple black shirt and black jeans under it. Symbolic? Maybe. I wouldn’t give up the coat though. I love the long white/gray coat, the outer embodiment of wanting to wear the white hat, but the desire easily getting tarnished, and the red cross that turns into a sword and becomes Seifer’s symbol and soon to appear other places, emblazoned nice and big on the sleeve. It’s the Cross of Saint James. TRADITIONALLY red represents the blood of Christ, the three lilies represent the honor of the apostle and reference Christ as lily of the valley, and the sword shape represents the torture that St.James suffered before his murder. HOWEVER, my opinion is that here it’s more vague/altered symbolism (For starters, there are other gods not the Christian God in this world) with a side of “looks cool.” We still have something that clearly calls to mind a mission from on high, innocence in the lilies, blood and blood cost, and then war/violence with the sword. And I love it.

OTP: Seifer/Squall. I should not even start, but lest you think I am just in it for kinky torture scenes: We have these two who, in the beginning, are generally callous or mocking toward everyone, but make each other laugh/smile, see who each other are underneath and describe each other in “soft” terms even if they tease each other for it, repeatedly check in on each other to see if the other is okay, respect each other’s opinion and skills, and...you get the idea. In the words of Zell Dincht, I thought you two were rivals, but you’re all buddy-buddy.

Pause for a second and let’s just say first impression. That opening fight where they scar each other’s faces? It takes place outside Balamb Garden and the area is shown so we see they are alone. Squall passes out. Squall wakes up in the infirmary within the Garden base. Squall has to explain what happened; people don’t already know. This kind of implies after Squall passed out, Seifer, bleeding from a head wound himself, picked Squall up and carried him home, allowing himself to collapse only when Squall was being safely tended to, because he’s that extra. This is his first (okay, second, after fireballs and face slashing) action in the game even though it’s offscreen. I mean, he could have also just called for help/ran for help, but that’s less fun.

Seifer is so concerned with being a badass, but he’s admits to Squall all he’s ever wanted was to be the fairytale knight, not a mere soldier. Vulnerability and confession he wants romance....with the first time it’s brought up in game being while they are watching the sun set together, the traditional Square Red Sunset of Shipping.

Seifer hesitates to defy orders, not for himself, but until he sees Squall is with him. Even though there were other “children of destiny” who all came from the same orphanage, Squall and Seifer were the ones who were never apart, never adopted until it was by a military/mercenary training program, and, even though it may speak more to brotherly than romantic from some angles, there’s a feeling of being the same, knowing each other down to the atoms, adopting an us against the world mindset that trumps trying to best each other when it comes down to it because they are the only constant. When Squall has his breakdown/ breakthrough of why he pushes people away/doesn’t let himself care/tries not to need anyone because people leave/are taken from him and he is scared he isn’t worthy of love and happiness until Rinoa challenges him, this may seem like a dismissal of Seifer, but you can also look at it from “I had no friends or family. I didn’t even have interest in speaking to anyone. I strived to be an unfeeling machine, because all emotion is pain...But also I couldn’t go 48 hours without seeing Seifer.”

Yeah, yeah, we know their main form of hanging out was beating the tar out of each other, but sometimes, especially in older media, this was its own brand of subtext. For more on how Seifer miiiight just view sparring let’s point out that “Isn’t this ROMANTIC?” and “Kneel” as a less easily interpreted as innuendo version of “I want you on your knees” are battle quotes even in Kingdom Hearts sooo draw your own conclusion.

We get a line where Squall makes it clear these were friendly matches looked at as pushing their limits beyond what they are allowed to in sanctioned spars, and he feels prepared to take on anything now because of Seifer. Is it healthy communication in real life? No! Is this real life? No! Plus, the facial scar was an accident, pretty clearly...on Seifer’s side...I could write another essay on how Seifer draws first blood, but it’s because on Squall’s failed block, AND THEN SQUALL GETS ANGRY AND RETALIATES WITH CLEAR PURPOSE AND MAKES THE OPENING SHOT INTO THE FIRST SIGN GOOD VERSUS BAD GUY ISN’T SO CLEAR CUT (even though they both shouldn’t have been going so hard in a friendly training match to begin with).

Seifer’s later, repeated threats/expressed desire to give Squall additional scars once he goes evil? That is a different animal, and a horrible one, objectively. Not objectively? No comment. Okay, one comment. Mark you as mine. Two comments. He knows Squall’s lost some memories and he can’t stomach being the next thing forgotten so Squall needs physical reminders.

Hmmm, I was supposed to be talking about the ship, not just the sparring and scars. We can wrap it up with a Marge Simpson. “I just think they’re neat”

BUT ONE MORE THING

Squall’s jacket when he becomes Leon in Kingdom Hearts. His outfit is mostly the same, right? Except the back of the jacket now has a red patch of an emblem (of Rinoa’s angel wings, not Seifer’s cross...for the OT3 feel), and his fight with Sora he throws a fireball like Seifer’s signature. Just, you know, if you want bonus references/feeling.

Brotp: Fuu and Rai. They are willing to commit war crimes with this man, nurse him back from death’s door, and go into exile with him if he can’t return to a normal life even after a redemption arc. This section deserves to be long, but I am beginning to get talked out. Don’t take that as devaluing the friendship though. I’m glad he was allowed to keep his ride or dies in Kingdom Hearts. FRIENDSHIP! They love him, ya know?

Head Canon: What we see of him at the end of the game is a temporary situation and after he heals and refreshes for awhile he’d go back to Balamb and face consequences for his actions, and probably insist on consequences instead of leaning into “an evil sorceress bespelled me and slowly took my free will.” No hiding away in the wilderness. No crossing into and living his life in Esthar. No, “but in the end I broke free and would have been an active, onscreen part of saving the world if Square had let me join the party!” He would insist on being cast into a deep, dark cell. Squall uses pull to get him pardoned, but not before just, flat out, yelling at him for being a martyr.

Unpopular opinion: He did love Rinoa. It may have been a “shallow love,” but he wasn’t just dating her to pass time or because she played into his damsel who needs a hero mindset. There was emotion. He was prepared to die for her and Squall in Timber, and almost did--only being saved by Sorceress Edea...which wasn’t a kindness, but it all worked out in the end. Sure, he gets mind-controlled into using Rinoa as, basically, a human sacrifice and it isn’t Rinoa he wants stripped and brought to his room when we’re taking prisoners, but he cared about her. He does taunt her about their past relationship, but we’ve already established this is just part of his communication skillset. Yes, I will elaborate more if asked, though it’s more feeling based than text based.

A wish: If there’s ever a sequel, let him have put out the good in the world that was his dream and be seen as a hero. Let us see a matured and peaceful Seifer.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: My one fear if they ever remake FFVIII instead of just porting it, is that some of the creative team have said they like the fan theory where you are dead part way through the game and the rest is a dying dream or purgatory. It’s creative stuff; I will say that. It’s not my favorite, and I don’t agree, but those kinds of fan interpretations when they go in depth are super cool. PLEASE LET THE INTEREST IN IT JUST BE THE SAME AS MINE OF THINKING IT’S CREATIVE BECAUSE MAKING THIS CANON WOULD BE SO, SO BAD FOR EVERY CHARACTER.

5 words to best describe them: stubborn, misguided, paladin, romantic, petty

My nickname for them: I don’t really have one

#seifer almasy #seifer x squall #squall x seifer #such a long post and still not all or even communicated that well probably #you don't have all the facts the facts are i love him #tina-nina

41 notes · View notes

youhearstatic · 5 years ago

Note

For the micro-prompts: 20, 16, or 47? (I like to give options in case one jumps out more than the others, so don't feel like you should combine them or something!)

20 - You probably thought I forgot, right? I didn’t! (And I haven’t forgotten the other two I have left, either!)

Surprise, surprise, this one went long. Hope you like it!

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

Alone, Finally

Barry followed the rest of the crew down the backstage hallway, tugging at the unfamiliar robe they’d been given right before they went on stage. Well, that some of them had been given. Magnus was wearing a jacket he’d instantly pulled the sleeves off of. The captain had a longer version of the same jacket that was tailored immaculately to him with military severity. Merle hadn’t even worn his for the press conference. The twins had worn both jackets and robes, somehow making the IPRE uniform look like couture instead of standard issue. Lucretia was in the robe but she looked like a lost boarding school student, the crimson robe looked stylishly scholastic on her. He tugged at the neck of the robe again, even more self conscious than he’d been on stage.

Ahead of him, the twins had their heads bowed together, whispering and laughing. For the first of many, many times, the echo of Lup’s comment on stage scraped across his thoughts like nails on a chalkboard.

Nerd alert!

Just a few more minutes and the others would be heading to that bar they’d mentioned. And then - for one last time for a while - he’d be alone, finally.

---

Trailing his hand down the wall, Barry made his way by memory. After eleven years he could have done it with his eyes closed.

Which was essentially what he was doing.

It was stupid, so fucking stupid. Okay, sure, that first year he hadn’t known to take his glasses off. Why would he? But by the third time they regenned he should have figured out that his glasses were going to be important and he should set them aside before … whatever it was that happened at the end of the cycle. That fourth year he’d died, that could be excused. The eighth year he’d had it ingrained in him not to even think of removing his mask. So that year could be excused, too.

But that still left six regens. Six opportunities to set aside a pair of glasses in case of emergency.

Well maybe next year he’d remember. But for the rest of this year he was practically blind. Anything beyond arm’s reach might as well not exist. He could make out colors and if he squinted really hard sometimes he could get a slight hint of shape to the faceless blurs around him.

It’s fine, he told himself for probably the thousandth time that day.

It wasn’t fine. Sure, he could make his way around the ship, fumbling his way from room to room by memory and feel. But once he was there he didn’t have much to offer. He couldn’t work in the lab. Experiments were off the table - literally if he was trying to do them. Just trying to clean basic equipment in the lab had resulted in two broken beakers before Lup kindly, patiently, but insistently suggested he leave the job to her. He couldn’t help look for the light. He couldn’t take notes on their observations. He couldn’t even help with chores around the ship!

Pushing open the fifth door on the left, he was alone, finally. Dark blur straight ahead was his bed and beige-ish blur to the left was his desk. And then the blurs were watery and the tears of frustration and self pity that he’d held off all week caught up to him. He leaned against the door and let his facade drop.

He was so tired of being a drain on the crew. Not being able to help, having to be looked after, and maybe worst of all, pretending it didn’t kill him by inches, pretending it was all just a silly thing to be joked away. ‘Barold bumping into things for three more months,’ wasn’t it hilarious? ‘Barry fell of the rock jetty, lost his glasses, almost died, and now he’s talking to the coat rack because he thinks it’s Lucretia.’

“Barry?”

Fear shot hot and electric through his body, startling him into embarrassed silence. He swabbed his hand over his face, trying to disguise the fact he’d been leaning against his door crying because he…

“Oh, fuck,” he said. “I went in the fourth door, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Lup answered. That one syllable was so patient and kind and understanding and honestly, it was just salt in his wounds. He didn’t want to be understanding about this whole thing and he really didn’t want Lup to be understanding about him bumbling into her room and having a breakdown.

“Sorry, I, just, um,”

A blur separated itself from the bed-blur, straightened into a taller blur, and approached him. He could almost see the shape of her hair in her silhouette - it was loose, not braided was all he could make out - when she was close enough to take his hand. “C’mere,” she said, tugging him gently towards the bed-blur. “Hold on,” she said. The Lup-blur bent then straightened again. “Don’t want you tripping over my boots,” she explained. There was a clunk to his right and he assumed she’d tossed the shoes towards the wall to get them out of the way.

It was disconcerting, being pulled into a sitting position on Lup’s bed. Their rooms were arranged identically, looked identical to his unassisted vision, and sitting on her bed was, in theory, no different than sitting on his own.

Except it was. It wasn’t his bed, it wasn’t his room, and worse - oh so much worse - it was Lup’s bed in Lup’s room. His face was burning and his stomach was winding itself into furious little knots and dammit, he hadn’t thought he could feel worse than he did three minutes ago but, look at that!, here he was sunk lower than the freezing point of mercury.

“I didn’t mean to bug you,” he mumbled, eyes aimed at the floor or where the floor was if he could at least be trusted to get that right.

“Hold still,” she tells him. Then she’s pushing the hair back from his forehead and there’s a weird sensation, like a pinching pull that doesn’t quite hurt but it’s just so odd he can’t figure out what’s going on.

“Stop frowning!” she tells him, her voice colored with laughter. “I’m just clipping your hair back.”

“Why?” he asks before he can stop himself. He feels like he’s three steps behind what is happening.

“Because we’re doing face masks.”

“What?”

“Relax,” she tells him.

And for some strange reason, he does.

---

They’ve been alone. Over the years, in a dozen planar systems, across doomed worlds, in forgotten ruins, or just in the lab working silently, they’ve been alone.

They’ve been alone. Over the months of study and composition and practice. They’ve been alone, just the two of them and their music filling the empty room, no witness to the way the notes have been building and the music has been building and the way the tempo has somehow gotten slower. Here at the end, right next to each other, a pair of pathways that have wound ever closer over the years, the paths have almost joined and yet.

And yet.

They meander these last months. Dancing closer and closer but not touching, not mingling, not yet.

Each step forward slower and slower until the momentum is crawling forward, making the distance of a few inches last and last.

They are alone together on stage.

There are so many around. Instructors and audience and all the people that it takes to keep an infrastructure like this running: janitors and receptionists and the guy that refills the coffee machine in the fourth floor break room. Anyone in hearing distance that day notices. It’s like that sometimes. You can go weeks and months and nothing sticks, even the pieces that get rebroadcast, they run together at some point. It’s beautiful, amazing, but there’s filters to restock and inquiries to respond to. There’s a leaky water heater that needs tending to. But for a minute, you stop, lean on the broom and take notice.

But not Barry and Lup, alone, finally, despite the people surrounding them. Their music is still echoing around them when their hands find one another.

Lup and Barry, alone on stage. Two paths that have run side by side, so close for so long, join at last.

There’s applause and then the song is sent out anew, reflected from deep within the mountain instead of from her violin and his piano. There’s applause and an empty stage.

Alone, finally.

---

There’s a pillar of bone carved with arcane symbols. There on the hill, two people lean together, forehead to forehead. Further away another watches. But in this instant there’s no one else. Seven on this planet yes. Eight if you count their strange, duck loving new shipmate.

But for now. On this hill. In this moment.

There are only two.

Two liches.

Alone, finally, after years of study.

And then like so many times before, they pick up their responsibilities and work and pull it all back on like a costume they only ever drop for a little while.

In those moments they are alone.

---

He’s alone.

This was the final place. It was supposed to be…

His shoulders sag. It was supposed to be their happy ending, their settled-at-last, their no-more-running.

But he woke up and she wasn’t there.

It felt different. He didn’t say it, but it did.

And then morning turned to day turned to week turned to months.

He’s alone.

---

Exhaustion wears them down, hang like too-heavy cloaks on backs that can’t stand tall without her.

He’d been alone.

But feeling the last of her disappear - the her that was only in his memories - he knows what alone really means. He can’t lose her that way, not again, not like this.

“Taako, k- kill me! Right now!”

He’s falling.

Forgetting.

Forgotten.

Alone.

Final.

---

He’s alone. There is so much that makes no sense. Three guys - one of them made of fucking wood if you could believe it - and him naked in a tank full of goo.

Then he got in the one guy’s pocket? Somehow?

The details are fuzzy.

But dammit, he’s happy. Something feels right. After so long. (How long?)

He’s alone.

Alone, but -

Finally.

---

Who’d have guessed this was a skill? The ultimate hangover and when you got that giant memory dump poured on you every time you did something stupid like fell off a cliff or didn’t bring enough water into the desert… well, you got better at it.

So while the others recovered, he was alone, the only one not under fire from a million contradicting thoughts.

Alone, Finally.

At the end.

And then… and then… his brain comes up empty at the thought. And then?

Alone?

---

The pale green glow throws strange shadows across the cave. There was a ball of brilliant fire but, well, anchoring yourself in a body after a decade out of practice took some concentration. And he didn’t exactly have the concentration himself.

After so long. After everything. After endless nights in this very cave, planning and plotting and hoping.

Alone.

And then.

Finally.

Alone together.

21 notes · View notes

ikenbar · 5 years ago

Text

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice Ch2 Pt 5

Warnings: G A V I N F L U F F CITY! ALL ABOARD THE GAVIN FLUFF TRAIN!! TOOT TOOOT, slight angst? Honestly mostly fluff though lol, also sassy Ike. Sassy Ike for the win. Oh, and cliffhangers :D

(Chapter two’s prologue, parts one, two, three, and four here :))

((Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D))

Chapter two:

Part five:

The ride back to the bus stop was practically silent. All that could be heard was the car's motor and our steady breathing as we sat in silence. I was staring blankly out the open window in the front seat of the car. To my dismay, all of the traffic lights were against me as we hit every red light to the bus stop. I had scooted myself as far as I could to the door and away from Gavin and tried distracting myself with the scenery outside, but all I could think about were Gavin's harsh words. Do you know who you are mimicking when you act that way? Your father! The lump in my throat was back. He wasn't talking about Bart. He was talking about my fourth foster father. The foster parent who gave me all the scars I struggled to hide everyday. Both the mental ones and the physical ones. Gavin didn’t know all that though. All Gavin knew was what the police had on file. That one day, I had brought in my abusive foster father to the police department to be arrested and tried for domestic abuse. I rubbed my arm slightly as I remembered what happened that day. The movement was enough to stir Gavin into starting a conversation.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, "We, uh, are almost there."

"Yeah," I mumbled, leaning on the palm of my hand as I watched the buildings go by us, “I hope my bike wasn’t stolen while you held me hostage in the break room.”

“...is that your only mode of transportation?” Gavin’s tone made it seem like he wanted to make peace. I wasn't having it.

“I’m more concerned that I’d have to go back to the police station to make a report.”

