#the flash movie in particular is pissing me off cause this is flash's FIRST movie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cher-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Silver Screen / Silver Pole | Robert Sheehan x Reader (18+)

Summary: A night of celebration in a LA strip club takes an interesting and unexpected turn when a contrarian actor winds up offending the wrong stripper. But night is long and the possibilities are endless, where will it take them?

Word Count: 7.3k

CW: Mention of sexual harassment, Consensual slapping, NSFW smut

A/N: This one is surprisingly not bloody at all and the smut isn't wild either so like most everyone can read it. Although it's emotionally very heavy. So, get ready to feel some shit. Hopefully you'll enjoy.

Special thanks to @crisis-of-joy for being there for me the whole month I took to complete this emotionally taxing fic and also for being my kind beta reader & editor.

Burning on it’s way down, the third glass of whiskey finally gave her some life she desperately needed. Deafening music throbbed throughout her veins, drowning the club in the background. She wanted to drown with it too but she couldn’t, she was there to work and rent for the month was already due. The fourth glass was on the verge of meeting with her bitter mouth when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t drink so much, you’ll trip on the stage,” Coco practically shouted in her ear. Coco was the only friend she had in that goddamn place and It wasn’t a very rare occurrence that Coco had to drag her blackout drunk body out of the club. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she had a problem. Considering that she was already on her third strike of the month and the third drink of the night, Coco knew better than to let her get drunk this early.

“I can’t stay here and be sober at the same time,” she shouted back at Coco, “especially after...nevermind,” but decided against talking about it and instead focused her energy on finishing the fourth glass, which was gone just as quickly as the words stopped coming out of her mouth.

She could read the concern on Coco's face and sense the questions brewing behind it as Coco spoke up, “I want to know what the fuck is up with you but I have to go now, Caleb came home from school hours ago, it’s pretty late and I have to cook him dinner.”

“What happened to Larry? Can’t he take care of the kid? He’s fucking jobless anyway.”

“He got in a bad fight again. I can barely afford Caleb’s school fees and now the medical bills.”

“If only you had divorced him, you wouldn’t need to worry about it.”

“And if only you had been less violent towards customers, you wouldn’t be on the verge of getting fired. But, here we are.”

She furrowed her brows at this sudden sharp stab of truth by Coco and dealt with it the only way she knew how to, by ordering another drink. Coco crossed her arms letting out a deep sigh and said, “Look, I'm only trying to help you, (y/n). Sam wanted me to go up. You see that group seating in the fifth VIP booth? Up there. They are celebs and celebrating something so, ya know, good money. I said no cause, as I said I gotta go home, but I convinced him to let you go up there. It was hard given your recent less-than-favorable behavior, but I managed to.” Coco snatched the already empty glass from her hand and continued, “So stop drinking, go up there and get that money. And for the love of God, behave yourself or this might be your last night here.”

Giving her hand a quick but tight squeeze, Coco got up then soon after disappeared into the crowd. She thought to herself about how a last night there wouldn’t be so bad if she could afford it, and wanted another drink immediately to kill that thought, but Coco's words haunted her ears. She looked over her shoulder to see three men sitting in the booth, laughing.

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

Her head was in a violent swirl, vision blurry. She was way too drunk to be spinning around the pole, but she had an audience to entertain and had no one but herself to blame.

When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste, the song was thudding against her skull. Pulling herself together, she counted every second, waiting for the song to end. She could feel the eyes on her, sticking to every bit of her, just as invasive as it was the very first day yet, she couldn’t care less. She had to live through it if she wanted the money and she needed the money if she wanted to live. The room was dancing circles around her as the tips came flying in, she kept counting the seconds, sliding down the pole, and your knee socks.

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

She was swaying dangerously on her way down from the stage. If the song didn’t end when it did, she would have thrown up without a shadow of a doubt. At that point, she didn’t even know how or what she danced, only the awful sickness in her stomach let her know that it was more than she could take.

She needed to chat up the men, try and convince them to buy a champagne room before the next song came on, which she feared was way too soon for her liking. Nevertheless she tried to steady herself but the big glass platforms messed with her earnest efforts, nausea kicking her in the stomach once again, letting her know of her limits.

She didn’t ever really look at the men who sat in front of her, leering at her, they all looked the same, smelt the same and talked the same. So she followed the same old routine, bending down just enough to give them a view up her tits. Pressing her arms closer, she slurred, “What are we celebrating, gentlemen?”

She absolutely hated how she sounded pandering to men, two pitches higher. “My friend over here landed a role in a Spielberg film!” the middle one spoke up and pointed to the one sitting on the right side. The one in question grinned in response and repulsion licked the back of her neck at the sight of that. Yet she needed to please him, “That’s amazing! I’m sure I’ll be seeing your face on the billboards everyday now while driving,” she said and fantasized about having enough money to burn down all the billboards in LA and maybe LA with it too.

“Hell yeah you will!” the one in the middle spoke up and broke her reverie so she pretended he was supporting her fantasy instead. “Oh please! Speak for yourself!” the one on the right perked up in his seat and continued, “He’s literally working with Fincher AND he got engaged!”. The one in the middle gave a revolting smirk at the very humble revelation of his accomplishment and it was enough to turn her stomach or maybe it was the alcohol, she couldn’t really decipher.