“Oh come on, Ike.” Gavin gave an exasperated sigh, “You aren’t the only one bothered by this partnership, you know?” I looked over at Gavin. Did he really think I was angry at him because we were working together? What is it with him?!

“I’m surprised you heard him," I growled through my teeth, "from how much you were kissing his-”

"And we are here!” Gavin raised his voice and interrupted me, “I assume this is your bike?” Indeed it was. It was parked in the same place I had left it. It looked fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Thank goodness. I moved to unbuckle my seatbelt but Gavin stopped me by placing his hand over mine. I snapped my head towards him and flicked his hand away.

"Listen." His voice was soft again. The sound made me want to punch him in his gentle face, "I know how you feel about the police, but I also know you have a good moral compass. Though it may need some readjustment… you know that this guy needs to be taken down. Especially, If he is targeting Evolvers. We need to work together for this. So, at least this once, can we make a truce?" I stared at Gavin. This man. Who does he think he is fooling!? With the serious tone and the empty words… and the gentle look… and the soft voice… I sighed.

"Be at my place by six o'clock." I said, pushing open the door, "and bring the files. We can study there." Gavin nodded gratefully.

“Right.” He said seriously but there was a slight tone of relief, “Thank you Ike.” I felt my cheeks burn slightly. Whether it was from embarrassment or from anger, I didn’t know. I turned away quickly and got out of the car

"And don't eat dinner.” I huffed, “I've been simmering bone broth since yesterday and I don't want it to go to waste."

"You… cook?" Gavin asked, surprised.

"I do have a life you know." I shut the door and leaned on the open window, "Just because I like getting on your nerves, it doesn’t mean it’s my only pass time. Don't be late." Gavin nodded again.

"Don’t worry. I can't pass up the chance to eat a free home cooked meal made by the Ikamara Bikira.” Gavin smirked, “Especially after eating nothing but 'Cup 'O Sodium’ for the past week."

"Who said it was free?" I teased, "Later."

"Goodbye." Gavin pulled the car out of park. I stepped back and allowed him to drive away, watching him as he left. Mixed feelings overlapped my mind in a way they never had before. I shook my head and tried composing myself. He was still the rotten cop that hated me and I him. That gentleness about him was just an illusion he set up to try to get me to drop my guard. That wasn't happening. He wasn't going to get me with that stupid smile. I wasn't having it.

I put on a tough face as I walked to my bike. I had work I needed to get done. I wasn't going to spend my time thinking about Gavin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I stirred the soup anxiously. I couldn't pay attention to work at all that day. All I could think about was Gavin the case. And how to solve the case. And the lives in danger because of the case. And how the case insulted me and almost got me in trouble with the chief. And how the case was challenging and impossibly irritating… why did I feel so drawn to hi- It… the case.

I sighed as I looked down at my watch. 6:20. He should have been here by now. What was keeping him? If this was some ploy to get me irritated, it was working. I contemplated pulling out my phone to call the police station when I heard a knock at the door. I quickly walked out of the kitchen and reached for the door knob, but I stopped myself. If he made me wait, I can make him wait too.

"Who is it?" I asked innocently.

"... it's Gavin." The guilty party answered.

"Gavin?" I leaned against the door casually and looked at my nails, which were filled with flour from the noodles I had made, "It can't be Gavin. Gavin was supposed to be here by six."

"I know." Gavin sighed, "The line at the store was longer than expected."

"A likely story." I responded angrily, masking my obvious confusion, "... what were you doing at the store?"

"If you open the door, I'll show you."

I rolled my eyes but complied. Gavin was standing there, still dressed in his uniform, but he also had a satchel across his chest and was holding a bottle of scotch. I arched an eyebrow.

"I, uh," Gavin started, rubbing his neck with his free hand as a redness blossomed through his ears, "I didn't want to come over empty handed." Watching him struggling with awkwardness erased my anger towards his tardiness immediately.

I sighed and took the bottle from him. I walked into the apartment, leaving the door open behind me. "Make yourself at home." I waved casually behind me to welcome him in, “The bathroom is up the stair and to the right. Dinner will be done soon."

"It smells great." Gavin said politely as he walked into the room and shut the door behind him. I stalled as I opened the cupboard above me. Man, it was weird to hear him compliment me. And so sincerely too.

"Thanks." I responded slowly, as I reached for a couple of glasses, “It’s a… family recipe.” There was a moment of quiet in the room. I could hear Gavin shucking off his bag and shoes as he made himself at home. The floorboards creaked as he slowly walked further into my apartment. I opened the bottle of scotch and poured it into the glasses. The air in the room had gotten tense and slightly awkward. Half of me wanted to retreat in the bathroom and never come out. The other half wanted to prove to Gavin that I wasn’t afraid of working with him… because I definitely wasn’t afraid of working with him. It had seemed like forever before Gavin’s voice finally cut through the air.

“You… kept the yearbook.” Gavin said this quietly, almost as if it was to himself. I turned around and saw that he was standing in front of the entertainment center with my old high school yearbook in his hands.

“Uh, yeah.” I picked up the glasses and walked over to him, “Loveland high. I spent my freshman year there. I had to leave early because… of... my dad.” Gavin looked up and caught my eyes in his. His eyes were traced with a complicated expression. He and I were thinking about the same thing. About what happened in the police station earlier that day. The air around us got even more tense.

To stop him from bringing up the topic, I handed him one of the glasses. He pulled his eyes away from me and to the glass, which he gladly accepted. I brought my attention to the yearbook in his hands, reminiscing about the school as I did. “I never really liked my time there. The kids were so judgemental because I couldn’t afford to have a nice closet like them… and I secluded myself a lot…” I looked closely at the faces on the pages, “Geez I don’t remember a single one of these kids.”

“Then… why did you keep the yearbook?”

“Because,” I placed my glass down on the entertainment center and took the book from Gavin. I started flipping through the pages, “Word had gotten around about what happened with my foster father. The school gave me the first copy of the year book and got as many students to sign it as they could. Most of the things written was stuff like, ‘I’m sorry to see you go!’ and ‘I wish I had gotten to know you better!’ What a bunch of frauds.” Gavin shifted his feet slightly next to me. “But, there was one response that seemed genuine.” The book opened to the page I continuously looked back on. It was the sophomore class’s group photo page. Handwritten notes had been scribbled all over but my eyes were set on the only one written in blue ink. I handed the book back to Gavin and pointed it out.

“‘I know you are more than what they say you are.’” Gavin read out loud, “‘Don’t let their words keep you from flying.’”

“I could only bring myself to read the notes when I was in my senior year.” I found myself saying this without realizing it, “This one was the one that convinced me that it didn’t matter who said what about me. If that one person, out of the hundreds in that whole school, really cared about me, the others were faceless. The times they had bullied me for being different were just... confetti. Meaningless decoration at the world’s best party.” I looked fondly at the blue ink on the page.

“That’s beautiful.” Gavin’s voice snapped me back to reality. I looked up at him and saw that his complicated gaze had never left me. I looked down and cleared my throat as warmth spread through my cheeks.

“Yeah, well,” I said as I reached for my glass again, “That’s all in the past now.” I turned and walked back to the kitchen, “It is a bummer that I can’t thank whoever wrote that, though.”

“Why not?”

“Cause they didn’t sign their name.” I turned into the kitchen and placed my glass on the bar. I took a spoon to the soup and stirred it slightly. “Dinner’s do-” I looked up from the pot and to Gavin. His face was twisted into a disgruntled emotion as he stared intently at the yearbook. “You alright there, Birdcop?” I asked. Gavin snapped his attention to me.

“Yeah.” He dismissively said, closing the book and placing it back on the shelf, “It’s just… nothing. It’s nothing" Gavin clapped his hands and walked over to the bar, “So, Birdcop is sticking, huh?"

"Yup!" I deadpanned, "You're not getting out of this one, Birdcop."

Gavin hummed his retort as he leaned against the bar. He was quiet for a moment, then he spoke timidly, "So, you don’t remember anyone from that school? Not a single person?”

“Not really.” I simply said, turning the stove off and pulling a couple of bowls out from the cupboard next to me, “There was no one really worth remembering.”

“Ah. I see.” Gavin sounded almost disappointed. I looked up at him. He had his head resting on the palm of his hand, looking down at the bar in thought. A question popped into my mind.

“Gavin, were you a student at Loveland high?” I asked slowly. Gavin looked up at me.

“What?” Gavin nervously chuckled, his posture straightening slightly.

“You heard me.” I arched my eyebrow.

“Well…” Gavin struggled with the frog in his throat, unintentionally answering my question. I walked briskly back to the entertainment center and pulled the yearbook back out.

“No, don’t!” Gavin pleaded as he stood up from the bar and followed me to the living space. I flipped back through the pictures quickly until I landed on a familiar face. It was Gavin alright but he looked much younger and childish in the photo. His hair was messy and his face was a lot more rounded. He had a bandage on his cheek, as well as a soft smile on his lips. His outfit donned a casual hoodie that had a very sporadic design on it.

“Here you are!,” I teased Gavin as he grew closer, “I don't know why I didn't recognize you before! Aw, you look adorable!” Gavin grabbed for the yearbook but I skillfully dodged him.

“Ike, come on.” He pleaded as he went to grab it again. I held out my hand, pushed against his chest, and turned my body away from him so his arms couldn’t reach the book.

“Lookit you! That is such a stylish hoodie you've got on! Who knew Birdcop had a sense of style!" I read the top of the page, "It says here you were a sophomore when the year I was there. Hey! Maybe you could-”

I felt a hand close around my wrist. Before I knew it, I was pulled into Gavin’s chest. My arm was pulled up and away from me, being tightly held so I couldn’t pull it away. A second hand was placed around my waist, stopping me from pushing away from him. The yearbook was shoved uncomfortably between us, though I paid no mind to it.

Gavin gave me a playful glare… but soon it melted from his face as our eyes locked. The air around us got tense again but it wasn’t the tenseness I was used to with him. It was almost as gentle as it was captivating. The ambient noises of the apartment faded out and the only thing that could be heard was a strong heartbeat, though it was unclear who it belonged to. We were so close I could feel his short and warm breath on my forehead. As well as his body warmth through his clothes. It was then when I finally noticed his loosened tie and the undone button on his shirt, showing part is collarbone and an old scar that he wore proudly. I felt his grasp on my wrist loosen as he slowly lowered my arm. His hand fell from mine as he placed it onto my back, pulling us even closer. The only thing reflected in his eyes was me, as was the only thing in my eyes was him. The heat from Gavin’s hand slowly started melting something within my heart. Something that had been frozen over for so long. A warm feeling started making its way through my body and pushed past the barrier which I had put up such a long time ago...

“Ike.” Gavin’s voice was the softest I have ever heard it, making me become aware of the situation we were in. “I-”

I forced Gavin away from me.

“What’s wrong?” Gavin’s voice was still soft. It made me cringe slightly.

“N-nothing.” I backed further away, avoiding eye contact with him. I held the yearbook close to my chest. This is all just a ploy for him to get under my skin. I assured myself as I tapped at the yearbook, To get my hopes up, only to demolish them at their peak. To use me then leave me. Just like everyone else did. Just like every man did. Just like any cop would. I racked my mind for an excuse to get away from him. “I… don’t want the soup to burn.” I managed to find the professional tone that I held before as I quickly turned from Gavin. I threw the yearbook onto the couch. I’m not going to let Gavin be the one to break down my well built walls. We are here on business. That is all. Not to reminisce of the past. Not to joke around. Not to be that close. Not to feel that warmth... The warmth that felt so nice... No, Just to find the man who ordered the hit on me. That was all. I straightened my posture into one of defiance as I felt my heart freeze over again. I put back up the barriers I had almost dropped as I entered the kitchen.

(Next)

9 notes · View notes

roseamongroses · 5 years ago

Text

W.A.L: “Hold My Hand” (25)

s u m m a r y

Eden was the lowest of the low, a monster, hardly human, and was set to be executed. Roman was on trial, perpetually stuck in time until it was time to atone for his families sins.Neither cared much for staying trapped.So when a Stranger offered freedom, offered peace, offered power, it was hard to say no.Even if it put them on the wrong side of history.

v i b e s

time is irrelevent, homophobia who?, magic and beasts, demigods

w a r n i n g s

Imprisonment, Mentions of execution, Blood/ injuries, Mentions of past Death, repression, cursing, some dissociation

c h a r a c t e r s

Deceit(Eden) Sanders, Remy Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Emile Picani, Elliot, Kai, Lauren, Dot

Ship: Roceit

1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

(12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17)

---

Deceit entered with the sunrise, the bed creaking as they eased in beside Roman.

Roman sighed, turning and curling into their lap, “You smell funny,” he mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

Deceit arm wrapped around Roman’s shoulders, careful to avoid his exposed wings, “Good morning to you too,”

“Did you get much sleep?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Deceit sighed, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Roman opened his eyes, folding his arms to support his head, “Is there something I should be worried about?” he asked, coy.

Deceit’s lips twitched, “Don’t be nosy,” he said, not missing how Roman’s eyes narrowed, “I’m fine, just get some rest,” he added on quickly.

“I dun’wanna,” Roman pouted, all puppy dog eyes, but Deceit could hear their anxiety edging into the tone.

“Stop that,” Deceit scolded, prodding their face, “I’m fine—” another poke, “Sleep.”

Romans face twisted away from another poke, sitting up abruptly, “Okay so you’re fine,” he said, “You’re used to fine and obviously fine isn’t doing shit for you,”

Deceit met their state head-on, jaw ticking, “I’m working on it,”

“Are you?” Roman challenged, somehow managing to look smug with his disheveled clothes and adorable half-dazed look—

“Yes, I am,” Deceit gritted swallowing that mess of emotions. He was half annoyed at Roman’s persistence but he was more annoyed with the fact that he knew it didn’t make him magically be able to hate Roman. Ugh. “Even if I wasn’t, that doesn’t mean you’d be able to fix me,”

At that, something flickered in Roman’s eyes and for a brief, terrifying moment Deceit had to seriously contemplate the extent of Romans persuasion. Roman couldn’t really—

“I can’t,” Roman agreed as he tucked his legs, “I won’t.

“But…” Roman sighed, “Janus, that isn’t the first time you’ve been like… that. And I understand that you can’t just make yourself stop but, “ he paused, wringing his hands, “That doesn’t mean there aren’t ways to make it better. If you’re hurting I don’t want to add onto it just because I make I stupid mistake or can’t read you right. I’m trying to talk about it now because a lot of the times when you do shut down you can’t talk to me. - you can’t say ‘don’t do this you’re hurting me’ and it’s just… scary not knowing what to do.”

“I…” Deceits chest clenched, “What if I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, face darkening, “Sometimes I want to be touched sometimes I… need to be alone. And other times… I feel like if you do stay near me you’ll only get hurt,”

“Well it’s a start,” Roman said, “So what do you need right now?”

“Need?” Deceit scoffed, “I don’t need anything,”

Roman rolled his eyes, “Okay tough guy, “ he said, “What do you want,”

Deceit opened his mouth then he froze, promptly closing his mouth, eyebrows knitted as he thought. After a few seconds he patted the space beside him, not looking at Roman, “I’m tired,” he said, cautiously, “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Okay,” Roman eyed curiously, “Are you fine with cuddling or no?”

“Yes,” Deceit said, a bit too quick.

“Yes to what?” Roman teased.

“Don’t be a dick.”

Roman smiled, crawling beside Deceit and slipping back under the covers. He wrapped his arms around Deceit’s waist, face nestling in the crook of their neck as Deceit relaxed.

The bed wasn’t as luxurious as the one in at The Offerings, but it wasn’t as cramped as the one they had prior--it was just right. Everything was new, but Deceit felt it all clicking together just right, as if maybe he stumbled onto being something of substances after all. Something that was his to choose and share, as if he had something of worth and for once the world was finally letting him be.

The sun rose steadily outside, it’s patches of light warming Deceits skin as he slowly fell asleep.

---

You don’t really comprehend being in the same house with four kids until you experience it. Sure, Deceit’s dealt with the brats, but they were all teenagers and he didn’t feel the same degree of anxiety when they were being dumbasses. Hell, he didn’t even feel comfortable saying the Sanders kids were being dumbasses because they were actual children.

After Lauren, there were the triplets; Sofia, Vivian, and Marie. All adorable and strikingly resembling their mom with thicker, kinker hair and soft, dark eyes. They apparently had chaotic tendencies, with them invading Roman’s bed and dragging him out of bed a, seemingly unbothered by Deceit’s presence if not a little curious. Deceit told them apart by how many baby teeth they were missing and how clingy they were to Roman.

Roman stood at the counter fixing some food, while Marie remained attached to his waist, “Aren’t you going to wake them up?” he asked, head gesturing back to the hallway towards the brats rooms.

Deceit dumped more sugar into his coffee, “Mm, not today,” he said, idly watching as Vivian and Sofia arranged their dolls at the smaller table-- aka Sofia bossing around Vivian who looked increasingly agitated, “Apparently dickhead is taking us on a field trip later today, so I thought it’d be best to let them get some sleep,”

“Who’s dickhead?” Marie frowned.

Roman inhaled, giving Deceit a dry look, “He’s a bad man that you won’t ever have to meet,” he explained matter of fact, setting aside a plate a food, “Make sure you eat your vitamins,”

Marie’s face scrunched up for a moment before she nodded, detaching herself and grabbing the plate. After the other two girls grabbed their plates, taking them to their table, Roman turned to Deceit with a raised eyebrow, “Really?”

Deceit lifted the cup to his lips, “Am I not allowed to curse?” he mused, leaning against the counter next to Roman.

“Try to keep it to a minimum,” Roman sighed, “Especially around Tami, she’s like a sponge,” he mumbled, picking at his own bowl of fruit.

“I thought she was still nonverbal?”

“She is,” Roman popped a blueberry in his mouth, “But she learns quick. So if she does have her first words I’d never hear the end of it from Ma if it’s something vulgar,”

Deceit snorted, “Your mouth is filthier than mine,” he said.

“You like my filthy mouth,” Roman muttered.

The two looked up at the sound of footsteps softly padding into the kitchen. Mrs. Sanders looked visibly disheveled, Tami holding her hand--eyes trained on the ground. She yawned, “Mornin,” she said to no one in particular, her eyes flicking between the two, something akin to exasperation settling on her face, “Roman, dear, I thought you outgrew sneaking boys into the house,”

“I didn’t, I just got better at it,” Roman shrugged, “There’s coffee still in the pot--” he offered, his gaze flickering down to Tami, “Do you want me to make her something?”

Mrs. Sanders rubbed her eyes, before pulling out her glasses, “That be lovely, just make sure it isn’t sweet she hates it--,” she sighed, “Also I’m not your father, and you’re not the heir anymore so you don’t have to hide your boyfriend. But,” she pursed her lips, “If he stays here, you’re going to have to use protection.”

Deceit choked on his coffee and Roman cleared his throat, face straight, but Deceit could spot the vines peeking from their sleeves, “There are seven kids in this house, hon,” Mrs. Sanders continued, gravely serious as she poured a cup, “I’m not taking care of anymore,”

“Yes ma’am,” Roman said. It was only when Mrs. Sanders left the kitchen for the porch did he side-eye Deceit, “Stop that,”

“Stop what?” Deceit set his cup down in the sink, watching them curiously.

“You’re staring,” Roman said, walking to the pantry and pulling out the lone box of oatmeal, “Stop.”

At that, Deceit grinned, moving himself in Roman’s way, “I thought you liked having my attention,” he mused.

“I do,” Roman said, easily sliding past them, “Which is why you need to stop,”

“Uh-huh,” Deceit said, following close, “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,”

“Fuck off--I’m not embarrassed,” Roman huffed, setting aside the box.

“Mhm,” Deceit said, winding his arms around Roman’s waist, pulling them close just as they turned around, “Kiss me?”

Roman’s glare faltered before slipping off altogether. He couldn’t mask his laugh, ducking his head to close the distance.

“You do realize we still have to talk about that?” Deceit murmured against their lips, “I know we’re not in any rush, but seeing as we don’t exactly have the same biology...”

Roman’s face twisted, hands resting on Deceit’s chest, “I’m fine with talking about sex it’s just… I don’t like talking about my body.”

“I know. I don’t either.” Deceit admitted.

“I…” Roman paused at that before nodding, “Later,” was all he promised.

---

Upon seeing Kai, Lauren, and Elliot successfully break into some magical zoo in less than an hour, Deceit began to consider that maybe, just maybe, he was surrounded by criminals.

All the faceless guards were taken care of, some in soundless pain, others passed out completely, so they slipped inside without issue. Once everything was secured, the Stranger strode inside leading the way with no further comment.

The moon hung in the sky. It was almost full.

All around them silver bars glinted, the cages themselves shadowed with the peering violet eyes hidden among the foliage.

Something about this place just wasn’t right, but the brats seemed to be having fun

Lauren was talking about some rare plant she spotted and Kai seemed placated by the rippling furs of creatures just out of reach. Of course, Elliot seemed uncomfortable, but they generally were whenever they went out with the Stranger.

The Stranger stopped abruptly, head craning to address the brats, “Y’all scram,” he shooed them, “This lesson is for Deceit,” he said with a smile.

That is when Deceit knew he was fucked.. But to the rest of them, it was normal and they all took the orders without comment or question, leaving Deceit with the Stranger once again.

Once they were out of sight, The Stranger’s smile slid off. He resumed his path forward, knowing that Deceit would follow.

The further Deceit walked the more the pit in his stomachs grew. Something was just wrong. He knew it and his mind scrambled trying to figure out if he did something wrong—which wasn’t helpful since he always did something wrong, but—

The Stranger stopped in front of a dark, cavern-like entrance. It was further away from all the cages, but it still held a commercial presence with cheery signs in odd languages and bright arrows pointing inside.

The Stranger propped himself against one of these signs, popping a lollipop on his mouth, “It’ll be a full moon soon,” he said to no one in particular, “You know…” he crunched the lollipop hard, spitting out the stick, “You’ve lasted longer then I expected.”

Deceit stared blandly and The Stranger sighed, “Still, you aren’t good enough,”

Only then did Deceits eyes narrowed, “I’ve been doing everything you asked,”

“Yes-Yes I know, you’re a good little dog aren’t you huh?”The Stranger said, “Still,”

“Still?” Deceit gritted. He could feel his anger sharp through the haze of worry.

“You’re getting a bit too—“The Stranger clicked his tongue, “Distracted—now don’t look like tha--t I won’t touch your little boy toy, that would be counterproductive to our cause,”

“So what do you want me to do?” Deceit managed, forcing his eyes to unslit, and ignoring the scales searing up his sides.

“Ah,” The Stranger laughed, “Now you’re asking the right questions and as a reward for not being entirely useless—” He flicked his sunglasses down and Deceit stiffened, “I’ll ask you a different question; what is our cause?”

“None of my business,” Deceit shrugged, “I am simply a tool who will benefit.”

“Very good,very simple right?” The Stranger hummed, “It’s easy for people to get scared of the bigger picture, but aren’t you just a little bit curious?”

“No,” Deceit lied.

“Good,”The Stranger flipped his glasses back up, covering his relentless gaze, “You’ll learn soon enough. Until then you need to push yourself further and I won’t tolerate any failure,” he gestured towards the cavern, “But just in case, here’s a little reminder about what you’ll be worth to the world if you do decide to fuck up,”

The Stranger didn’t follow him into the cavern, but Deceit could feel their mocking, cold gaze the entire time. Inside were fluorescent-lit exhibits, brightly colored informational posters and those arrows and—and—it was all terribly wrong.

Because behind each glass panel, were skeletons of all sizes; some with painted on whiskers others, with ancient feathers sticking from their arms, or scales carved deep into bone.

An exhibit of dead shifters, propped and polished for the public’s consumption.

As if they were nothing but monsters.

#ts sides #roceit #ts roman #ts deceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #Winners Among the Losing

3 notes · View notes

minsugapie · 6 years ago

Text

Now You See Me: part 28 (3512 words) - rap sex

• • • • • •

You’re a content creator that is wanting to change up your brand a little bit.

Yoongi is a faceless musician. Well, he’s two people at once. He’s Agust D online and while performing, but he’s Min Yoongi in real life.

Who will he be to you?

• • • • • •

PART 27 // PART 28 // PART 29

masterlist

• • • • • •

tags : @dixonsbugaboo @mayumioutloud @minhyukstealer @pocketfullofsuga @pwinny00 @rjsmochii @yoonglemickdoongle @live-2-fangirl @cherryicy123 @vernooope @okaysoplshelpme @thebleuprince @minyoongone @original-internetmonster @princesskimnamjoon @waddlingmyg

• • • • • •

With the best outfit that you were able to conjure up from your closet on a budget, you walked into the bar with alone. Everyone was going to meet you there.

You were easily the easiest person to impress, and although you had already seen Yoongi perform before, you were sure that you were going to be amazed, no matter how much you wanted to avoid him and hide your feelings from the world. After what Jade had told you about their relationship compared to your relationship with him, you knew that you wanted to at least tread lightly in the waters of Min Yoongi.

She basically flat out told you that Yoongi liked you, but other than the kiss in the hallway, you weren’t sure that he even liked you. People could kiss other people without wanting to actually be with them. You’d been played by guys in the past. It happened.

And then there was the fact that you were still unsure about seeing Hoseok again. Your father had made it clear that he wanted you to marry him (I mean, you already knew before but still). You’d barely breached the subject with Hoseok on game night, but you just couldn’t see it. Why would Hobi be in love with you of all people. He deserved someone good, someone positive.

The bar was already dark and foggy, but you couldn’t tell whether it was a fog machine or simply a bunch of smoke from vapes and joints. You thought it was probably the latter. It even smelled a little ripe in there, a mixture of alcohol, sweet JUULs, and MJ. Along with the smell, the air practically felt sticky, the temperature already hot.

The search for your friends was brief. Tae and Hobi were always the loudest, currently making a fool of themselves amongst your newer friends, Jimin and Jungkook. Jade was yet to make an appearance. You distantly wondered if she was keeping Yoongi company until he went on stage.

Speaking of the devil, he was clearly not with the group because this was his performance, but you wouldn’t have minded just getting a glimpse of his surely mask-covered face. You’d very nearly forgotten that he was Agust D here and not your Min Yoongi.

Your Min Yoongi. Even the thought was bordering on problematic. If this night didn’t go as planned or even head in a remotely positive direction, you’d be crushed. The only reason that you’d agreed to go was to clarify and/or solidify what was going on between the two of you. If he didn’t make any sort of move. You were going to. You had to.

Looking around, you were happy that there were more people here than the last time. He’d been rapping here for a few years under his alias, but no one had put two and two together. With the release of “Seesaw”, he’d finally revealed to the online community that he was a musician that not only played Piano and got people to sing on his tracks, but also that he rapped. It had surely increased the crowd for this show. On the way in, there was even a lineup at the door. You were able to just walk in, thankfully, because he’d still put your name on the list. He had told you on multiple occasions that he would never take your money if you came to watch him because just your being there was enough of a reward for him.

The greetings from your friends were almost lost to your ears because you were craning your head to see if Yoongi was possibly walking around, visiting with other people. It was quite obvious to everyone that you were not here to see them. You were definitely here to see the man on your mind.

“Hello, earth to Y/N?” Jimin waved his hand in front of your face when you were staring directly into the drink that you’d picked up from the bartender on the way to the already full table of guys. You were clearly only here for one thing.

As much as you loved them all and enjoyed their company (most of the time), you were not up for any chit chat. Frankly, you were still trying to pull yourself out of your depressive state, and you were also not entirely sure that you were ready to meet Jade yet.

After stalking her profile, you were 100% sure that she was both prettier and a better person overall than you were. You’d never seen someone spread so much love and happiness. The only rival that you could think of would have been Hobi.

“Sorry, Chim. I’m just a little distracted,” you answered, spinning the bottle of alcohol in your hands.

“You’re just nervous about having to talk to Yoon about the kiss, right?” Jungkook piped in from beside you. From the corner of your eye, you saw Hobi look at you and frown. He then quickly looked at Tae, but your brother just shrugged. Hobi was always so protective, just like a brother would’ve been.

“H-how do you even know about that?” You stuttered, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear in embarrassment. Yeah, you kissed Yoongi, but you just assumed that he was not much of a gossip and wouldn’t have told anyone. You were clearly wrong.

“Your guy told us. He also may have revealed that he was nervous about you meeting Jade,” Jimin slyly admitted, putting his arm around your shoulders.

“Because she’s his ex, and he still hangs around with her?” Everyone, including your brother were surprised that you didn’t have a bigger reaction than that one. Your eyes wandered to the stage, only to find it still lifeless and unlit.

With a sigh, you listened as Jungkook continued, “Yeah…how do you know that?”

“Jade and I have been texting a little bit here and there. She initiates the conversations, but I can’t not answer her.”

“Speaking of the devil,” Jimin announced with a huge smile. “Jade is walking this way.”

“Sorry, but who exactly is Jade?” Hobi asked, completely unaware that she was coming up right behind him. You were completely astonished at how pretty she was. You wondered how it was physically possible to be born that way.

“I’m Jade,” she whispered in his ear, causing him to jump and fall off his chair. While he was seated on the ground, she smiled at him and politely took a seat in the chair that he was occupying. Turning to me, she beamed. “You must be Y/N! Yoongi has to me so much about you!”

You couldn’t say the same.

“Hi,” you replied, not being able to take your eyes off her hair. It was literally curled to perfection.

Once Hobi finally got up at the floor, you could see him shifting his eyes from you to her, wondering what exactly was going on.

“I’m Hoseok,” Hobi introduced himself with a bow.

Jade graciously took his greeting and then commented, “Oh, so you’re Hoseok…”

“What is that supposed to mean?” He started, but all of the lights suddenly went out and everyone’s head turned to the stage.

You instantly stood up and walked closer, nursing your drink on an open potion of the floor. A few more people joined the space, filling it quickly. Jimin and Hoseok came and stood on either side of you while the other stayed back and kept the table.

Yoongi slowly walked onto the stage and took the microphone that was waiting nicely in the stand. Absentmindedly, you wondered what Yoongi and Jade had been talking about backstage. You were in such a daze that you completely forgot to ask.

He was wearing a cap and a mask under his chin for hiding his identity. It was a special request to keep the lights down to avoid anyone seeing his face through the shadows. It didn’t matter to you any way that he came. To top it all off, he was sporting ripped jeans and a jacket —typical. Did he even own anything else?

The performance was similar to the last one, except that there were a few new songs. After the first few songs, you again confirmed that the man was meant for music. Agust D’s performance was truly hype. He got the crowd into it and talked about so many difficult things like depression and social anxiety.

You realize then that you are definitely in love with Yoongi. How could you not have been? Maybe you’d even been in love with him for a while, you weren’t too sure. You’d been talking for months, and he was the only person you’d thought about in weeks. He captured your full attention, even when you weren’t with him.

His passion was a large factor of that love as well. When the beat for “Agust D” rolled in, you can’t look away, you’re entranced. The people you’re with all noticed this. It wasn’t long into the song that Yoongi’s eyes found yours. You were surprised that he found you with all the people in there. You were hidden behind a couple really tall guys and their girlfriends, and when he focused in your direction, they were quite excited.

It wasn’t until they realized that he was not looking at them but at you. It was the fastest part of the song, and he just kept looking at you and walking closer to the end of the stage and towards you. The people in front of you parted slightly to give him a better view of you. Your cheeks reddened at the intensity of his rapping. Just thinking about how fast he could move his tongue made you think back to the kiss. You wanted his tongue against yours again.

When you realized that you definitely should not have been thinking about that right now, you brought your hands to your cheeks and covered them with your hands. You felt a pair of hands on your back push you forwards slightly, but you wouldn’t budge. It was Hobi, and you didn’t notice that after he nudged you, he backed away, clearly distancing himself mentally and physically from you.

This moment was yours and Yoongi’s. It felt like there was nobody else in the room, but also felt so intimate that you were sad that there were many people all around.

His gaze never leaves your face for the rest of the performance. It’s his closing song before the second artist came on, so when the song finished, he was breathing hard and clearly sweating. His eyes were still on you as he pulled up his mask, trying to hide his identity from the prying eyes.

The bouncers were very strict on not having flash photography either —they would hunt you down. It was basically an unwritten agreement that when people came, they would just not post videos and keep the performance to them.

“What?” You asked, finally being able to breathe again. You hadn’t noticed, but your breath became uneven and hard when Yoongi was performing for you.

“He totally just had rap sex with you.” Jimin’s voice was even and sure when he looked at you.

What the hell was rap sex?

Yoongi was still staring at you

Rolling his eyes because he could clearly tell that you didn’t know what he was talking about, he continued, “I shouldn’t need to explain this, Y/N…In fact, I’ll just let you figure it out on your own.” You didn’t need to know what Jimin was talking about. All you knew for sure was that just the words sex and Yoongi in the same sentence made you flustered. They were making you flustered and hot.

Yoongi bowed, thanking the crowd one more time before exiting the stage. You weren’t sure what you were going to say to him now, but you knew that you needed to reign in your emotions and get yourself together or else only gibberish would come out of your mouth.

Making your way back to the table, you were still flushed and had to get yourself together. People were sure to comment on your state. Plus, if you wanted to hold your own in front of Yoongi, you couldn’t be looking like you were. So there you were, standing awkwardly around the table, waiting.

It seemed like hours until he made his way to your table. You hadn’t participated in any conversations with your friends, opting simply to nurse another drink and wait for Yoongi. You had no idea what you were going to say to him or how you were even going to react when he finally said a word to you.

He greeted all your friends and Jade before going to stand between you and Jimin.

“Hey,” he said, taking quick sip of your drink. You looked at him like he’d grown two heads. This guy hadn’t spoken to you in ages, and there he was, acting as if you were together, or at least that you had been talking.

Biting your lip, you answered, “I enjoyed your set.”

When the tension between you two was able to be cut with a knife, Jimin nudged you into Yoongi’s arms. Instead of being bashful about it, your brain allowed to to simply put your arms around his waist and embrace the contact.

He didn’t hesitate to hug you back before moving his mask under his chin and whispering, “I’m really happy that you came.” Quickly putting his mask back on, you didn’t realize that you’d be so affected by everything that he said and did.

Yoongi’s breath on your ear tickled and sent shivers through your body. His sweat smelled sweet, and you only want to run your fingers through his damp hair. There were many other people around, so obviously that would have to be saved for another time.

******

Hoseok and Jade were sitting on the other side of the table, observing their two friends, relishing in the unrequited love of it all. They were happy for the two of you, they really were, but taking it from their perspective. It would fucking suck.

“Ugh, I hate love,” Hoseok grumbled, pushing away from the table. Jungkook, Jimin and Tae had left, going to watch the second performer on stage, so it was only the four of them at the table.

Jade looked at him like she’d never seen him before. “Why do you hate love? I hate love.”

“I’ll get us some drinks and we can talk it out.”

When Hoseok made his way back with two bottle of soju in hand, he started, “I’ve been in love with Y/N since the moment I met her. She was 14 and I was 12. It was all too much for me, especially because her brother is my best friend. She’s liked him since she first met with him at the coffee shop. I’m sure of it.”

“Similar story, bro. Agust D and I have been best friends since birth and I’ve always had a crush on him. He’s been thirsting after her since he received her first message. JK and Chim didn’t help because they clearly think she’s hot.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they were in love with each other now.”

“Honestly same. Did you see that performance? I’ve seen him perform many times, and that was something else”

“…It really be like that sometimes.” It was a thought that they both shared; a thought that shaped the generation.

******

Neither you nor Yoongi realize what exactly was happening between Jade and Hobi when you asked, “Are you going to let me go at all?”

“I hadn’t planned on it.” But he loosened his grip and simply let his arms drape around your shoulders comfortably. You liked being there. You’d never been this close to him for such a long period of time.