“Oh really?” she looked at the man, tilted her head and said, “And you came to a stripclub to celebrate your engagement?”, her face deadpan. Notes of contempt stuck out like thorns from her voice, making her sound way more intense than she intended to.

He tensed up visibly at her sudden razor-edged tone and, even though she didn't want to, she had to ease the situation. I can’t piss off these bastards again, she kept repeating to herself like a mantra. “Boys will be boys!” she said, not being able to think of something better that wasn’t inherently insulting, and laughed the most disgusting laugh of her life. If she could she would pour gasoline down her throat just for uttering those words.

She couldn’t bear to linger at that conversation point anymore so she turned her attention to the man sitting on the far left. He looked distant and foreign, staring but not really looking at her. There was a peculiar absence behind his distinct green eyes, which she would even call beautiful under different circumstances. And that, something about that absence, made her want to zero in on him.

“And what about you? Did you win an Oscar or something?” mockery ringed clear in her voice, which brought his attention back to the presence. Startled slightly, he straightened his posture while saying, “No, not really... not yet at least,” he smiled sheepishly and continued, “I’m just here with them”.

“Come to think about it, I’ve never really seen you anywhere,” she said without thinking too much. In fact, she didn’t really pay enough attention to how he looked to recognize him even if she did.

Something intense flashed his eyes for a brief second. She couldn’t quite put her fingers on what it was but she could feel the energy shift very quickly between them.

“Oh I’ve been in things but I’d be surprised if you did see any of them,” his voice now stripped of the delicacy it previously held. She could feel the air between them getting unusually heavy, his words penetrating through her skin a bit too effortlessly, a bit too swiftly that it was unsettling.

“And why exactly would you be surprised?”

“You know...cause people like you don’t usually watch the kind of films I do.”

“What do you mean by ‘people like me?’”

“You know...people of your...stature,” he trailed off. Blood rushed the back of her neck as soon as the words hit her ears. She could feel her vision burning, a hot wave washed the crown of her skull, something unruly building at the base of her being. Clenching her jaw so as not to let it take over her, she said, “Stature huh? Fancy! I reckon from your accent that, wherever the hell you’re from, people get a kick out of looking down on others with such wispy language.”

She could sense the same unruly substance dancing behind his chest, but he was far better at keeping it on a leash.

“I wasn’t looking down upon you. What I was merely getting at is that some people aren’t cut for apprehending particular types of films,” he sounded snarky but calm, the type of calm that’s tainted with scorn, which only sent ripples of rage down her ribs.

“Oh so you think just because I’m a stripper by profession that I wouldn’t understand your low-budget dumb indie movies?” she was getting visibly worked up now. Traces of her seductive posture vanished long ago but there was a new hostile energy flowing through her stance.

“I didn’t say that -”

“No, of course you didn’t say that, you only meant that. You meant what you think and every one of you think that we aren’t people with brains and emotions. No, no, we’re just sacks of meat to ogle at in exchange of money, and then grope when you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“I think you're trying to put words in my mouth, this is -”

“God! you think you’re fucking better than me, don’t you? You contrarian little shit!” she could feel it in her bones. She knew what was coming. There were people behind, or maybe beside, her, trying to talk to her, probably. She could hear no one, not even the previously unbearable blaring music. She had tunnel vision and it was fixed on him. The air she breathed chafed her nose. Her nerves thumped as her heart leapt at irregular rapid intervals.

“Excuse me! but i neve -” he said as his body went alert. Posture anticipating something violent, flight or fight.

“You think you're better than me because I'm a stripper and you got enough money to buy me?” her voice was icy as she spoke, “You LA people are all the fucking same. You get a little money in your pockets and you think you own the world and anyone who isn’t jerking off to your pretentious bullshit isn’t worthy enough to deserve basic fucking decency. Huh is that it?” she quickly jumped on top of him, straddling him.

He was frozen under her as she leaned in and murmured, “Well then allow me to show you”, she pulled away, her left hand clutching his shoulder as right fist rose the air, “HOW FUCKING BETTER THAN ME YOU ARE!” then her fist crashed on the side of his mouth with all the force she could muster, releasing a knot built in her chest since she checked in with the manager in the evening. Hot, sweltering adrenaline was coursing through her veins.

The impact resulted in him burying his face in his right shoulder so she grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced him to face her. His lips were starting to swell up so she decided to help it. His eyes went blank as her fist met his face once more.

Involuntarily, her hand was raising in the air again when she felt a strong pull from behind. The security guard, twice her size, yanked her away from him. People gathered around them staring at her, the music stopped to her relief. The guard twisted her arms behind her back, enough to leave bruises that’ll sting for days to come. She couldn't move, her sight went hazy yet she felt this strange cool serenity soothe her tensed muscles. His friends were crowding him, probably consoling him. She could neither hear them nor make out their faces from her almost closed eyelids. She was pretty sure she was falling asleep in the guard’s painful hold until she heard a certain voice and the hair at the back of her neck stood up.