Looking at him, you still couldn’t get Jimin’s comment from earlier out of your mind. So when Yoongi pulled back to walk towards his friends in the crowd, you stopped him by grabbing his arm. The action surprised him, and what you about to do was something that you’d never have done with anyone before you’d met him.

He looked at your concentrated face in question. There were people everywhere, but you didn’t care when you pulled his mask back down under his chin and asked, “Why haven’t you tried to kiss me since the first time? Why did you not talk to me about it? You seemed so sure that you wanted it to happen then, and now I’m just confused if you act-”

Yoongi grabbed your hand and started dragging you away from all the people and into a corner of the bar that you weren’t sure that you’d ever seen before. It was a deserted corner that looked like it was never visited. Actually, when you stopped talking, Yoongi wasted no time in connecting your lips once again. The kiss this time was urgent and hotter than it had been int he hallway of your place.

He tasted sober this time, still vaguely damp from his performance when you took off his cap and placed it lightly on your head. You ran your fingers through his hair like you wanted to earlier, and he took that opportunity to get you good. With a groan that literally turned your insides into mush, his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to his body.

Yoongi’s skin was soft under yours. With every movement of his lips, you realized that he wouldn’t want to talk about anything, so asking him about that rap was out of the question…for now. Soft movement paired with everything else that was Yoongi —his sweat, his smell, his taste— had you wanting more, needing more. After this, you knew that you’d never be able to be friends with the man. Being friends would simply be too painful. You’d never be able to see him again without wanting a kiss or a touch. It almost scared you how much your desire for him had increased in the days that you hadn’t spoken.

You gently pushed him back until he hit the wall, and absently, you found yourself grinding down onto one of his legs, straddling it. Your kisses became sloppier, open mouthed, and needy with every grinding movement into his leg. Whatever it was that you were doing, it felt good. No matter what it was, you knew that Yoongi was able to make you feel good.

You weren’t even sure that he was fine with what was happening until his hands gripped your waist and aided the movement, crouching lower to give you more access. You could even feel his quad muscles flex between your thighs. He pulled back, looking into your eyes, watching your facial expression as he helped you grind down. It felt better than good because it was infinitely better than touching yourself. Even though you were fully clothed, you’d get off in minutes if he kept it up.

Yoongi’s lower lip was taken between his teeth as he watched you more. His eyes did flicker behind you to see if someone was a coming or watching, but the coast must have been clear because his eyes then travelled down the length of your torso to where you were grinding against him.

Your breathing wasn’t even, trying to focus on the feeling, but you decided that this was neither the time, nor the place that you two should have been doing this. You didn’t want to have to clean yourself up in the bathroom, and you didn’t want Yoongi to have to deal with a boner in the middle of the bar (although you were sure that it was too late).

When he noticed your movements slowing down, his eyes went back to your face. “Let me take you home later,” he whispered, lips brushing yours and hands moving from your hips to feeling down your body and around your butt. He squeezed gently, pulling you closer to him.

The brushing of his lips on yours was enough to drive you crazy. There was no way that you would ever be able to deny this man what he wanted that night. “Mhm. All right.”

“Well, then let’s go join our friends for a little longer. I’ll buy you a drink, and then I’m taking you home. Don’t even think about not finishing what you started,” his tone was clear and low. He was definitely turned on and wanting.

His words excited you. A smile grew on your face, and then you suggested, “How about one dance, too?”

It took him a moment to answer. He didn’t seem like the type to want to dance in a bar, but you knew his answer was solely for you. “Fine.”

Hand in hand, you lead Yoongi away from the dark corner and back into the visible bar, unaware that there had been people that noticed.

• • • • • •

LET’S GET IT, FAM...in case you didn’t get it, they are having sex tonight. But I didn’t write it. I can write the smut if you want me to. I won’t say it’ll be the best, but I would try.

Hope you enjoyed ✊🏻🤓

310 notes · View notes

this-is-a-love-story-fleabag · 5 years ago

Text

Strangers in the Night

Something a little different before I post the last chapter of the Good Place AU.

Fleabag/Priest. 2393 words, one-shot. Also on ao3.

Masquerade ball. You're not allowed to show your face or tell anyone your name. It's very intense. It's very, very *erotic*.

Across a crowded room, the priest and the libertine make eye contact, and time stops for just a moment.

Masquerade ball. You're not allowed to show your face or tell anyone your name. It's very intense. It's very, very erotic.

Across a crowded room, the priest and the libertine make eye contact, and time stops for just a moment.

He looks away, down at the drink in his hands, clears his throat uncomfortably, but, despite himself, is compelled to raise his gaze once more. She turns up a corner of her painted mouth into a knowing smirk, then allows herself to be drawn away into conversation. He looks at her back for a long, helpless eternity, the deep plunge of her sequinned red dress drawing his eye, only to look hurriedly away when she sends him a genuine smile over her shoulder. She feels his eyes on her and stands a little straighter, smiles a little warmer, plans how to make her approach.

They work their way around the room separately, exchanging glances more often than not. She shines like a blood moon, beautiful and foreboding in equal measure, and the idea of falling into her orbit sends a thrill of fear down his spine.

The ballroom is ornate and ancient, exactly the kind of place you would imagine for a masquerade. The nameless, faceless ladies and gentlemen talk in hushed whispers as the band plays a slow waltz, a few couples here and there, twirling together to the rhythm like leaves caught in the wind. The stately home they are standing in is enormous and probably haunted, with endless corridors and hunting trophies leering from every wall. He feels absolutely out of place here, but with the anonymity of the mask, there's no way for the crowd to know. He could be anyone.

He's heartened by this thought and drains his drink, reaching for another just to have something to do with his hands.

"Hello," says a voice in his ear, and he drops the glass.

"Fuck!" he exclaims, kneeling down to start clearing up the broken glass, then "Fuck!" once again as he cuts himself.

"Jesus," she says, kneeling down to help him, holding a tissue from her purse to his wounds. He startles when he looks up into a pair of inviting brown eyes, all the more captivating up close.

"Hello," he breathes. She smirks.

"Do you think champagne has enough alcohol in it to sterilise a wound?" she asks, dabbing at his bleeding hand.

"Uh." He shakes his head to clear it, the strange stillness of the evening and the sight of his own blood making him feel disorientated. "Probably not?"

"Thought not," she says flatly, rising to her feet and beckoning for him to follow, as a member of staff bustles up with a dustpan to deal with the debris.

As if in a trance, he follows her through the maze of strange corridors to an old kitchen - flagstone floor, Aga, and everything. She finds a clean cloth in a drawer and wets it under the tap, then, with sure hands, cleans the cuts on his fingers, illuminated by the unearthly moonlight through the window.

"It's nice of you to do this," he says, keeping watch as she tenderly ministers to his hand.

She shoots him a wry smile, her eyes expressive even behind the mask. "The least I could do, considering it's my fault."

"I don't know, it might have been divine intervention." He hisses as she removes a sliver of glass from his finger and she winces in sympathy.

"Are you saying that God hates champagne?" Having finished her ministrations on his hand, she continues to hold it, rubbing a deliberate caress into his skin, then bends to press a gentle kiss onto the palm, thrillingly intimate.

"He's more of, uh, a red wine kind of guy, I think," he stammers. He takes a deep breath to steady himself as she looks up at him through her eyelashes. "We should probably get back to the-"

"Yeah." Chivalrously, she offers him her arm, and he takes hold of it, trying hard not to feel like a damsel in distress. They make their way back towards the bright light and the hubbub of voices spilling out of the great hall, his fingers hot against her arm like a brand.

"What brings you here tonight?" he asks politely as they apply themselves to the buffet table, glad to be back in public and safe from his own impulses. "Ooh, olives! I love olives, I never get olives."

"I made the food," she grins, picking up a mini quiche. "Might as well get to eat it. You?"

"It's a good charity to support, and I guess I'm just really fucking lonely." He shoves three olives into his mouth at once to prevent himself from saying anything else embarrassing.

"Not the best way to make life-long friendships, since we're not allowed to share our names."

He swallows heavily. "Sometimes it's nice not to be-"

"Yourself?" She understands this, more than it is possible to articulate.

"Yeah." The silence between them is comfortable, intimate. It should be strange, sharing conversation and standing so close, but things that happen at night always feel strange, the moonlight glazing everything with unfamiliarity.

"May I have this dance?" she asks after a while, with a decorous and only mildly sarcastic half-bow.

"Oh, I don't dance," he demurs, waving his hands and scrunching up his nose.

"Even with your guardian angel?"

"Oh, no, no, no," he chuckles, shaking his head. "I don't think you're an angel."

"You don't strike me as an expert on angels."

"I could be a priest for all you know."

She lets out an incredulous peal of laughter. "Priests don't swear like you do."

"Oh, so now you're an expert on priests-"

"I'd recognise that pair of legs anywhere," booms a voice, cutting into their conversation. The voice is attached to a handsome fellow, rather nicely filling out an expensive suit. He greets her with a kiss on the cheek and slides his arm around to rest a hand on her arse. "Might I have this dance, m'lady?" he asks with the confidence of a man with no doubt what the answer will be.

The priest tugs at his own bow tie uncomfortably, the collar of his crisp, new shirt suddenly feeling itchy and tight, and his lips quirk into an uneasy half smile.

Before she can respond, a twitchy, angular woman taps her on the shoulder. "Could you please put out some more of the vegetarian- oh, hello," she breaks off, recognising the new arrival.

"Claire," he says delightedly, turning the scorching force of his attention onto her. "You look like a lawsuit waiting to happen." He eyes her up and down with no subtlety whatsoever, and she somehow becomes even more twitchy, clearly flustered.

"I'm supposed to take that as a compliment, am I?" she says tightly, nonetheless looking rather pleased.

"I was just asking this saucy little minx to put me through my paces, if you know what I mean," he says, leering indiscreetly.

"Oh," says Claire. "Perhaps the mini quiches can wait if you-"

"No," her sister replies firmly, eager to escape the mounting lawyer-on-lawyer sexual tension. "Mini quiches are impatient little buggers. I'm just going to let this... yep."

She peels away, picking up an empty serving platter on her way.

"Oh, let me help you," says the priest, chasing after her retreating back.

"Thanks," she says when he catches up. From a stack of catering boxes in a tucked-away corner, she hands him another tray of delicate pastries. "They are terribly heavy. Can always do with the assistance of a big, strong man."

"Well thank fuck I was here, or all these people would have had to be-"

"Quicheless, yeah."

They work together to re-stock the buffet table, sneaking bites here and there. The noise he makes on tasting the goat's cheese and beetroot filo parcels for the first time borders on the obscene, and the mask does nothing to hide the way her pupils dilate.

"Follow me," she says simply, setting down her dish. She turns, then, and takes his uninjured hand, drawing him after her through the double doors, through the antechamber and into a side room, half the size of the ballroom. He allows himself to be led, the enchantment of the evening settling over him. She gropes for the light switch on the wall, and the bulbs begin to hum and then the room is slowly lit with an increasing warm light.

A grand piano lies under a dust sheet, the wooden boards of the floor stretching away underfoot. Chairs are stacked in neat rows in the corner, and the strains of music from the band next door can still be heard.

"Time for that dance, don't you think?" She steps out of her shoes and pads barefoot across the floor to press close against him.

Bewitched by either the champagne or their solitude, he gives in and rests his hand on the gentle curve of her waist, the red sequins warm against his fingers. She matches his action, her firm touch setting the nerves ablaze on his hip. With her other hand, she takes her time stroking down the length of his arm, only to stop at the wrist, hand hovering just shy of his palm.

"For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch," she murmurs, looking into his eyes.

"And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss," he finishes, taking her hand in his and interlacing their fingers.

The night seems destined to become one of those memories that are polished down to a bright shine by re-treading your steps over them, over and over. They sway together to the music, her hairsprayed curls brushing against his cheek. She fits her body against his, pressing close, her breath raising the hairs on his neck, her perfume filling his senses. He grips her tighter, his solid warmth under her fingers drawing her in. She looks in his eyes after a while, a teasing smirk on her tempting red lips.

"Have not saints lips-" she begins, but is cut off when he kisses her, bringing up his hand from her hip to her cheek and breathlessly pouring himself into her, revelling in her little intake of breath, in the taste of the wine on her lips, finally allowing himself to sink into her embrace.

He breaks off and rests his head against hers as they both gasp in a breath. "I don't do this any more," he murmurs.

"Me neither." She runs her fingers through his short, dark hair and he shudders at the touch. "Good thing we're not ourselves tonight."

Their lips crash together again and he presses her backwards until he can lift her up onto the closed keyboard of the grand piano, hips pulsing together as he sinks his teeth gently into the bared column of her neck. His hand slides up her thigh through the slit in her skirt as she fumbles with his belt buckle. Once unfastened, she slips a hand down the back of his trousers and grabs a handful of his arse, drawing him closer as she devours his mouth. With her other hand, she cups the growing bulge in the front of his shorts, eliciting a strangled groan.

"Do you have a-" he starts, just as she pulls out a condom and throws it at him.

"Where were you even keeping that?"

"Don't ask."

He slips his hands further up under her dress, towards her waist, then pauses, frowning. "Do these knickers reach your armpits?"

"Hurry up," she says, palming his hardening cock, "before I turn into a pumpkin."

With a growl, he rips them off and throws them over his shoulder, settling between her legs with a truly wicked smirk, before he buries his head between her spread thighs.

"I just don't understand how I got a sequin in my ear," he says some time later as they lie sprawled on the floor, panting hard, a sheen of sweat over their bodies. She raises her head from where it's resting on his chest, an absurd shimmer of glitter painting her cheek, and makes a show of examining both of his ears and his nostrils, for good measure.

"I think you got all of them, if that's any consolation."

"Thanks, he says drily. "How much longer until you vanish in a puff of smoke?"

"Not long," she whispers, leaning in for another kiss, slow and satisfied.

"Do you think I'll see you again?" he says tenderly, cradling her face.

"Who knows?" she murmurs, brushing her lips against his. She stretches, making a face at a twinge in her shoulder, and stands up, graceful and entirely unselfconscious in her nudity. He props himself up on his elbows and watches as she slips back into her underwear and picks up her dress from where they'd laid it carefully on the grand piano.

She steps into the red sequinned dress and shrugs the straps over her shoulders, then pauses when she tries to reach the zip. "Could you-"

"Sure," he replies, jumping up from the floor after pulling on his shorts. Careful not to catch her skin in the zip, he fastens the dress, covering up inch after inch of her warm flesh. He can't help but trail his fingers over her skin, tracing the contours of her back.

She pulls a small mirror and a tube of lipstick from her bag and applies it carefully, lips parted. He starts dressing, wincing as he pulls his trousers on over damp skin. He struggles with the bow tie, crossing the straps uselessly and catching his fingers in the knot.

"Here," she says, unpicking the knot with deft fingers and fastening it into a neat bow, smoothing it against his collarbones. She's standing so close. He can't stop himself from pulling her in for one last, helpless kiss.

"Goodnight," she says as they part, her red lips mere inches from his.

"Goodnight," he breathes.

As she walks out of the room, her high heeled shoes swinging from one hand, she starts to hum a tune. As he watches her disappear into the darkness, he can just make out the words she's singing.

"...exchanging glances, wond'ring in the night, what were the chances..."

He smiles to himself as he turns away. Perhaps their paths will cross again.

#fleabag #my fics #strangers in the night

7 notes · View notes

tvntae · 6 years ago

Text

She’s Too Clingy 13

reader x min yoongi

plot: Yoongi seems to always take his frustrations out on you. Have you finally reached your boiling point?

genre: angst

word count: 1.7k

///.

You cursed yourself for not bringing an umbrella and for not having a thick enough jacket to withstand the rain outside. It had been such a gloomy day, you should have known it would have started pouring the way it was now. You rested your head in your palm and sighed, looking through the cafe window when you noticed the rain storm wasn’t letting up anytime soon. You had a love-hate relationship with rain. It had a calming effect but it also caused you a lot of misfortune. Especially when you had errands to run, and boy did you have a lot of those today. You had only stopped at this little cafe because it was right next to your favorite open market. Not only was it convenient for you but not many people frequented it, well for what you could see it was pretty much always a ghost town here. They had great lattes though, they were always a tad bit too hot for your taste and pain tolerance but, nonetheless they gave even some of your favorite coffee shops in your home city a run for their money.

It was quiet now, the last few stragglers had ordered their coffee and left but only you and a faceless body had remained. He had grunted in acknowledgment when he passed you a little bit ago. You couldn’t make out his face due to the black mask and cap he wore but you could tell by the slither of skin that did show that he was quite the beaut. You had stolen a few glances at him, just out of curiosity. He’d actually caught you a few times and each time you’d send him an awkward smile and duck your head out of embarrassment.

It was getting late, you knew you should have been gone an hour ago, your cup of coffee had been emptied not too long ago and the only reminiscence of your bagel was the crumbs still attached to your lips. But he was the one that kept you glued to your very seat. You had important things to do today, yea, that much was clear, but the mysterious guy that refuses to take off his mask and cap had you absolutely mesmerized. You felt silly, of course, but you also felt compelled to stay. That if you were to get up right now that you’d be making the biggest mistake of your life. It was almost as if he was asking you to stay, begging you, through telepathy. So you did just that. Stayed. Stayed another 2 hours in an almost deserted cafe just for a stranger.

///

You had to say something to him, just anything, maybe ask him his name, or what kind of coffee he likes to drink. He looked like the type of guy to order black, no sugar no cream. The complete opposite of you. You would not mind though, opposites attract, that’s what they always say, right?

Just as you were getting your thoughts together, mystery guys phone had broken through the serene silence of the cafe. You jumped, due to the loudness of it but soon composed yourself as you saw him heading towards you, phone to hear. You had your fingers crossed that he’d send you some type of acknowledgment, a smile, a hello, hell you would take anything, but he walks past you without a word. Turning your head in his direction, you watch him exit the cafe. You turn back around to face forward, staring at his now empty seat. Your shoulders slump, you couldn’t help but feel stupid. When has a guy of his caliber ever paid attention to a plain ole boring girl like you? They don’t and they never will.

You collect your belongings and head towards the door to exit, pushing open the door you sigh seeing as the rain still hasn’t slowed. You curse yourself one last time for not bringing an umbrella before taking a step out and praying to the heavens above you don’t catch a cold.

A few days had passed since you last visited that coffee shop. You tried to stay away from it as much as possible, wanting to forget the whole ordeal. You didn’t quite pick up on why you felt the way you did. It was kind of embarrassing. You pining over a guy you could barely even see, I mean what would you tell your parents?

‘Mom I’m infatuated with this complete stranger that I meant only a few days ago, he smells like mint candy and roses but I think he’s the one. I mean it this time. Oh, and did I mention he’s a stranger?’

You laugh to yourself at the preposterousness of the situation.

///

You feel Yoongi’s lips kiss you starting from your chin down to your collarbone. You felt conflicted, you wanted him to stop but you also wanted whatever this process was to speed itself up. This was strange like you were giving in to him too easily like this was what he wanted all along. To butter you up. He’d tell you he missed you, that he still had feelings for you but that was all apart of the plan. That’s why he took you out tonight, to get you drunk and bring you back home. He’d say all the right things just to get in your pants and leave. And you felt so stupid to believe that this was more than what you thought it was supposed to be or at least what it should have been.

Or maybe you were just over thinking, maybe you should just give in and see where everything goes from then on. If you wake up to an empty bed then you know for sure that that’s exactly what it was this whole time. But the only thing that matters, in the end, is that you tried. You fought for your relationship and you did all you could do. Even if he was lying this entire time you still have this one last time to be with the man that you loved since the very first day that you officially met.

You feel Yoongi stiffen under you. You ask him why he stopped but he only remains silent.

“Why’d you stop? Do you want to maybe go into the bedroom we don’t have to do this on the couch if you don’t wanna.” You tried not to sound so inexperienced but it had been so long since... ya know you didn’t really know how to do ‘sexy talk’ anymore.

“I can’t do this,” he replies as he starts to gather his belongings.

You fucked up, you must have because just five minutes ago everything was going perfectly fine. He was enjoying himself and so were you, right?

“Is it me,” you rush to stand up as well, forgetting you had a little too much more to drink than what your blood can withstand. You get a little dizzy but brush it off. “Do I smell bad, oh my god I do don’t I? Like beer? I can shower real quick and-”

“NO, just no I gotta go,” you can see the confliction in his eyes but decided not to say anything out of fear. “Sorry I can’t. Y/n, sorry.” He doesn’t even spare you a second glance as he walks out the door. And that’s when you feel it again. That heart dropping feeling.

///

“Hi, is this seat taken?” You jump, surprised by the deep voice behind you. You turn your body just to confirm that someone was indeed asking if they could sit next to you.

The cafe today was occupied with new and familiar faces. Tables upon tables were packed with people. After a while, the cafe staff had to start assigning people where to sit. You had no idea why so many people were here today. There wasn’t any new specials or anything, everything was quite the same, well except for the fact that you did hear from a waitress that there was some new boy group in town and it was rumored they were somewhere in the area. You didn’t quite understand their name, sounded like something in a foreign language but everyone seemed to be in high spirits due to them.

It’s him. The perfect but not so perfect stranger. Was he actually asking if he could sit with you? Is this the day you actually go mad?

He stands there awaiting your answer, shifting from foot to foot while you stare at him with your mouth wide open. You rush to move your trash so he can take his seat. He smiles at you, even though his mouth is covered with his mask it still shines through his kitten like eyes.

///

You wake up with the worst headache imaginable, you really didn’t drink that much but you did end you crying yourself to sleep. You felt like complete shit you could only imagine how bad you looked. You were at least a little relieved you had the next few days of work off but what difference would it really make. It didn’t stop you from still feeling like a complete and utter idiot for believing Yoongi had anything but the best intentions for you and this relationship. Last night went so well up until he kissed you. It was a mistake, the second he started you should have ended it but you were selfish, too caught up in your own pleasure to see that maybe this was moving too fast for the both of you. This whole relationship has been filled with conflictions and no resolutions. You tried and failed multiple times and perhaps the two of you should have given up years ago. Maybe, you shouldn’t have even started.

#bts #bts au #bts scenarios #bts drabbles #bts drabble #bts x reader #bts min yoongi #bts angst #bts suga #bts x reader angst #bts fic #bts fics #bangtan #bts fanfic #bts yoongi x reader #bts yoongi

201 notes · View notes

alfred-play-despacito · 6 years ago

Text

Tim and his Funky Protective Gloopy Parasite AU

I will most likely never get around to officially writing this, but I’ve had it saved since December and wanted to post it... I basically rewrote the entire Venom movie to fit JayTim, okies, so spoilers if you haven’t seen it yet. Also I borrowed a lot of the dialouge too.

Tim works as an investigator for Vicky Vale. She wants him to hack some shit to find out if there’s an affair going on between Harleen Quinzel and Pamela Isley. Or take photos. He can totally do a photojournalist type thing. Or both.

Tim’s long term girlfriend Steph is an intern at Neo Eden. Tim uses her employee login to hack into the system and look at Pamela’s emails— he finds reports about using humans as test subjects for alien parasite hosts to save the environment and stop global warming. The next day, he writes a report, bypasses it through the editors and posts it on the Gotham Gazette website. Vicky calls him in, fires him.

Tim: But this is real! Something finally important! People are dying! Vicky: We’re a gossip paper, Tim, not the Daily Planet. Isley has the money to sue us, you’re lucky she hasn’t shut us down completely.

Tim is all huffy, whatever, it’s fine. He only did it as a hobby/part time job, he has his whole Drake inheritance.

Steph has his stuff out on the sidewalk when he gets back to their place. She’s fucking livid. And tries knocking him in the face with a brick.

Steph: You couldn’t be fucking chill for, like, five minutes? Tim: She’s killing people with aliens on some Save-The-Planet agenda. Steph: That was my internship! I was lining up a job there! I got fired because of you. Tim: Do you really want to work at a place that’s experimenting with aliens though?

She breaks up with him. His face is on the cover of the Gazette, fresh off the press. “Drake Heir Posts False Rumors Attacking Pamela Isley.”

Tim: So that’s how Vickey got out of a lawsuit.

Tim’s just not in the mood for anything, depressed and all that, so he dedicates himself to living an Aesthetic Mood by buying some shitty apartment in the Bowery. It sucks but he gets a small routine. Friends with the late night shift at Batburger. His neighbors suck.

Eventually someone from Neo Eden approaches him. The dude is named Dick Grayson, he’s an undercover cop that’s been working at Neo Eden as a security guard to investigate the shady shit going on ever since Tim’s article was published. He asks Tim for help. Tim says no.

Tim goes across the city to the Burnley District to see Steph. He meets Cass, who graduated from Gotham University as a med student and now works at Gotham General Hospital. He’s really bummed and decides to call Dick back.

Dick brings him in at night to see the facility. Tim takes photos and then sees one of the poor dudes from Batburger is a test subject. He tries to help the dude out but it backfires (as things in Tim’s life tend to do) and the dude attacks Tim and that’s when Venom is transferred.

Tim and Dick sneak back out (because Dick’s not dying), and Dick drops him off at his shitty place in the Bowery.

Tim: So, are you going to get fired from GCPD?

Dick’s really vague but says he’ll be okay, his boss can sort it out (meaning Bruce.)

All the weird stuff starts happening to him. Crazy appetite. A fever. Venom starts speaking to him, just single words like, hungry and food.

Deliriously, Tim goes out and finds Steph grocery shopping with Cass. He is a little rabid and is raiding the frozen food section, Venom pointing things out, and Steph is really embarrassed. It reaches extreme levels when they pass the seafood section and Tim plops into the lobster tank.

They take Tim to Gotham General. Cass tries to do an MRI test but of course he spazzes because the loud noise hurts Venom. Tim claims he’s fine and leaves.

Back at his shitty apartment, he eats a bunch of garbage and pukes. Venom starts talking to him. (Diverging from the film for this next bit) Tim is kind of just like “fuck this,” and sits down to watch some mindless tv and hopefully nap. Venom introduces himself as Venom.

Tim: What the hell are you? Venom: I am Venom. Tim: You can’t just call yourself Venom. Every superhero or supervillain needs a civilian identity. Just because you’re some alien parasite doesn’t make you special. Venom: I’m not a parasite. Tim: Oh look, Friday the 13th is on. Awesome, I’ve never actually seen the entire thing, so be quiet.

Eventually Tim has an epiphany.

Tim: I’ll call you Jason!

Tim’s neighbor plays obnoxiously loud music and Jason freaks and Tim stomps over there to tell him to be quiet. The dude says no. Jason pulls his little freaky face thing and growls at the dude. The dude agrees to turn it down.

Eventually, Ivy finds him. (Looked at the security camera footage, got a photo of his face, tracked him down, etc.) A bunch of mercs come to attack him.

Jason: Don’t open the door.

Tim’s an idiot so he opens the door.

Tim and Jason argue over putting their hands up or down. Jason wins and attacks the mercs.

Jason: Outstanding! Now, let’s bite off all their heads; heads in one pile, bodies in another. Tim, exasperated: Why would we do that?

They leave the apartment, Tim catches his reflection in the window of a car. Jason scares him.

Jason: I can replace you. I can find another host, you’re just a replacement for my last one. Tim: Listen, if you don’t like me you can just leave, okay?

Mercs and drones show up so they go on a crazy motorcycle chase which includes Jason saving Tim from dying, like, twelve times.

They end up at a secluded warehouse, Tim is fully healed.

Jason: You’re mine, Timmy. Cooperate and you just might survive. Tim: Are you going to… you going to eat anybody else? Jason: Most likely. Tim: Ugh, God.

They go back to the Gotham Gazette office but security stops Tim from getting in.

Tim: If we go back to the apartment I can hack the security and we can come back and sneak in. Jason: Where’s the office? Tim: 22nd floor. Jason: Up? Tim: Yeah.

Jason takes that as permission (and it was NOT) to crawl up the side of the building. Tim is mildly panicking. They end up at the top of the building.

Jason: It’s almost peaceful up here. Tim: I’m not a fan of heights. Jason: Your world is not so ugly after all. I’m almost sorry to see it end. Tim: Don’t drop me, I swear to freaking god, you will never get tater tots again— wait, what the heck does that mean?!

Cue the airplane. Jason starts freaking out because of the noise, so he withdraws and then Tim starts falling.

Tim: Where’d you go? Jay, where’d you go? Jay—

Jason grips on to the building.

Jason: I got us.

Tim leaves the photos of Ivy’s lab that he took on his phone on Vicky's desk.

Jason: Jump. Tim, walking to the elevator: Nope. Jason: Pussy.

Mercs are waiting downstairs for them.

Tim: Guys, you don’t want to do this, trust me. Mercs: Masks! Copy! Tim: Okay, okay, have it your way… Mask! Jason: Copy.

Steph finds them after the fight. She drives Tim back to Gotham General to do more tests. Jason tells Tim to man up and apologize to her.

At the hospital, Cass looks at test results and says Tim has a parasite. Jason gets angry about being called a parasite. Cass explains that Jason is basically draining Tim in order to live. Tim feels really betrayed and leaves.

Tim gets captured by Ivy. Once it’s clear that he no longer has Venom she wants him dead. The Mercs take him out to the middle of an abandoned warehouse to kill him. Jason saves the day. Jason kisses Tim as Steph, and during the kiss morphs back into Tim.

Tim and Jason head off to find Isley.

Jason: Riot’s got shit you won’t believe. Tim: What are our chances? Jason: Basically zero. Tim: Alright, fuck it, let’s go save the world.

There’s a big fight. (Need to think about the rocket situation because I don’t want Ivy to die.) Riot tries to rip Venom from Tim. Tim reaches out and in a moment of pure gay love, Jason reaches out too, Tim’s fingertips brush Jason and they fuse together. There’s more fighting.

Steph cranks up a speaker and the noise makes Ivy and Tim separate from their symbiotes. Ivy goes to grab Riot but Tim pushes her away. Tim turns around and is impaled by Riot. Riot grabs Ivy and they go to board the rocket. Jason latches onto Tim, heals him, then they climb the rocket. Jason cuts through the fuel line and the rocket explodes. The fire hits Jason and Tim, so Jason detaches and allows Tim to live. Tim falls into the bay.

Later, Tim is back chilling with Steph. They’re friends now. Jason is interrupting the conversation and Steph is suspicious that something is going on. Tim claims it’s nothing and leaves.

Jason and Tim walk around together. Tim tries laying down some ground rules. Mainly that they can only eat bad people.

At the empty Batburger at night, a thug tries to rob the cashier at gunpoint. Jason asks if that’s a bad guy and Tim says yes.

Jason: We will eat both your arms, and then both of your legs, and then we will eat your face right off of your head. You will be this armless, legless, faceless thing, won't you, going down the street like a turd in the wind. Thug: What the hell are you? Tim and Jason smile: We are Venom.

The cashier is like, “Okay am I tripping on too much acid, or…?”

Tim: Oh… I have a parasite. Yeah. See you later, dude.” Jason: PaRaSiTe!? Tim: Symbiote is too complicated for the average Gotham citizen to understand. Jason: Well, you’re just a depressed hermit. Tim: Take that back!

They continue walking.

Tim: So… what do you want to do now? Jason: The way I see it, we can do whatever we want.

#jaytim #jason todd #tim drake #venom crossover

27 notes · View notes

wildroseofarran · 6 years ago

Text

Doom Cloud, Cont. || Gralloway, RoJ, & Abel

MJ: "I heard 'bout your dad - not dad but dad - situation. Fletcher don't like talkin' 'bout ya t'me...or talkin' t'me at all, but..."

Pete: Pete nodded. It didn't surprise him that MJ knew. Everyone knew by now. What was surprising was that it had been Fletcher who'd told him.

"Yeah, well...that happened. To me he's still my dad. Other guy's just...a faceless, nameless sperm donor. My mom offered to tell me, show me a picture but I don't wanna know."

MJ: "Everyone alright? No like, divorce or some shit happenin'? Kinda too old for that shit, huh?" Easier to talk about the humans than the elephants between them.

Pete: "They're not quite okay yet but they're getting there. Dad was staying with Stella for a long while. He's moved back now and they've started going to counselling. Baby steps."

MJ: "Mm." Okay, well, he thought it would be easier. He couldn't think of anything worthwhile to say.

He scratched the back of his neck, silent.

Pete: That was okay. Pete had plenty of nervous babble left in him to fill the silence.

"They still don't know. About the bear thing."

MJ: "It would probably make em go crazy. My family ain't heard from me since I turned."

Pete: "Maybe, but maybe not. I think Luke might suspect."

MJ: "Suspect me or suspect ya?"

Pete: "Me. Been seeing him read a lot of supernatural books lately."

MJ: "Well, I mean, he hangs out with Cal."

Pete: "Cal's super careful not to let anything slip. I'm guessing Luke saw something or met someone that piqued his curiosity."

MJ: "Peter, Peter. The man is sleepin' with a vampire n'has a green thumb he can't excuse away," he smirked.

Pete: He chuckled softly. "True. On the other hand, Luke spent fifteen minutes looking for sunglasses that were on his head the other day."

MJ: "Yeah. See, it'll be fine," he laughed. Again, the smile faded. He looked away, to the woods, then back to his clothes.

"So...I...m'gonna..."

Pete: "O-oh. Right. Okay..." For a few moments it had felt like things were normal between them. Like they were just having a conversation in the woods. Now...

Now he didn't want MJ to go.

MJ: "I...uh...should-" he pointed to his strewn clothes. "Really didn't think ya were up. I just..." He didn't want to leave, but that voice in the back of his head told him he should.

Pete: "I'm a night owl," he said softly. "Up at weird hours." You don't have to leave, he added silently.

MJ: "Were ya always?"

Pete: "Pretty much. More now that I'm a bear once a month."

MJ: "I mean, I guess with the bar, but...I - I slept durin' the day so I dunno - I didn't-"

Why were words so difficult?

Pete: "The bar feels so easy now. It definitely eased the transition. Luckily it's only once a month." While MJ struggled with his words, Pete marveled at how he was managing his. His damn heart felt like it was getting ready to leap out of his chest.

MJ: "So," he scratched his chin, "tomorrow? Ya turn tomorrow? What d'ya do? Where d'ya go?"

Pete: "Tomorrow night," Pete confirmed with a nod. "Callum's been helping me. I pack a backpack with clothes and some supplies and we hike out into the woods, I turn, and he follows me around while I...be a bear."

MJ: "Ya always gonna need him? What 'bout Fletcher?" Almost said bitterly. Almost. He also refused to look at him. He was headed in the direction of his clothes. No swim tonight.

Pete: "Ever since I found out I've had someone with me. In France it was my mentor and now it's Callum." Fletcher had nothing to do with it.

MJ: "So why not him? Why ain't ya with him n'why ain't he the one givin' ya flowers? How come he ain't watchin' over ya?"

Well, the bottle was shaken enough.

Pete: "Because Callum is my best friend and being a bear is not something I wanted or particularly like or feel comfortable with. I need to feel safe when I turn. That's why Callum. He was the only choice."

MJ: "Ha don't feel safe with him? He came t'your rescue."

Pete: "Turning the first time was easily the most traumatic thing I've ever experienced. I still have nightmares. There's a kind of safe you can only trust certain people with. It's like asking someone to perform open heart surgery on you."

MJ: "I get it. I fell n'broke my fuckin' neck." On came the shirt, the jacket draped over his forearm.

"Have fun with Cal t'morrow."

Pete: "I'll have fun when it's over and I can sleep for twelve hours. Easily the most profound sleep I've ever had." Was he stalling? Probably. He didn't want MJ to go.

MJ: "Kay." Was this it? Would this be the end? He glanced over his shoulder. He could feel her there, resting her chin on his shoulder somehow.

Pete: "...…..Want to come along, MJ?" The end? No. This wouldn't be the end.