“What the fuck! She’s at it AGAIN? Sir, I'm so sorry -” Sam, the manager’s voice pierced her ears as he rushed into the booth. As he was talking to them, commotion rose in the background. She could feel blind rage beating with every thump of her heart. If it wasn’t for the guard holding her in place, she would have skinned him alive by now. She was struggling to free herself when Sam turned to her and said, “You! That’s it!” pointing his left index at her. “I’ve had just about enough of your drunkass assaulting fine gentlemen. You’re fired. Get out right now! And be grateful we’re not reporting you to the police.”

Suddenly everything went quiet in her head. She smiled, nothing behind her gaze. Grinning ear to ear like a maniac, she said, “I’m fired? Aww what’s gonna happen to you now Sam?”. She cooed, ''Whose tits and ass are you gonna grab from now on? Stella? I wonder if she’ll compare to me though.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Sam almost hissed at her.

“Ohhh right! Of course, you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she said while still tussling with whatever little strength she had left to loosen herself from the guard’s excruciating grip. “You don’t know anything about how you sexually harassed me day after day, how your disgusting, slimy little hands grabbed my body against my will at every chance that you got. You knew how much I need the money from this job and you used that against me to keep me silent, threatening to fire me every time I made even a sound. But guess what fucker? I’m fired now! And I’m gonna tell everyone about HOW YOU TRIED TO -”

“Take her to the staff room!” Sam cut her off, “NOW!” And, as soon as the words left Sam's mouth, the guard put his palm over her mouth and started dragging her back. The hand over her mouth muffled her screams and she glanced at the man, now with swollen lips, looking at her with eyes filled with, what looked like, concern.

As she was getting dragged, she finally managed to sink her teeth into the guard’s palm resulting in him withdrawing his hand just enough to give her a small window of time to scream at Sam: “YOU MOTHERFUCKER I’LL BE BACK AND I’LL PEEL THE SKIN OFF OF YOUR SCALP FUCKING SON OF A BITCH I’LL -” Before she could finish, her voice got cut off again and she faded into the dimly lit passageway at the back of the floor.

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

The cherry of her fifth cigarette shone brightly in the shivering cold as the smoke drifted up in the air and sluggishly faded away. Mouth agape, her eyes meticulously followed the faint trails left after their disappearance. She wondered where they went, where she’ll go. If it wasn’t this late, and the water wasn’t so cold, maybe she could have gone for a swim in the ocean. If the water wasn’t so cold maybe she would have let it swallow her even. She was calculating the probable temperature of the hypothetical water she’d marry someday when the sound of slow approaching footsteps entered her field of perception. She would have preferred to ignore it but the, somehow already familiar, voice spoke up, “Hey erm...” and left her no choice but to look. And there he was, the foreign man with the swollen lip, looking culpable. There were distinct imprints of guilt in his voice as he continued, “I saw you across the parking lot…um I was actually just leaving with my friends,” he pointed at a black Mercedes parked at the far end of the lot. “They’re waiting in the car anyway so I decided -”

“So you decided now that she’s fired from being a stripper, she's probably a hooker! Lemme go ask the price she’s selling at,” her gestures and voice was comical, “you know, dude if you’ve got a kink of getting beaten up non-consensually then you’re really good at getting it cause I might just be up for round two.”

He stared at her for a good few seconds with a perplexed face, as if trying to process her stream of logic. When he started speaking, he sounded genuinely hurt, “No! Jesus Christ I came to apologize. Can you just not be defensive for one second? I’m not a monster ya know!”

His sincerity caught her off guard. She had about five thousand ways of dealing with assholes prepared and ready to go but an actually decent person? Now that was rocky territory for her.

“Well, uh, that’s a first. Go ahead I guess?” she shrugged her shoulders.

“I apologize for saying what I said back in the club. I shouldn’t have insinuated that you aren’t intelligent enough to understand my films just because of your choice of profession. It was really shitty of me to say that, and nothing can justify it either. And I feel like I caused you to be fired, that’s also weighing heavily on my soul and I don't know how to make it up to you. Just, I hope that you can forgive me and, again, I apologize, earnestly. Please tell me how I can make it up to you,” he said and looked at her with a rueful expression.

She was at a loss of words. It had been years since anyone apologized to her, let alone that sincerely. After a considerable amount of silence, she gathered her fragmented thoughts and spoke up, “Whoa, whoa man, chill. You didn’t murder my family or anything so calm down,” she held up her open palms, the cigarette almost at it’s end. “Apology accepted, okay? And don’t feel bad, I would have been fired sooner or later given my questionable behavior ever since I joined, so it’s not on your conscience. And I’m sorry too,” her index and middle finger holding the cigarette gestured at his lips, “for, um, punching you so let’s call it an even.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “yeah okay,” sounding clearly more relaxed than before.

“You know it’s a miracle how long it took for me to get fired,” she mused, “oh no it wasn’t a miracle it was sexual harassment, ah I see now. Wonder what Sam saw in me though that was worth not firing me for this long even though I pulled so much shit,” she took a long drag of her weary cigarette. “Maybe I've got a talent for getting harassed or something...who knows?”