MJ: "I can't. I mean I shouldn't. I mean why? We're not - We're not a thing. Why would ya want me there, Pete?"

Pete: "I know we're not," Pete said quietly. "I just...I miss you. I want to share this with you." For the same reason he'd planted the roses, for the same reason he'd gotten MJ all those figurines for Christmas.

Because he loved him.

"If it makes you nervous, you don't have to be there for the actual turning part. And Callum will be there."

MJ: "How come ya miss me? How can ya say shit like that t'me after what ya did?"

He wanted answers he could believe. The reason why he gave him roses was because he wanted, in some way, for them to be normal again.

Pete: "Because you weren't just my boyfriend," Pete said so softly it was almost a whisper. This conversation warranted care. MJ warranted care, and Pete hadn't shown him nearly enough. "We were friends too. I can't miss my boyfriend without missing my friend and vice versa. I have no right, I know. But that doesn't stop me from missing you, or thinking about you, or loving you. I meant what I said in the note that was with the glass figurines. There has never been a day when I didn't love you, MJ Calloway."

MJ: "Don't say that." It would make his eyes pink. It was embarrassing.

"Ya can't say there ain't been a day when - when ya slept with someone else. 'Cause I left a note in the freezer; 'cause I had t'go n'leave ya alone. 'Cause we didn't actually fuck."

Pete: Making MJ cry was the last thing he wanted, but MJ deserved honesty. It was probably fucked up and it wouldn't make sense but....

"There hasn't been. You leaving hurt so much because I love you so much. But I can't blame you now because I get it now. I left. I had this albatross of a discovery hanging on me and the discovery kept on coming and I just needed to get out. To figure it out. I hate that you left but I can't be angry when I did the same thing. I can't be mad at the note in the freezer when I said goodbye to you with a spell that let me talk in your dreams. The fucking is the least of it. I wanted to be close to you and my brain latched on to that because being pissed is a lot easier than being lonely and sad. We had sex, we slept together, we were intimate and that meant something and I never, ever should've made you feel like it didn't. And I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry I hurt you."

MJ: He wasn't upset anymore? The note was no longer offensive? The lack of intercourse was no longer a sin? He was forgiven of his trespasses? How could that be - how, he wondered, could he forgive himself?

The vampire leaned against the nearest tree and took a seat. Slowly, the black cloud returned, shadowing his figure so as to mask his crying. He was angry with him. He loved him. He loved Rohan. What the fuck...

Pete: It wasn't that the note didn't hurt--or that the entire situation didn't hurt--there had simply come a point when Pete had just had to make a choice; he could let the anger eat him alive until there was nothing left or he could try to understand. And interestingly enough, discovering he wasn't human was what helped him understand. It was so different learning about the supernatural and actually being and experiencing it in your life.

Holding on to his anger was killing him, and while he could admit now that letting go of it had been good for him, it had left sadness and pain and regret in its wake.

All things he felt keenly as MJ sank to the ground and wept. What could he do but sink along with him. He didn't cry; he'd finally run out of tears. But he had no doubt MJ would feel the avalanche of emotion pouring out of him and hanging in the air like so much mist after a storm.

MJ: "I dunno what to do." Words said after several minutes of tears. Tears which Victoria had allowed. They pleased her.

"I met someone. A while back...before I - before Cal kicked me out. It wasn't anything then. It is now. He's a witch. Old man, but, he ain't. He's all trapped in youth n'whathaveya. He's...He helps against...her. Some days she takes over. Part of a whole night n'I don't remember shit. He drives her out. I love him, Pete. I love ya, too. I dunno what m'supposed t'do. How m'I any better? I ain't got no right."

Pete: Pete had remained silent, watching the moon and the stars and wondering and wishing he was a Seer so he could find the answers they both needed in them.

He looked over when MJ finally spoke again, immediately staring at the ground when his vampire mentioned his new love interest. He remembered the wicked witch mentioning it that night after the incident at the sheriff's house, and though a part of him wished the new lover was an asshole so he could have an excuse to hate him, it was nice knowing MJ had someone who cared about him and was treating him well.

"I'm glad he helps." And he was. Anything that helped against Victoria was something to be glad about. "I love you, too, sweetheart. Maybe neither of us has the right but....doesn't change how we feel. Maybe...we can figure it out. Find a new normal."

MJ: "But...a new normal means learnin' t'trust ya again. How can ya ask me that? I still don't get - Fletcher Goodman? Of all the pe - Why?"

Pete: He took a deep breath and nodded. "It does, and I realize that it's a lot to ask after what I've done and how I treated you. But I wouldn't be asking or even considering asking if I wasn't completely prepared to put in the effort and the care you deserve. If I wasn't willing to work and try to be worthy of you."

Pete heaved a long sigh. He didn't even remotely want to talk about it, but if MJ really wanted to know, to understand, was it wrong to deny him that?

"Are you asking because you really, really want to know, or are you just...thinking out loud?"

MJ: He remained in silence until the question was asked of him. The cloud slowly dissipated. Pete would finally see his ex, knees hugged to his chest. A stance he'd never taken before.

"Both, I guess. It can't just be ya doin' shit for me. I ain't worthy of ya. I left. I left like shit. I ate a woman's soul. I gave ya reason - however shitty - to -" he sighed. This was giving him a headache. This or that cunt. He couldn't recognize the difference anymore.

"Was it even cheatin'? I left n'I came back but I remember; I put in the letter that ya could quit me."

Pete: It broke Pete's heart to see MJ like that. So vulnerable and fragile. He had to fight the urge to hug him.

"Hey, no. Don't do that." Pete gathered his courage, moved a little closer. "Eating Victoria's soul was not your choice. You were forced, practically upon pain of death. You didn't want to. You didn't plan to. You're not the villain of that story, sugar. Don't think for one second that you are, no matter what your shitty days tell you, no matter what she tells you." He was absolutely done letting Victoria turn MJ into her plaything. "You're not the villain.

"And what I did? That's on me. I should've talked to you, I should've found a way to--" He sighed. "I took the coward's way. I went behind your back and I hurt you."

MJ: His words didn't seem to match their past. Their past arguments. This felt unfair. He was the villain. He was worthy of every moment separated from this man. He didn't deserve him, nor did he deserve Rohan Dalca.

But...

"What did ya mean? Before, 'bout my dreams? When did ya do that?"

Pete: Pete's brow furrowed. "What are you....oh right, the spell. I left in February, so then. I had Callum's cousin Bronwyn help me. Did it work? I was afraid it wouldn't."

MJ: "Bronwyn?" The name wasn't registering.

Pete: He nodded. "Yep. It's this spell where I talk into a bowl of water--or as she said, ideally a mountain spring--and you're able to hear me, like in a dream."

MJ: "Have I met Bronwyn? Why did - I thought that was her."

Pete: "I'm not sure. She's 5'4, long black hair, super light green eyes, wears heels like they're sneakers."

MJ: "N'that wasn't Victoria?"

Pete: His brow furrowed again. "Victoria? No, that--" Annnnd it clicked, and immediately broke his heart. "Oh my god. Oh, baby. Did you think was Victoria all this time?"

MJ: "Ya - Duh! I knew ya as a human! Why would ya be able t'do that?! Why would ya say any of that t'me?! Of course it was her!"

Pete: "I know magical people! I thought about calling but I didn't know if you'd get the call or pick up so I asked Bron to help me! I said what I felt and fuck her for making you think any different! I can prove it was me!"

MJ: "Ya ain't gotta prove it. You're sayin' it! Ya shoulda just called me! We both should just called each other! No, wait. I did call ya!"

Pete: "I know. I know we should've. I know you called and I hung up on you." Pete closed his eyes, let his head fall into his hands, rested his elbows on his knees.

"I can't believe it didn't occur to me that that bitch would use my goodbye to you to her advantage. I should've known."

MJ: Dried eyes suddenly crinkled. He laughed, "We're fuckin' assholes."

Pete: Miraculously enough, that managed to get a smile out of Pete. Maybe even a chuckle of his own. "Looks that way. God." He rubbed his face. "So many goddamn wasted moments. C'est une tragédie grecque."

MJ: Wait, he knew some of that thanks to Xavier. It was a welcome distraction.

"It's a tragedy something or other?"

Pete: There was another smile. Look at you, he thought.

"A Greek tragedy. I kinda...learned French."

MJ: "France is okay. I liked Spain more."

Pete: "Spain is beautiful. Spent a week in Granada staring at all the architecture and eating all the ham and spending too much money on saffron."

MJ: "I was mostly in Barcelona. Madrid, too. S'like a different world."

Pete: "It really, really is. Hard to believe it actually exists sometimes. How long were you there?"

MJ: "Just a night at a time. I kinda made friends with a demon."

Pete: "Xavier, right?"

MJ: "Oh, right. That phone call."

Pete: He nodded. "He sounds like James Bond."

MJ: "Should hear it slip when he's pissed or tired."

Pete: "Slip? He's not really English?"

MJ: "No he is. He's just not that kinda English. He's like cockney or somethin'."

Pete: "Ah, okay. Trained himself into the posh James Bond accent then."

MJ: "Ain't James Bond Scottish?"

Pete: "Sean Connery is. By far the best Bond."

MJ: "Ain't we supposed t'be yellin' at each other?"

Pete: "I don't know, maybe."

MJ: "She's itchin' me right now."

Pete: "She can fuck off. And if she won't, I know what'll make her."

MJ: "What are ya gonna do t'me?"

Pete: "Nothing. Just gonna take you to the rose garden."

MJ: "How's that gonna shut her up?"

Pete: "You didn't think they were just roses, did you? They were specially engineered." Pete got to his feet, held out a hand to help MJ do the same. If he didn't want to take it, that was okay.

MJ: As much as he wanted to, he couldn't. He would get to his feet independently.

"I thought it was some kinda sign. Never seen roses like that 'fore."

Pete: He withdrew his hand. No harm done.

"That's because there are no roses like that. Not anywhere in the world. They're just on that riverbank, and they're all yours. I had Callum make it so the blue matched the blue of the glass ones you've given me."

MJ: It was romantic. He had questions. So many. The most heavy weighted his chest.

"Didn't...ya break them?" he asked quietly. "Or throw em out?"

Pete: Pete shook his head. "No, MJ. I didn't break them or throw them away." He couldn't if he tried. The lamp, the first one, had been broken in a rage and he regretted it.

"They're on my bedside table. And Pinky Pete is on my bed."

MJ: "...Pinky Pete? Really? He's so old." He smiled, and away it went again. "I tried t'warn ya then. Tried t'scare ya off..."

Pete: Pete affected a very dramatically offended expression. "Old? Pinky Pete isn't old! He's distinguished. Like George Clooney."

MJ had tried to warn him. And Victoria had tried to ruin things then too. "Not that scare-able."

MJ: "I noticed. Ya've always been that way. Like when I pestered ya at the bar night in and night out. The snake didn't scare ya. I actually," he began to walk, "dunno what does."

Pete: He fell into step beside his vampire. "Lots of little, abstract things. A few big things. When my dad had his accident, I just..." He sighed. "I don't think I've ever been that terrified."

MJ: He almost called him babe. "You're gonna lose him someday. You're gonna out live em. Maybe all of em, since you're...a - probably an official term for it. Werebear, I guess."

Pete: "It never occurred to me that I could until I saw him laying in that hospital bed. He looked so small and fragile. The thought of losing him or my mom or Luke or Stella or Ryan or Graham or Callum or you or anyone petrifies me. I don't know how Gaetan's been able to do it for so many years."

MJ: "That's a long ass list. People - kid - a lot of people out live their parents, aunts, so on. Ya gotta figure out how you're gonna deal with it."

Pete: "It's even longer. I'm still learning how to deal with the shit that comes with being alive. I get why June boxes now, and why Callum gardens. Thinking about things is exhausting."

MJ: The vampire laughed. "'Thinkin' is hard!'"

Pete: "It is hard. That's why stupid people always seem so energetic."

MJ: "There's bein' oblivious n'then there is the tragic genius. Maybe you're a tragic genius."

Pete: He chuckled dryly. "Yeah, maybe. I'm a tragic something, that's for sure."

MJ: "Compare your life t'mine. Not tryin' t'get a boo hoo outta ya. Just...it ain't shit."

Pete: "We're both tragic somethings then, but you're right. And until we have to worry about tragedy and death, there are magic MJ-blue roses."

MJ: "Don't - It sounds - That's too - That's too much." That sentence was too broken. He laughed again, with embarrassment.

Pete: "The MJ blue thing?" Pete couldn't help the smile. Not because he managed to fluster his vampire, but because that was the last thing he expected to fluster MJ.

"That's what I've been calling it. When I asked Callum to make them, I said I wanted them to be blue. He asked me what kind of blue, and I showed him a picture of one of my glass roses and he said, 'ah, MJ blue'. It stuck."

MJ: "So Cal made it up?" He frowned. "He don't want me here." His voice took on an uncharacteristic panic.

"He can't know m'here. He'll - I just don't want him t'know, kay?"

Pete: "He did, and he and I had a long conversation. He won't bother you when you come to town, you're not banned or blackballed. He'll leave you alone."

Even so, Pete nodded. "I won't tell him if you don't want me to, but he won't hurt you, okay? You're safe."

MJ: "Ya say that, but what I did - what she made me do." He looked away and shook his head.

"If he don't kill me, Ro will."

Pete: "He wants to kill her, not you. And I'll wager the same thing goes for this Ro."

MJ: "No one can kill her."

Pete: "I know someone who can pull it off. Someone far stronger than she could ever hope to be."

MJ: "If y'all try t'rip her out you're gonna take me with her."

Pete: "Ripping damages and destroys." And that was not an option. "I'm thinking more along the lines of careful and precise surgical removal."

MJ: "Peter," not a name he was often called, "it's not your problem. We're not -" he sighed. "We're not... t'gether. She's my problem."

Pete: "She tried to collect and then murder my best friend, she infected you, and she tried to kill and rape me. It's very much my problem, and I'm going to drag her to hell myself if I have to."

MJ: "I don't want your help!"

Pete: "Would you accept someone else's?"

MJ: "I barely let Ro help..."

Pete: "If he found a way to surgically remove that she-demon would you at least consider it?"

MJ: "It's supposed t'be my trial."

Pete: "Even Hercules had a trainer."

MJ: "I've only seen the Disney film."

Pete: "Well it wasn't actually a sassy faun in real life but the trainer did exist. No one does it alone. Not Hercules, not Spartacus, not anybody."

MJ: "Maybe I don't want help," he said quietly. Now he had to have this conversation with Peter, as he had with Xavier, with Rohan, with the damn nanny.

Pete: And Pete's heart broke once more.

"Maybe I don't want to watch you die," he said just as softly.

MJ: "Shut up," he sighed and rubbed his face.

Pete: He would, but his words still hung in the air. He would not rest until the she-demon was dead as dust.

At least they'd arrived at the rose garden. That was a good distraction, right?

MJ: MJ stared at the wild blue garden with fresh eyes. Without a doubt it was beautiful. He should have known better.

"Guess we got that in common, me n'Fletch."

Pete: "You have what in common?" Pete asked, picking one of the roses. Callum really had done a wonderful job. They were the exact blue of the glass roses and they smelled earthy and sweet.

MJ: "Givin' ya flowers."

He reached for the one in Pete's hand.

"He'd smack ya for this, right?"

Pete: It was freely given. "Probably a lot of things he would smack me for, but we don't talk."

MJ: "Not Fletch. Callum. N'me too for pluckin'. Shoulda said his name, I guess. Talkin' 'bout two people at once. Just...lettin' my head go."

Pete: "Cal wouldn't have done this for me if he planned to smack either of us. Besides, didn't I tell you these are magic roses? Look."

He pointed where he'd just plucked a rose; a new one was already growing in its place.

MJ: "Why would ya do this...for me...?"

Pete: Pete smiled softly at MJ. His beautiful, beloved MJ.

"Do you really have to ask?"

MJ: "Yes, Pete. Ya can say all day ya made a mistake but was it?"

Pete: "Love," he said simply.

MJ: "I love ya, but ya fucked another man n'didn't bother t'tell me."

Pete: He bowed his head. "I know. I know I did, and I am so sorry I lied to you and hurt you."

MJ: "Look me in the eyes."

Pete: Pete lifted his head.

MJ: 'Rohan, please help me,' he thought. 'I might betray you.'

"Say it again."

Pete/Rohan: While hundreds of miles away a witch stirred in his sleep, Pete stepped closer to his vampire.

"That I love you? That I'm immeasurably sorry for lying to you and hurting you? I do, and I am."

MJ: "Can ya prove it?"

Pete: "My love or my remorse?"

MJ: "Both."

Pete: "Would....allowing you to feel what I feel serve as enough proof?"

MJ: "What?"

Pete: "Using a spell, I can allow you to feel what I feel. It's intense and you might be dizzy after but..."

MJ: "Whatever happened t'just talkin' 'bout it? Spell this, spell that. Now you're a fuckin' werebear. Jesus, Pete."

Pete: "I know, it's a lot. Believe me. I spent six months learning how to use a gladiator sword and testing my new powers. If you prefer talking, we'll talk. But in order to do that, there's something else I have to show you."

MJ: "More magic, Pete? It's a lot. It's a lot a lot. I fuckin' left 'cause of my "a lot" n'I didn't fuck someone else!"

Pete: "Yeah, more magic. Turns out being a bear--or just a fera in general--comes with a little bit of it and Gaetan wanted me to know how to use it instead of just resenting it. And how just how much 'a lot' it is, it was an avalanche of nothing but, and I handled it wrong. Completely wrong. I hurt you. I betrayed your trust, betrayed our relationship. That isn't on you. That's on me."

MJ: "How m'I ever supposed t'trust ya again?! Every text message could be that motherfucker! Maybe someone else! Then I dunno if I'm paranoid n'an asshole or if it's ya actually doin' somethin'! I still have a woman inside me! A fuckin' old, old vampire in my head n'I'm tryin' t'not kiss ya n'just live with this n'then I wanna yell! M'yellin'! Again!"

Pete: Pete remained silent as MJ vented. He couldn't argue any of it because it was true; MJ had no reason to trust him after what happened, and Pete didn't blame him. All he had, and all he could really hang on to, was hope.

As MJ too fell silent, Pete pulled his phone from his pocket and offered it. "My password is 'Midas'. I keep it locked because I don't want someone at work or my family to see anything supernatural. His number isn't in there. All the French names in there are the people I stayed with while I was in France. Gaetan is my mentor. Sylvain is his grandson and my friend. I mention the name 'Clarke' a few times. Clarke is my previous incarnation that I recently found out about."

MJ: MJ stared at the offered phone with momentary confusion. Was this really the length Peter was willing to go just to prove himself? But...why, when he was well aware of Rohan?

'Ro, please...'

"Reincarnation is a thing? Seriously?" Because it was the one thing to cling to.

Pete/Rohan: This was absolutely the length Pete was willing to go to. He'd give MJ his email password too if that was what helped reassure him.

Rohan stirred again, this time to full wakefulness. 'MJ?' was his first thought, and his first word. Part of him had expected to find his vampire laying beside him.

Meanwhile, back in the forest Pete was nodding. "Yep. It's seriously a thing. Callum found his and now I found mine."

MJ: 'Ro?'

MJ suddenly straightened, surprised to hear anything other than his own voice in his head. 'Ro, help me. I'm with Peter Graham and I think - I think I might - I don't know. She's loud.'

"Why ain't ya got Fletcher in here?" The phone was tossed back. He knew he was jumping subjects, but it was the only way to keep Victoria quiet.

Pete/Rohan: Rohan was getting out of bed and reaching for his clothes before MJ finished speaking.

'I'll be right there. I just need you to take a deep breath for me. Where are you exactly?'

"Because we don't speak and have no reason to. We're no longer in each other's lives."

MJ: "How is that," he took a deep breath, "possible? He like, ran across the street t'ya. I don't even know what he is. He just stinks like no human I've ever smelled."

'Edenton. Sorry. In the woods by the river.'

Pete/Rohan: "You'd be surprised how little you can interact with someone whose business is across the road from yours. I barely even see him around. He has his life and I have mine."

Rohan nodded to himself as he pulled his shirt on. 'I'll be right there, puiule. Just breathe.’

MJ: It was emotional, the lengths Pete tried for him. The reminder that this was only because of his lapse in judgement. Victoria was absolutely ravenous.

MJ had leaned his weight against the nearest tree, hand covering his eyes.

"Didn't ya say it - it was - ya loved him for forever?"

Pete/Rohan: "It was a childhood/teenagehood love that wasn't made to survive adulthood. That couldn't survive it." Perhaps it could have, in some other life, some other life, where Luke and MJ didn't exist. But not in this one. They both had to live their lives, even if it was apart.

Rohan dressed and readied to teleport in record time. What concerned him wasn't Pete Graham--for now--it was her. The situation was sure to be emotional and intense enough without the hag adding in her own brand of volatility.

He appeared at the river and followed it, listening above the rush of water for MJ.

MJ: "I don't...think...ya love me. Pete. I think I'm second best. Otherwise...otherwise...ya wouldn't."

The vampire inclined his head and took another breath.

"Even Vicky here agrees." Or maybe she planted the seed.

Pete/Rohan: "I do believe it's time for Vicky to fall silent now."

Not Pete's voice. This one was older, calmer, without the mild lilt of a lifetime in the South.

Rohan had found them.

MJ: Without revealing his eyes he gasped. Instant relief washed over him.

"Ro...she's so loud."

Pete: "Step into the rose garden." Pete's voice again.

MJ: "How's that gonna help?"

Rohan: "Do as he says, puiule. There's a little path there, see? Just for you."

MJ: He was afraid to open his eyes. Breath after breath before he forced them open.

"I feel like I'm goin' crazy, n'ya'll want me t'prance in a garden."

Rohan: "That's no ordinary garden." Rohan again, driving home what Pete had been saying. "Just step inside it." He reached for MJ's hand. If he couldn't bring himself to walk in alone, Rohan would walk with him.

MJ: 'It's just weeds. It's just weeds and grass and dirt and nothing. It's not real because you're not real. You're fading into obscurity. Soon you'll be gone, but they don't want you to know that.'

"Shut up." He squeezed Rohan's hand. "Not - I don't mean..."

Rohan: "I know, puiule," he whispered, leading his vampire down the little path Peter had created amongst the vibrant blue roses.

And just as both men had been telling MJ, this was no ordinary rose garden. The moment MJ set foot on the path, the roses began to glow with a familiar, soothing green light. Just weeds, Victoria? Oh, no. Far from it.

MJ: His eyes had reddened from stress. His skin, though usually pale, seemed sickly. Her voice exhausted him.

He turned, looking around with deep even breaths. He was doing his best.

"What...is this?"

Pete: With each deep breath, the light seemed to wrap around MJ and embrace him, inviting his mind to calm and his body to relax. And if he looked closely, he might be able to see a hint of gold woven in amongst the green.

"It's a serenity garden," Pete said quietly. "It helps you calm down, pushes away the demons in your head. My mentor planted one for me outside my cottage. Some nights when nightmares woke me up, I'd take my sleeping bag out there. Only way I could fall back asleep."

MJ: The garden which he had plucked for days seemed more like a church. He felt he should be quiet, respect what he had broken.

With his eyes to the ground, he situated himself center of the blue roses. Here, maybe, her voice would fade with the rustling breeze.

Lashes fell and another breath was taken.

"It's all in my head, right? Like aromatherapy?"

Pete: Had MJ voiced this thought, Pete would've told him that he'd broken nothing. These roses were for him; to pick, to admire, to smell, and to take comfort from.

Pete shook his head. "Nope. The light literally calms you. It's Druid magic."

MJ: "How d'ya know 'bout druid stuff?" He looked to Rohan.

Rohan: "Anyone who presumes to know about magic must learn about Druid magic," said Rohan. It was perfectly true. "It gives off a very specific aura."

MJ: "What aura do I give off?"

Rohan: "You have a magical aura on your own."

MJ: "Probably stinks."

Rohan: "It's actually very patriotic."

MJ: "What?"

Rohan: "It shifts between red, white, and blue."

MJ: "What does that mean?" The conversation proved a distraction.

Rohan: "Depends who you ask and which school of thought they buy into. The colors and elements that make up an aura are varied and everyone gives them different meanings."

MJ: "That don't tell me much."

Rohan: "Based on what I know, I'm pretty confident that the red is a testament to your vampirism." He also had a very decent guess about the blue, but he wouldn't bring it up when they were literally surrounded by a small sea of that very color.

MJ: "Is this what we're doin' right now? Just standin' here talkin' 'bout colors?"

Rohan: Rohan smiled. "It would appear so. How do you feel?"

MJ: "Confused, and my shoulders hurt. Y'all ain't gonna hurt each other or anything, right?"

Pete/Rohan: Rohan and Pete both shook their heads. "No one's hurting anyone," said Pete.

MJ: This felt too harmonious. Someone would explode. Someone was going to threaten something. Wait, that would mean he was worth getting jealous over. The sun would sooner die a slow and quiet death.

"I was here...givin' him flowers I found."

Pete/Rohan: "These roses, I imagine?" MJ was absolutely worth getting jealous over, but that wasn't what he needed right now. He needed calm, and Rohan had an endless well of it.

Pete gave a confirming nod.

MJ: This calm, despite these roses, felt out of place. Yell something. Sneer at each other. Laugh and tell me it's over. Punish me. Do something!

"That's it?"

Pete: "What do you mean?" Pete asked. He wasn't exactly thrilled at having MJ's new love interest here, but his presence was helping MJ. That mattered more than anything right now. "Are the roses working? I wasn't sure they would. Nightmares are a lot different from a she-demon."

MJ: "No, I don't hear her, but now m'just - I hear myself n'that's loud, too."

Pete: "Imagine....the light is a glass of water. Every sip you take, you get a little less thirsty. Let it in, and everything will feel quieter."

MJ: "Please, stop. You're too much sometimes. You're both just too much."

Pete: Pete fell silent again, turning his attention to the stars.

MJ: The tension wasn't going away with silence. Still, he kept it. He felt the petals between his fingers and bit his tongue.

Rohan: Rohan followed suit, remaining silent but offering MJ comfort in his own way. Present company prevented anything too amorous, but that didn't mean he couldn't squeeze his vampire's hand.

MJ: "Look, this has t'be addressed."

Pete: Pete turned back to MJ. "Which part?"

MJ: "The part where you're both here pretendin' t'be okay with ya both bein' here."

Rohan: "Us being okay or not isn't the pressing issue," Rohan said evenly. "That's a conversation for another time."

MJ: "'Cause m'all fragile n'possessed by an elder?"

Rohan: "You're not fragile." This said more firmly. "This just isn't the time or place for it, and when we do find the time and place, she won't be allowed to interfere."

MJ: "Well, she ain't. Magic roses are lettin' my mind out on spring break. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve either of ya."

Pete: "That's not true." This time from Pete. "Magic roses are the least I can do."

MJ: "Stop!" The vampire began to pace. No. It was time to leave. This was overwhelming him. He would rather brave her voice and step out of the garden.

Pete: "No no no, MJ, stop!" Goddamn it. Just once--once!--he wanted something to go smoothly. "What do you want me to say? That I'm not thrilled he's here? I'm not." He was trying so hard not to raise his voice. "I just--I want you to be okay. I want her to shut up and leave you alone. No matter what she's told you or what you've told yourself, you don't deserve her torment. You deserve peace of mind. That's why I planted the roses. To try and make up, even a little bit, for the fucked up things I've done."

MJ: "Nothin' she's said has ever been a lie! Did she like 'bout Rohan? No. Ya know it's true. Y'all are hangin' on t'somethin' that don't exist anymore. I don't exist anymore. M'just fragments."

Pete: "I refuse to believe that. I'm not looking at fragments, I'm looking at you. You still exist. The moment I stop believing that, just fucking stab me in the head."

MJ: "Ya thought I'd hurt ya that night. Even Fletcher thought it."

Pete: "I thought you wanted to."

MJ: "Ya hurt me. I never wanted t'see ya again. She kept tellin' me to, n'then she went quiet. N'then..."

Pete: "I know, baby," he whispered. And then....?

MJ: And then she tried to rape him.

He looks away.

Rohan: 'Don't let her win,' Rohan whispered, not out loud, but mentally. Privately.

MJ: 'Too many voices in my head,' he thought.

Rohan: Fair point.

"Would you like to go home, MJ?" Rohan asked softly.

MJ: "...Yeah. I - I wanna go home."

Pete/Rohan: Rohan nodded and turned to Peter Graham. "By your leave, Mr. Graham."

His leave? That was the last fucking thing he wanted to give. But that was what MJ wanted, and Pete didn't want to force his presence on his vampire.

"Safe journey then."

MJ: Forcing himself to stay in place was on par with listening to Pete's sweet encouragement. But soon Rohan would take his hand and they would be gone. Xavier's home wasn't his home. He didn't have a home. He had a broken down RV on the grounds. These men were delusional to love him.

"Thanks," he managed to say.

Pete/Rohan: Rohan would take him his hand and take them home, but not yet. Something about Mr. Graham's expression gave him pause.

"MJ," Pete began softly. "I...." What could he say? Don't give up? Don't make this the last time we see each other? I love you?

Maybe he could say them all with a look.

MJ: "Don't look at me like that. What d'ya want me t'do?"

Pete: He heaved a long sigh. "I don't know. Come back to your garden if you need to. Please."

MJ: "...Yeah." Their reunions would always be this difficult. Nothing would change. Time did not seem to be a factor.

He waited for Rohan to take them away, wondering what happened to the man he used to be.

Pete/Rohan: Pete believed--or was trying to believe--the opposite. He had so much hope. How could they each have all this emotion if they felt nothing for each other? He loved MJ with all his heart and soul; not trying to get him back was not an option.

Even when some man was currently leading his love away from his rose garden and into the woods.

Rohan didn't plan to zap them back just yet. They needed a walk first.

MJ: Long steps into the woods and away from his distractions was welcome. The negative space between the trees didn't feel nearly enough. He felt blanketed by shadow and though it was safe, that's all it was. He felt no freedom within.

"I'm sorry."

Rohan: "What are you sorry for, puiule?" He used the endearment deliberately. It was his own subtle way of saying that despite what transpired, his feelings hadn't changed.

MJ: The endearment was noticed. It was painful. "None of this would have happened if I just kept to myself."

Rohan: "You don't know that. You kept to yourself when you came to the manor and yet here we are."

MJ: "I gave him roses because they reminded me of him. Ya said ya love me n'I still did that. Here I am, Ro. This is me. M'no better than him."

Rohan: "And here I am, MJ. Today changes nothing of how I feel."

MJ: "It should! Ya should hate me!"

Rohan: "I don't hate you."

MJ: "I wish ya would."

Rohan: "Why?"

MJ: "At least that makes sense. The fuck ya doin' with someone like me? You're a witch in a young man's body livin' in a mansion with a demon that can give ya the world. You're fawnin' over some dead guy that got kicked outta college n'gives roses t'his ex that cheated on him. Oh. Oh not t'mention, uh, I gotta fuckin' bitch in my head."

Rohan: "You always come back to Xavier, MJ. He's my friend and nothing more. He's never been anything more. I have no romantic interest in him whatsoever." Though his tone was reassuring, Rohan doubted that would convince his vampire. His opinion of himself was too heartbreakingly low.

"You're not just 'some dead guy'. I don't care about college, I never went myself. I can tolerate the roses because I know you and Graham have unfinished business. As for that thing inside you? She can't and won't stop me from caring for you, and I cannot wait for the day I get her out of you so I can watch her burn like she deserves."

MJ: "Ya don't make any sense!" he flailed. "You're too perfect! S'like I dreamt ya up or somethin'!" He never would have spoken to this man in such manner months ago. Wear and tear had taken its toll.

"I can't do this anymore. With either of ya. I can't."

Rohan: "You didn't dream me up, I'm real!" Rohan took MJ's hands and held them to his chest so his vampire could feel him breathe, so he could feel his heartbeat, squeezed his hands hard to try to bring him back to earth.

"I'm real. Let me decide what it is I want. Don't pull away from me, MJ. Hurt me, yell at me, curse at me, but don't pull away. Don't do that to either of us, please."

MJ: Either of us? Would Rohan really say that? He didn't know anymore.

"Why would ya say that?"

Rohan: "Because you mean something you amazing, thick-headed man! You're loved!"

MJ: "How can ya just keep sayin' that?!"

Rohan: "How can I just say that? How can I just say that?" Maybe he shouldn't say it at all. Maybe he should just show him.

Maybe Rohan would just take this beautiful infuriating man in his arms and hold him tight and pour all of his being and all his emotion into a kiss he'd remember for the rest of his life.

MJ: A kiss which would make the man in his arms shiver, and gently bite his lip in protest. A kiss which would cause a pain in his chest. A kiss which formed ugly pink tears in his eyes.

"M'sorry."

Rohan: Rohan closed his eyes, holding MJ that much tighter. "I love you so much but for the love of all the gods in all the worlds in all the multiple universes, stop apologizing to me, puiule."

MJ: "Make me," he sniffled.

Rohan: "Draga mea," he said softly, gently kissing all those tears away. "Hold on tight, okay?" He was taking them home. He tried to make the process as gentle as possible, kissing MJ for the duration.

MJ: His arms clung firmly around his protective witch. He had actually come to his rescue. He felt like a goddamn princess and Rohan made no effort to mask his intent. It was romantic. He loved it; he loved him.

"What time is it?" he asked when they arrived.

Rohan: "It's late. Or early, depending on how you look at it." Rohan had transported them directly into his bedroom, and as soon as he was sure they'd gathered their wits about them, he lifted MJ and carried him to bed. Even if they didn't sleep, he needed to hold him for a while. Comfort them both.

MJ: The vampire gasped in his arms. "I'm not a - oh whatever." He leaned into the witch and closed his eyes. He wouldn't be letting go.

Rohan/Abel: Rohan was prepared to fight MJ on the matter of holding him and soothing him, but he was glad he didn't have to. It was more time he could spend loving on his vampire, kissing him, murmuring loving nonsense to distract him.

And distraction was the name of the game for the little dog currently running to his bedroom. He could feel the onslaught of emotion they'd brought with them and he couldn't sit idly by and do nothing.

MJ: The dog was a welcome distraction from the love he knew he would receive. MJ stared at the little creature with a frown. Goddammit, he loved dogs. He loved everything on four legs.

"Hey, asshat."

Abel: Abel came around to MJ's side and propped himself up on the bed. He whined softly, asking for permission to jump up.

MJ: "Yeah, sure. C'mon." He reached for the back of the little dog's neck to help him climb the thick comforter.

Abel: He eased himself up on the bed, giving MJ's hand a grateful lick before settling near his head, whining again.

MJ: "What's the matter? Hungry or som-" Duh. He looked the little creature in the eyes and scratched behind his ear.

"Tell me your thoughts."

Abel: Abel just whined and nuzzled into MJ's hand.

Are you okay? You're sad. I don't want you to be sad.

MJ: "Just a downer day, lil man. S'all."

Abel: This was more than a downer day. A downer day didn't run this deep.

He began licking MJ's forehead.

MJ: "Fuck, no," he laughed. "Ah, stahp."

Abel: His tail began to wag. He got a laugh!

MJ: "Go bother someone else, ya mutt."

Abel: Nope. He was going to keep licking your head and nuzzling into you in his loving doggy way.

MJ: Well, maybe some scritches behind his ear. He looked around for his witch.

Rohan: Rohan had rested his chin on MJ's shoulder, watching the exchange with a soft smile on his face.

MJ: "Ya called him in here or somethin'?"

Rohan: He shook his head. "I didn't. He came in on his own."

MJ: "Why is everything in a demon's house nice?"

Rohan: "It's a very strange, very unique demon's house, puiule."

MJ: "Yeah, yeah. Guess you'll say I'm the exception."