His face tensed up again as he said, “That’s...not right,” eyes pooling with the same worried look as before.

“I was joking, chill. Humor is an excellent way to deal with most everything really, especially trauma.”

“I am sorry for what you had to go through, it’s gut-wrenching. Can’t you lodge a complaint to the police?”

“Going to the pigs? As a sex worker? Who just got fired for being drunk and punching a man in front of many eye witnesses? Now that was humor, you’re quite good at it actually.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Besides, that’s like one of the first things you gotta learn to put up with if you’re working in this business. As unfair and grim as it is, men, no actually, people don’t see sex workers as human beings and I’m just too obstinate to accept that simple fact, or maybe too much of a pussy, depending on where one’s priorities lie.”

“I…don’t know what to say.”

“There is nothing to say.”

It was just setting in for her how beautiful he actually was. His crestfallen face was graced by two stunning green eyes, lush unruly curls sticking to his forehead, sharp jawline kissed with a scruffy goatee and the swollen lip throwing off the symmetry just right to make him look captivating, to say the least. In the chilly December ambience his face was a soothing sight to her eyes, his sweet voice kind to her drudging ears, his presence warm to her existence. And she wanted to hold onto the warmth, just for a bit longer.

“You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?” she said as the cigarette fell on the ground then died out under the crushing embrace of her cruel heels.

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

“Well I'm Ro -” he said leaning against the passenger seat window, sitting half facing her.

“If you’re trying to say your name then don’t,” she cut him off quickly without averting her gaze from the road.

“Why?” he asked, staring at her intently yet without any emotion in particular.

“‘Cause it doesn’t matter. It’s better if we don’t know each other’s name. Names individualize people and that’s not necessary for tonight,” she answered nonchalantly as the neon lights of a passing by road sign illuminated her face and then faded into the past just as nonchalantly.

“Okay.”

She could feel his eyes on her, but it didn’t bother her, it wasn’t tainted. There was this unusual tranquility in the atmosphere of the car, this obscure but consistent serene rhythm. She felt a bizarre comfort in his presence and she could drive like this forever, on a never-ending road spiraling towards heaven or winding down pandemonium or just dissolving into the ether, with him sitting lazily on the side.

“Do you ever feel like that?” he spoke up absentmindedly, breaking into her almost fever dream.

“Huh?”

“The song, I feel like that often.”

She didn’t realize the radio was on, playing at quite a significant volume. She wondered if he had turned it on at some point and how long she was driving for without being present mentally.

This place will be the end of me. Take me out, LA. Take me out of LA, the voice from the radio filled the car to the brim.

“I don’t feel like that, I know that. I know I'll die here, kinda intrinsically...do you hate this place?”

“No, not hate. I just feel like I don't fit in here. It’s the way of life, it’s quite significantly different to what I was used to. The people and the city, it all feels hollow sometimes and every now and then i catch myself yearning for what I left behind me.”

“I see. Beautiful people and their beautiful problems.”

Silence fell in the car again. Except for the voice through the radio, Well this place is never what it seems.

“You don’t have to make small talk, you know. I'm fine with silence,” she said, finally looking at him for a brief second.

“Oh I know,” he was looking right into her eyes, unruffled. “I wasn’t making small talk, I just wanted to talk to you. That’s all.”

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

The bleak fluorescent tube above buzzed in solidarity as the fatigued clock on the chipped convenience store wall dragged its hands and finally managed to tick at 2 am. The attendant was leaning on the counter, trying not to fall asleep when her voice echoed in the store: “$20 on pump 2.”

“I’ll pay”, he cut in, reaching for his wallet. “Okayyy...” she replied, narrowing her eyes at his benevolence and looked around the store which was significantly emptier that other nights. She closed her eyes for a second and the memories flashed behind her lids. She used to come here frequently, around this time, with someone when everything in her world was right, just right enough for her to not to seek out falling stars every night and wish for death over and over again. When she opened her eyes a shiny pack of Parliaments caught her gaze and she quickly gestured behind the counter, “Since you’re paying, can I get a pack of those also?”

“Sure”

“I remember surviving on those alone while writing my thesis papers,” she said wistfully, “good times.”

“You went to college?”

“University actually, but yeah.”

“Good lord.”

“But I had to drop out so I couldn’t complete my Master’s in Biochemistry.”

“Why?”

“Life.”

“I flunked out my first year of college so you did way more than I did in that regard.”

“Welp, look where that got me.”

“Don’t say that!”

“What?” she scoffed.

“Anything else?” the attendant interjected, visibly tired and clearly annoyed at their conversation.

She swiftly grabbed a lighter, “Can I get this too?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“That’ll be all,” she tossed the lighter towards the attendant and continued, “You’re clearly doing way better than me in life.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“No. I meant that seriously. I’m the one who fucked up my life and that’s a fact. Say, how did you know what you wanted to do?”

“That’ll be $30”, the attendant interjected again.