Rohan: "You aren't. A little dog is bathing your head like a cat and you're not shooing him away."

MJ: "I like animals. S'all."

Rohan: "And that particular very sweet animal is very attuned to people. Do you remember the afternoon Xavier dragged us to New York for lunch because he wanted proper pizza?"

MJ: "Yeah?"

Rohan: "He brought Abel along too, if you recall. And about halfway through the meal, little Abel there started snarling."

MJ: "But...why?"

Rohan: "The woman at the table next to us was abusing her son."

MJ: "I...I don't - I'm too tired t'understand what you're drivin' at, Ro."

Rohan: "What I'm driving at is that Abel isn't just a dog. He's attuned to people, to who they are. He wouldn't be here comforting you if you were a bad person. You're a good person."

MJ: "Ya gonna tell me he's a demon bein' punished t'live in the body of a dog? He has t'be a good boy n'then he can be real."

Rohan: Rohan shook his head. "No, not a demon. Not cursed. He's Xavier's familiar. And he's very real."

MJ: "Wait, what?"

Rohan: "Abel is Xavier's familiar."

MJ: "Yeah but what does that mean?"

Rohan: "It means he's not just a dog. He's a magical dog who's a magical companion, and he can turn into a person."

MJ: "...A person just licked my face."

Rohan: "Sort of," he chuckled. "It's been a while since he assumed his human form. He has moods like that sometimes."

MJ: "You're a pervert," he sighed at the dog. "Ya can't deny it now." An attempt at a joke. His exhausted voice simply couldn't carry it.

Rohan/Abel: Abel responded by licking his forehead some more. A doggy response to the joke perhaps.

It was a particular form of affection that carried great meaning, but Rohan didn't think it wise to bring it up at the moment.

MJ: No, he didn't understand meaning behind the action aside from what it meant as a dog. Even that was too much to bear. The little creature was given a gentle pat.

Rohan/Abel: MJ's hand was nuzzled into and given a lick as well before Abel curled against the vampire.

Rohan smiled and reached over to scratch his ears. "I think you might be his favorite person in this house."

MJ: "Don't butter me up. His favorite is probably that butler on account of givin' him treats."

Rohan: "Ah, so it was Hamilton sneaking him drumsticks from the fridge when Christine wasn't looking?"

MJ: "Oh yeah. He's totally a thief. Someone should have him fired." Ah, an actual smile, faint but present.

Rohan: Rohan laughed softly, kissing that beautiful smile. "Definitely needs an intervention."

MJ: "Gonna make asshat here fat. Can't have lil man's arteries cloggin'."

His smile faded. "Just lay with me?"

Rohan/Abel: Fat and happy, Abel thought. Chicken was truly the love of his life, raw and cooked.

Rohan nodded, giving MJ another kiss as he settled in comfortably and held his vampire.

#Doom Cloud #petegraham #mjcalloway #rohandalca #abelharrington

7 notes · View notes

fallenhero-rebirth · 7 years ago

Text

200 subscribers! (actually 208)

I’ve pondered long and hard what to do, and came to the realization that I did not have time to write anything since I am right now working on book two. But, I wanted to give you a bit of fun, so I went back through my archives and found some outtakes. You remember when I said that Fallen Hero was originally meant to be a novel? Well, I thought I’d share some scenes from there that hasn’t made it into the game (yet). Be warned, this is from 2011, first person, Cyrus and Yasmin, a male Ortega and Dr. Mortus (not Mortum) and in no way canon anymore. Also a lot more swearing.

Snippets under the cut:

1: Yasmin runs into problems (cut from book one)

I am insane. It’s not the first time I have thought that in the last year, and it will probably not be the last. How did I ever imagine that I could pull this off? My mind is fire and ice as I face the gun aimed at my face, but Yasmin’s lips simply curls in a smile. “This is a mistake” I assure the gun, and the masked man behind it, my voice a honeyed mumble.

“No mistake bitch” the man with the gun replies, a faceless goon with high-tech weapons that rings bells I can’t quite make sense of. In Yasmin’s body I can’t read thoughts, only the body language of a man that really doesn’t care whether I live or die. “Word has it that you were the one that made off with the Aipherion, and I’ve been hired to retrieve it.”

The gun beckons, and I take a step towards it, flirts with death and pain as I let my eyes widen a little, confusion vying with worry on my face. “I had nothing to do with that” I lie, because stealing from heroes was one thing, but the mystical gem called the Aipherion had belonged to Lord Modius, and one did not play games with him. Who had talked? Dr Mortus? It seems unlikely, if he had I would be dead already and the gem returned to its owner.

“I am sad to hear that” the goon replies, the gun never wavering from my face. It’s large, imposing, and like all guns overtly phallic. “Because my sources all point to you being involved.”

I am growing annoyed at the presence of the gun by now, so I do the only thing I can. I take a step forward and lick the tip of it, whispering into the barrel “Listen, I don’t know what magic eightball you’ve shook to have my name come up, but you are barking up the wrong tree. I’m a tech-girl; the mystical is wasted on me.” As if to prove the point I wrap my lips around the barrel and is rewarded with a shiver I can feel through my lips. I pull my head away, glistening strands of saliva still connecting me to his weapon. My smile has turned sensual, as I slide my tongue down the gun, softly stepping even closer as I nudge the weapon to the side. Sucker.

“My sources…” he starts, voice distracted, and this is the chance I need. The gun was aimed past my head now, not at it, and I move fast as a rattler as I grab his hand and punch his elbow hard enough to almost dislocate it. His words turn to a scream and the gun drops from dead fingers.

“Fuck your sources” I swear, driving my fist into his stomach as hard as I can, but he’s a big man and well armoured, and doesn’t fold like I want him to. Damn. This could be bad.

“Bitch” he growls, left hand snatching out and grabbing my hair. I should have seen that coming, but I’m not Sidestep now, I’m Yasmin. I can’t see what people will do; I am no longer three steps ahead. I am caught, and he has longer reach and is stronger than me. I am fucked. He knows it. I know it. His knee catches me in the stomach and I fold, gasping for air. “You will pay for that” he snaps, and I don’t doubt his word.

“Wait” I manage to get out before his next kick drives what air remains from my lungs. I curl up on the ground, trying to protect my face. But he leans in and traps me against the ground with a knee, slaps my face a few times hard enough to make my ears ring. He doesn’t even take fighting me seriously, and the shame of that makes my cheeks burn from embarrassment as much as pain. I feel more helpless than I’ve felt since the farm, and I want to run and hide, withdraw and leave an empty doll for him to play with. But if I do, I can’t be sure if I would find my way back to her. I would have to give up two years of plans so very close to fruition. I need her, I need my Yasmin.

“Did you have anything to say to me?” He has me pinned down now, captured beneath his weight. I don’t need my telepathy to see that he is enjoying this. That he is enjoying my swollen lip and tearful eyes. He has me now, and he knows it, his gloved left hand caressing my bruised cheek.

“I’m telling the truth” I sob, deciding to play up the fear if I can’t escape it. “I don’t have it. But I can find out. People tell me things…” it is my final gamble, to play the girl to the end. To not be important, to be pretty and smart, but never dangerous. I was not the threat; I was a norm, a tool, like his gun. A sexy girl employed by somebody, just like he was. I did not know now, but I could find out.

“I’m sorry hon, that just ain’t good enough.” He backhands me again, and I taste blood and metal as bright spots distort my vision. “Can’t take the chance of you running off to Dr Mortus for help. I don’t care what the pair of you is cooking up together, but my instructions were clear.” He reaches down and grabs my dress, my breasts spilling out as the fabric rips in his hand. The sight distracts him momentarily, and I know I won’t get another shot at this.

I yelp and move up an arm to shield my nakedness, but the moment he reaches out to grab my wrist I lash out with my other arm and jab a piece of broken bottle into the side of his thigh. It doesn’t penetrate deeply through the coveralls, but it makes him shift his weight enough for me to crawl away as he struggles to pull it out. I crawl fast, on knees and elbows with the tattered remains of my Ungaro around my waist. I don’t get far before I feel his hand around my ankle, pulling me back. I didn’t get far, but I got far enough and oh God how I enjoy the look of terrified surprise on his face when I roll over on my back and shove the gun he dropped back in his mouth. I know I should say something witty in the line of ‘suck on this’ if I want to have a future in this profession, but my hands are shaking with rage so I simply pull the trigger and nearly deafen myself at the roar the gun makes in the narrow alley. Idiot. He didn’t even have a silencer.

I lay there on the ground, his bleeding corpse draped over me, ruptured head leaking brains over the remains of my dress. I should reach for my phone and call the police; I am clearly the victim here. But that would mean more exposure than I would like. Instead I swallow my pride and calls Dr Mortus. Let the man earn his keep and damn my dignity.

2: Yasmin and Ortega at the bar (Might happen in book two)

The bar is filled with the muted hum of drunken conversation, unrecognizable through the rockabilly blare of the speakers. The green velvet seats in the booth are greasy from decades of the unwashed and uncaring, and the light that filters down, does so through a haze of cigarette smoke. In a corner two men in purple suits are having a pantomime argument, while the hunched bear of a man at the bar hides his gang colors under an oversized trench coat. I don’t even want to know what else he has under there.

I shouldn’t throw stones.

We must be quite a sight where we sit in our booth. A bedraggled young woman in ill-fitting lab clothes and messy hair, and a middle-aged hispanic man in blue coveralls and stolen wellingtons. Honestly, it’s a miracle that we’re sitting here at all; I didn’t expect to escape from Dr. Mortus lab this easily. Granted, Liz had told me that he was gone for a few days, but in the back of my mind I expected him to pop up behind us with a plasma cannon just as we were getting out of there. He probably didn’t think I would try to escape. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he trusted me. Maybe he really wanted to help. Or maybe we were lucky. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Ortega keeps staring at me in silence, and I keep the gun aimed at him under the table.

In front of us, both our beers remain untouched.

Not that anybody cares to take a closer look at us. That is the reason I dragged Ortega here at gunpoint. It is one of the many villain bars I combed through before settling on Joe’s as my favored haunt. This one, aptly named Garage Sale, always felt too low-brow. The people I wanted to meet didn’t go here; this is a place for the down and out, for the upwardly mobile henchmen and supervillains on the skids. In here, nobody cares and nobody smiles. Neither do we.

“All I have to do is make one phone call and you’ll be safe.” Ortega does his best to sound calm and convincing, but he just doesn’t look he part right now. His age has caught up to him and weights heavy on his brow, black rings shadow his eyes and he’s mottled with bruises where he had been hooked up to Dr. Mortus generator. That is the only reason I’m able to threaten him at all, his powers still hadn’t recharged, and for the moment he’s just as ordinary as I am.

But I have the gun.

“I won’t go back to jail,” I reply, my voice as cold as my face. I have no idea what I am supposed to do now, my brain has locked itself into a death spiral, and I don’t know how to get out of it. The crash seems inevitable, and the ground is painted with prison bars. That’s why we ended up in this bar; I needed someplace safe and neutral, somewhere where nobody would care or ask questions. And Cyrus would never come here. At least I hope that whoever stole his body still has an interest in keeping up the charade that he is a good guy. It’s too valuable to waste. I hope.

“It was a hospital, not a jail,” Ortega tries, raising the beer to his lips for the first time since we got here. As he moves he makes me tense up and I clench the gun harder, which makes him tense up, and the beer shivers a moment before he puts it down again. Very gently.

“It would have been. Once I’d recovered and given up whatever information I had. I’m not stupid, I know how this works.”

“Why do you still protect him? You said it yourself, the Annihilist threatened you, and you had no choice.” I almost feel sorry for Ortega, it is obvious that he wants to believe that so badly.

“It’s… complicated,” I sigh, the gun heavy in my hand. Part of me wants to let it go, wants to just confess and ask for help. I think I need it. But I know it’s never that easy. If I told Ortega about Cyrus, about who I am and what I did, would he believe me? Even if he did, he would be disgusted. I am not a victim, I’m a villain, and my acts are conscious choices. Nobody holds a gun to my head.

“Life is complicated,” Ortega finally admits, looking into my eyes. “I don’t believe you are an evil woman. You didn’t have to rescue me; you could just as easily have left me there.”

I could just as easily have killed him too. That would have simplified things. The thought nauseates me, so I distract myself with words. “It’s just that…” I have lowered the gun now, but he doesn’t know that. “It’s not loyalty, but you’re asking me to give up my life and my freedom. You can’t stop him, I’ll either end up in jail for what I’ve done, or I’ll end up dead. I don’t think he’d let me live through a plea bargain.”

“And what if you go back to him? Do you think he would ever trust you again?” His words hit too close to home, even if it is for the wrong reasons. I hope it doesn’t show. Because he is right, I can never return to what I was. Not without a means to get my body back. And to pull that off I need contacts and friends. I just crossed Dr. Mortus of the rapidly shrinking list. Ortega is about the only one left. The one bridge I’m finding it hard to burn.

“I can’t go back, but I can’t go to jail either,” I repeat, as if words would somehow fix the world. The situation is rapidly turning into one of those nightmares where it’s just too hard to continue to struggle. It’s much easier to just go limp, roll over, pretend to be unconscious and accept what is coming to you. But in this nightmare, I am the one holding the gun. I am still in control.

Things change so quickly.

“Hey, isn’t that Charge?” Words strike like a lightning bolt from a clear sky, and suddenly all eyes are on us.

“I always said you were an idiot for not wearing a mask,” I snap without thinking. Cyrus’ words from Yasmin’s lips, but there is no time for more than a confused look on Ortega’s face. I’m on my feet with the gun pointed at the men that spotted us, but a well aimed bottle from the bar knocks it out of my hand.

All hell breaks loose.

Ortega is on his feet and we’re back to back against the surging bar. It’s late enough for most of the patrons to be desperately drunk, trying to escape from the drudgery of their existence. But they are many, and I’m just happy that Ortega holds his own, because giving up is not an option. I knee a CerberUS henchman in the groin, slipping sideways as he crumbles. Ortega matches my step; moving into the spot that I left. I had forgotten how good it felt to have someone watch your back.

Someone you trust.

I am no longer a telepath, but apparently my reflexes are not gone. A movement in the corner of my eye makes me turn; reaching up to grab the descending arm before I even register what happened. His lack of balance makes it easy to turn his punch into a throw that sends him flying over a table. Bottles crash like firework.

I had forgotten how much I missed this.

I break into a smile as I break someone’s nose, the bottle splintering in my hand. People back away from my broken bottle, and I laugh in their faces, bolstered by the feeling of Ortega behind me, his back against mine. Then a sense of fearsome urgency hits me.

I’m not sure what it is that makes me push back hard enough to topple us both, but we hit the floor a moment before the blast hits the spot we just left. Suddenly the booth is on fire, the air aglow in freakish colors and I’m crawling for my life beneath the tables. The gloves have come off and the powers brought out, and if you shouldn’t drive drunk you probably shouldn’t wield biogenic flame or solid light constructs while wasted either. People are screaming, someone is on fire, the fight is escalating and it’s everyone against everyone.

At least until someone remembers that this wasn’t just about venting their frustrations, it’s about kicking a hero when he’s down and they can reach him. I watch Ortega disappear under a pile of has-beens wishing for a starring role in the story of Charge’s defeat. I don’t think I screamed his name out loud, and even if I did, nobody heard me amidst the chaos. I scramble free from the broken table I’d been hiding under just in time to dodge and shield my eyes as every single light in the bar explodes in a shower of sparks and glass. The mob around Ortega falls away, twitching and screaming as if they’d just pissed on the third rail. I am probably imagining the ozone, there’s no way that could ever overpower the stench of cheap alcohol, unwashed bodies and voided bowels.

Ortega untangles himself, pale blue lightning arcing between his body and the now empty sockets. The room is dark, but his eyes are throwing sparks. He’s shed the guise that he belonged here, another has-been slumming with the losers. Suddenly nobody seems eager to continue the fight.

“I think we will be leaving now,” he says, gesturing in my direction. Nobody protests. I straighten my back and walks out with Ortega, my hair alive with static electricity. My skin tingles from his aura, but I don’t bat an eyelash until we’re well outside the door.

And gone.

Two blocks of frantic running later we’re both out of breath, and Ortega looks less than imposing as he leans against a dumpster.

“Would you please accept my invitation and stay in my apartment at least? I’ve had enough excitement for one night,” he gasps.

“Not one night. Weeks. Technically you’ve been a captive for a couple of weeks,” I say, because I realized he had probably no idea how much time that had passed. My hair is tangled and sticking to my face so I wipe it back with a look of disgust.

“Weeks. Right. That’s good to know.” Ortega takes a step back from the dumpster; the smell coming from it is not pleasant now that he had regained his breath.

“Your powers. How long has it been since they recharged?” I’m through resisting the inevitable, but I need to know.

“On the way to the bar. I borrowed a jolt from a badly insulated lamppost.” Ortega looks sheepish, as if he was a bit ashamed of his subterfuge.

“So you could have taken the gun from me at any point?”

“You… looked like you needed it. I didn’t want to push you into doing something rash.”

I nod, defeated. “That was probably very smart. I meant what I said; I won’t go back to jail.”

“It won’t be jail. It’s just my apartment. You can leave at any time, but I really wish you wouldn’t. You’re too interesting to end up just another statistic.”

“Thanks. I think. Just don’t tell anybody I’m there.” It sounds more like begging than an order, even though the ‘please’ remains unsaid, sticking in my throat. “I need time to think. Time to make my own choices.”

“I won’t tell anybody. I promise. I respect that you need time. Do we have a deal then?” He holds out his hand, battered and bleeding from the fight.

The sad thing is, I believe him. I know how this works, the sympathetic ear, the understanding friend. You catch more flies with honey and all that. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve let him save me enough time in the past that one more time won’t make a difference. It’s the least painful of my choices, so I sigh “deal,” then grabs his hand and shakes it.

Probably a little too manly again, because he gives me another look.

This won’t end well.

#Fallen Hero #old stories #the novel that never was

54 notes · View notes