“I don’t know. I started acting as a kid and it just seemed right. It’s all I've known really and I can't see myself as anything else,” he said as he passed the money to the attendant.

“I envy that.”

“I do sometimes ponder what I would have been if not an actor.”

“Wondering too much isn’t good,” she grabbed the goods and shoved them in her coat pocket, “It might make someone into me.”

She stopped right before the glass door, pulled the lighter out and flicked it on, “I’ll use it later,” she leaned in close to him with a frivolous smirk and whispered, “to burn this city down.”

He chuckled at her sudden gaiety, “I’d gladly assist.”

Pushing the door open, she continued as he followed behind her, “Did you see the way that dude rolled his eyes to you? He definitely thought you were with a blabbering hooker and to be honest, my make up probably didn’t help either. Oh well it's not like -” her voice slowly evaporated into the gloomy gas-station lights.

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

“So beautiful,” he said with awe looking over the vast and apparently endless ocean which the full, eternal moon bathed with its silver glory.

She clutched at her coat sleeves as the chilly wind sent shivers down her body and said, “I know right? I’ve always found the sea to be peaceful during this time of the night.”

“It’s lovely, I’ve never been to this beach before.”

“It’s my favorite spot actually, I used to come here pretty often,” melancholia dripping from her voice. She paused for a little while as if going over a mental checklist and said, “let’s go sit down there,” and pointed towards a vague place in the distance.

They walked down the beach for a bit side by side, knuckles occasionally brushing against each other’s, making them want to hold hands, feel the warmth of another being. But the hesitance of the yet to be known, the uncertainty of a nameless stranger clouded their minds and prevented them from reaching out.

She stopped, sat down and gestured to him to do the same by tapping the cold sand beside her. He sat a bit too far for her liking so she huddled up closer to him saying, “You blaze right?”

“Sure.”

“Cool,” she said, taking out a small bag from an inside pocket of her coat, “keep an eye out for me while I roll it.”

They sat in silence as she rolled a joint meticulously. The waves kept crashing on the shore as if fulfilling some ancient duty. Wind rustled through the empty beach. Sand glimmered sporadically under the warm light of the moon, creating a transcendental atmosphere.

He sighed and thought out loud, interrupting the intoxicating stillness of the night, “Where do we go from here?”

“Other than plotting the murder of Sam, I don’t know about me,” she replied without looking up from the task at hand, “Don’t really wanna think about it tonight. That’s why I took you along with me. I wanted someone to keep me distracted from my thoughts and I had no one to go to...then you came to apologize, like my knight in shining armor.”

He smiled wryly and said, “I see.”

“What about you? What are you gonna do about your not fitting in or what was it?”

“I don’t know either. I just miss my people. I’m not meant for here, I think.”

“So can’t you go back there? To your home I assume?”

“I can...”

“Then go. Why the fuck would you stick around if you had the option to go back?”

“Maybe.”

“Huh! I wish I had a home to go back to too.”

She could see him from the corner of her eyes, clenching his knees tight with his fingers at her words, bringing them closer to his chest. She looked up to see him staring at her with his big, beautiful, hurt-puppy eyes.

“Did that make you sad or something?” she asked, almost amused.

“Yeah...yeah it did.”

His apparent empathy for a literal stranger who also punched him not so long ago struck her as odd and oddly enticing. He looked unreal to her in the strange moonlight, as if a remote but vivid memory. She felt as though if she reached out and touched him, he’d turn to dust and drift off with the wind. Those intense eyes and his fey beauty were getting too much for her to bear so she averted her gaze towards the ocean and said, “There’s no use for your or anyone’s sadness. You see, sadness changes nothing. Unless you can start a capital R revolution tomorrow, everything will be the same. It’ll be the same day with slight variations over and over again, things will repeat and go on and on and on until one day humanity just goes poof somehow and then the universe will go on as if we never even happened. There’s no significance of our lives, there’s no point in feeling sad about anything in this set up. One must always imagine Sisyphus happy.”

“That’s quite pessimistic, isn’t it?”

“Kinda absurdist actually, but It’s hard not to be pessimistic or defensive, when you have to lead a life like mine.”

“I understand.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do, “Glamour Boy,’” she said, licking the rolling paper.

He put his hand over his chest and feigned being hurt which made her laugh; a clear, hearty laughter. The beach echoed with a faint sound of the laughter of two stray souls as he joined in.

The joint hanged from her lips, sensual and reckless like an erotic magazine model, burning bright as she took a long drawn-out drag.

“Say, do you think the water is cold?” she said, passing the joint to him.

He took in a drag, inhaling some of her used up smoke with it too, tasting her cheap but obscenely sweet fruity lip gloss at the filter tip, “Yeah...very much so”.

She huddled up even closer to feel the heat of his body as he passed the joint back to her. Taking in another drag, she leisurely put her head on his shoulder.

The sedating smoke sank into their lungs as the sand anchored them from floating off in the elating static of the enveloping darkness.

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

“Is this it?” she said, pulling up to a posh apartment complex, something she wouldn’t be able to afford even after paying off her debts.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he replied absently and unbuckled his seatbelt.

She was looking ahead at the road, expecting him to get out of the car, but he sat in silence. She looked at him and saw him laid back on the seat as if being consumed by it, tracing the edge of the left air vent softly with his fingers. He sighed and said, still looking at his busy fingers: “I feel strange and fucking awful.”

“It happens sometimes after coming down a high.”

“It’ll be a pain in the arse going to bed feeling like this.”

“I know,” her eyes travelled down the flow of his posture, giving birth to an urge of some aboriginal origin in her loins, “but you don’t have to.”

He turned his head towards her slowly, lethargy clear in his slow breathing pattern, “What do you mean?”

“Push your seat back.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

He furrowed his brows, alarmed by her sudden gratuitous command. He looked at her; motionless as if not even breathing awaiting his compliance and her eyes glinted with expectancy. He pushed his seat back, as far as it could go then parted his lips to say something but before the words could get out, she virtually jumped on top then sat astride him.

A deathly stillness engrossed the car as her previous bellicose energy returned to the atmosphere, only this time rather ardent in nature. His heart, instantaneously racing, almost audible to her.

“You know,” she said taking off her top, “dopamine is a hormone and neurotransmitter that’s an important part of your brain’s reward system, and it can elevate your mood and make you feel really good.”

Eyes wide with surprise, he struggled to keep his gaze fixed on her face as she unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingertips snaked up and down his smooth chest as if caressing a sumptuous painting one is not allowed to touch. She felt his taut muscle tighten at her touch, veins kindled with a hot rush pulsing under. Burying her face in the hollow of his neck, she felt the heat of his body as she pressed her chest against his. His breathing picked up it’s pace even more at the contact with her flushed skin.

“Do you ever get lonely?” she spoke up letting her lips skim over his bare shoulder.

“Terribly,” his voice breathy as he placed his hands on her hips hesitantly, not possessively, but affectionately.

“I do too.”

“What do we do about it?”

“Maybe we don’t do anything.”

“Maybe.” he said resting his right cheek against her head, “or maybe we keep each other company.”

“But for how long?”

“However long we need to.”

A mirthless laugh rippled from her lips then through his skin. She pulled back to look him in the eyes, curious green mixed with an unfamiliar kind of sorrow, a sorrow too costly for her. “Lust and attraction shut off the prefrontal cortex of the brain, which includes rational behavior,” she said, knocking softly on his temple.

“Makes sense.”

Cupping his face, she stroked his swollen lips with her rough thumbs, making him wince in response. The purple bruise steadily forming on the side of his mouth marred his flawless complexion yet his allure only enhanced. Her thumb rubbed on the bruise with reckless abandon, his flinches testifying to that. Withdrawing her hands from his face, she left a light peck on the bruise and said, “Slap me.”

“What?”

“Slap me, come on, I'm giving you a chance to get back at me for earlier.”

“No!”

“Prude!”

“Hey! I just don’t want to hurt you, especially not as revenge or what not,” he sounded genuinely offended.

She leaned in, “But I want to get hurt, silly,” her lips ghosting over his as she whispered, “Endorphins are our body’s natural pain reducer and it so happens to increase when we engage in reward-producing activities, such as eating, working out, or having sex.” She pulled away and continued, “So hit me. Hard.” His adam’s apple bobbed up then down as he searched at her face, as if trying to find some sort of sign. His fingers dug in her hips, indicating the upcoming crude impact. Her palms laid flat against his chest as his left hand rose then crashed against her face. Her fingers curled in response as she gasped weakly, eyes shut closed but the tensity clear in the lines on her eyelids and forehead.

“Ah... that was good,” she said as if talking to herself, caressing her cheek. When she opened her eyes, she found him staring with uncertain eyes, the doubt readable in the way he bit his lips.

“Just like that, once more,” her firm voice ringed in the vehicle. His hand cruelly collided once again with her face, leaving her face warm and red.

“Good boy,” she cooed as the sharp sting eddied on her cheek and then through her whole body, easing her off some unknown yet intrinsic discomfort. Her chest pounded in sync to his as she spoke up, “Do it for me once again, won’t you?”

Pressing his teeth even deeper into his lips, he struck her once again, with as much strength as he had. A white light flashed before her eyes, her ears ringed as she sat in silence for a bit. When her vision became clear, she held his face between her palms. Leaning closer, she rested her temple against his and murmured, “Such a good boy.”

Sweat dripped down as her nose grazed up the side of his neck, she could feel him growing hard through his pants. She buried her face in his curls and breathed in. He smelt sugary, sweet to the extent of almost making her nauseous. She whispered against his ear, “You’ve got a boner...it turned you on this much to hurt me?”

“It’s, um, n-not really that part it’s the -” he stammered in embarrassment.

“Ugh men,” she cut him off and rolled her eyes playfully. “But since we’ve got a situation at hand, and you’ve been so good to me, I think you deserve some relief for yourself,” she said, tugging at his waistband. To which he responded eagerly, elevating his hips just enough so she could slip his pants off as much as possible. His head sank back into the headrest as her hands wrapped around his cock. Her hand gilded up and down his length as her other hand ran through his hair, pulling lightly. Resting his forehead on her shoulder, he quivered and moaned softly as she lovingly yet mercilessly worked on him. His breath hitched sharply as she stroked the tip of his cock with her thumb, making him groan and twitch under her touch. She was about to pick up the pace when he grabbed her wrist abruptly. “Wait!” he rasped, “I wanna...feel you.”

He panted, trying to catch his breath and said, “Let’s take this inside, there might be people around.”

“Why? Are you afraid of getting photographed with a hooker by the paparazzi, Mr. Actor?"

“No”, he answered, the same hurt as earlier could be heard in his voice, the type of hurt when one is misunderstood by someone they love, “I just - I just want it to be nice.”

“Let’s not make it too nice lest you fall in love with me,” she said sternly. “Besides, you should be more concerned about getting STDs. There should be some condoms in the glove box and also tissues for later.”

He brought his face closer to hers, looked at her lips and said, “You’ve got such a mean mouth, you know that?”

“And you like it?”

“Perhaps”, he replied then kissed her, deeply. Holding her face in his head, he bit her lips which made her moan in his mouth. After running out of breath she pulled away, still tasting his saliva on her tongue as he reached behind her and rifled through the glove compartment. Having found what he wanted, he turned on the radio then returned his focus to her; she was hiking up her dress and awkwardly slipping off her panties in the short space.

Heavy bass filled the car, I wanna be your vacuum cleaner breathing in your dust, as the sky started to light up with shades of azure and tangerine. Her tongue blended with his as she took his cock in her. Their bodies pressed and flushed against each other as a steady rhythm flowed through them. Her nails scratched his nape, as he kissed her neck, nibbling at her collarbone. Her head shot back as he thrust up into her, frantic and keen. His groans muffled in her chest, her moans melting into his hair as their hips clashed against one another.

Maybe I just wanna be yours.

I wanna be yours.

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

The sparkling rays of the breaking dawn illuminated his face as he cleaned himself off and got dressed. She marveled from the driver’s seat at the magnificence of the sight of him in afterglow. There was something in him, something innate, that made him stand out from anyone she ever came across. He was made for the screen, he was made to shine, and she wondered whether or not he’ll remember her afterwards. It was for the better if he didn’t, she thought to herself, as this was probably one of the lowest points in his life, while that night was most definitely one of the highlights of hers. The sheer dichotomy was glaring at her soul when he spoke up, bringing her attention back to the present, “I was wondering if you’d like to -”

“Look if you want my name or number, then that’s just not gonna happen,” she said with a sigh, “It’s the oxytocin flooding your brain. Increased levels of oxytocin facilitate attachment and bonding and shit so, like, don’t be fooled.”

“But it’s not that, I feel a connection between us...something I haven’t felt with anyone here before.”

He averted his eyes from her and looked out the window. His hand lingered on the door handle for a second before he stepped out of the car. Turning his back towards the car, he walked into the apartment complex, without saying anything further. Her foot pressed on the accelerator, as the car drove past the buildings. A Parliament washed out the leftover taste of him in her mouth as she rolled down the window to let the nauseously sweet scent dissipate into the cold morning air.

“It is that. Believe me, I know. There is nothing between us. Whatever connection you feel is your hormones doing bullshit things.”

“You’re just evading me”

“I’m not. I do actually know. Okay, for instance you feel really tired and sleepy right now, right?”

“Yeah”

“That’s the parasympathetic nervous system down-regulating your body and a shit load of vasopressin coursing through you”

“But that could also be because we stayed up all night and got high and just had sex”

“Why don’t you understand? It’s all chemicals, everything! There is nothing called love and whatever the fuck people feel is just their chemicals doing somersaults. There is nothing between us, we don’t know each other. There can be nothing either, look at the circumstances. People like you shouldn’t have to do anything with people like me unless it requires a monetary transaction.”

“But i can help, with whatever you’re dealing with”, he said reaching to place his hand over hers, “we can help each other”

“and what exactly do you think i’m dealing with?, she asked, withdrawing her hand, eyes narrowed at him.

“I don’t know yet”

“Exactly. You don’t know anything. I’m not some sad little girl who went to college then got depressed but in a sexy way so maybe she did drugs or whatever and dropped out and now strips for fucking aesthetic reasons probably. No honey, I’m involved with shit that can drag you down faster than a meth withdrawal and my life is a living testimony of that, take my word for it. So, go get some rest. Sleep out your saviour complex and live out your promising life when you wake up.”

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little-mad · 3 years ago

Text

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 3

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

Going through the portal from one dimension to another felt as simple as walking through a door. There was no flash of light, no weird tingly sensation all over Gavin’s body, no “welcome to a new dimension” announcement; Gavin could almost believe he was still back home...were it not for the fact that every single thing around him was mega sized.

Trees as tall as skyscrapers loomed overhead, and although he was looking down on them from Rael’s hip height, Gavin could still tell that even the wildflowers sticking out of the ground would be taller than him. He swore he even saw a chipmunk the size of a car scurrying up the side of a tree.

Suddenly, Gavin felt almost glad he was secured inside a cage. As much as he hated being confined, right now he didn’t feel like he could handle being out in the open, not with a bunch of big ass woodland creatures roaming about. Being attached to a big ass dude was bad enough.

Though he couldn’t see it from his current position, Gavin figured the portal they’d come through must have gone away, judging by the abrupt disappearance of the soft blue glow that the portal had been giving off a moment ago. “I’m officially closed off from the rest of humanity,” Gavin’s brain helpfully reminded him.

Glancing upward, Gavin caught Rael throwing him a brief look as if to ensure his captive was still there. The teal eyes examined him for only a moment before they returned to looking forward.

Gavin sighed. As intimidating as Rael was, he knew he couldn’t avoid talking to the guy forever. For one, he needed to ask his captor where exactly he was being taken, because in the middle of the woods hadn’t been what he’d been expecting. Gavin was admittedly not all that knowledgeable about alteon customs, but he was pretty sure they mostly lived in cities and towns.

Before Gavin even got the chance to mentally prepare himself for the prospect of addressing the alteon, he was bucked forward by the movement of the giant leg behind him.

Once again lying at the bottom of the cage, Gavin groaned. He was really beginning to sympathize with hamsters, lizards, and other handheld pets. Getting tossed around in a cage really sucked. Although, he figured most pets would be handled more carefully by their owners than Rael was currently handling him.

Every other step the aleton took jarred Gavin’s cage, meaning there was zero point in trying to stand up because he’d just be thrown to the floor again in an instant. Instead, he opted for sitting in the back with his arms wrapped around the iron bars for stability. It was still an unpleasant experience, but at least this way he could spare himself a few extra aches and pains.

About five minutes passed by and Rael continued to make his way silently through the forest. He clearly had no intention of striking up a conversation, which meant the task fell on Gavin. “Just picture him in his underwear,” he thought to himself, but then quickly realized that trick only worked on normal sized people. Picturing Rael in his underwear would only make Gavin feel both afraid and uncomfortable. “Okay…just imagine he’s not gigantic then.”

Gavin tilted his head back so he was looking up towards Rael’s face, however from the angle he was at, he could only really see the underside of the man’s jaw. “Yeeeah, kind of hard to imagine he’s not huge when I have to almost break my neck just to see his face.” After taking a deep, steadying breath, Gavin opened his mouth to speak.

Were Rael someone well learned in the magical arts, he could have easily teleported both himself and his human charge to the palace. However, as things were, he had no choice but to travel on foot through the woods that surrounded the city of Ostrad.

Rael didn’t necessarily mind a little hiking, but having to walk back to the city added on about an extra hour to the assignment he never wanted in the first place. He blew out an inaudible sigh, ignoring the way the cage hooked onto his belt repeatedly bumped against his thigh as he walked. At least the human had kept quiet so far, as long as it remained that way--

“Hey, uh--Rael?” The unexpected sound of the human’s voice nearly caused Rael to stop in his tracks. He paused for a moment but quickly recovered and continued making his way forward.

Rael flicked his eyes downwards for just a moment and saw that the human was looking up at him expectantly. Half because he didn’t want to end up running into anything, and half because he didn’t want to give the human the satisfaction of getting his attention, Rael quickly went back to looking forward. “What is it?” he responded reluctantly, making no effort to hide his irritation.

“Well--um, I was just wondering where we’re headed,” said the human nervously. Rael had been a little surprised when he found out that humans didn’t have high, squeaky little voices that fit their size. Instead, their voices were essentially normal, though much quieter than that of an alteon. This was something Rael was grateful for. While it would have been briefly amusing if the humans squeaked like mice, Rael had no doubt he would quickly tire of it.

“I’m delivering you to the Emperor at the palace,” Rael stated tersely. Surely the human could have deduced that on his own.

There was a pause, and Rael hoped that would be the end of the discussion, but evidently the human had other plans. “Right but uh--why didn’t we just...portal straight there?” he asked.

Rael rolled his eyes. He didn’t know whether it was all humans or just this one in particular, but there was certainly an air of obliviousness emanating from Gavin Stone. “The portal needs to be distant enough from civilization in the event intruders manage to slip through somehow,” Rael explained slowly, as though he were speaking to a child.

Honestly, the precaution of keeping portals isolated seemed as though it was more for the sake of protecting the humans that might come through than any alteons. Prior to departing for this assignment, Rael had been educated in all the ways humans could potentially bring harm to alteons. The list was quite short, and mostly involved large weapons of mass destruction, which were apparently not widely available in the human realm.

A thoughtful hum came from the caged human. “I guess that makes sense, though I can’t imagine any human intentionally trying to come here,” he commented. He seemed to be gaining some confidence in his speech and no longer stumbled over his words, much to Rael’s annoyance. The last thing he needed was for his captive to start getting talkative.

“Believe me, we don’t want humans here either,” Rael retorted. Perhaps he was speaking from his own opinion more so than that of the general population of his dimension, but he wasn’t about to tell Gavin Stone that.

Gavin narrowed his eyes at Rael’s comment. If he didn’t know any better, he might say that his captor wasn’t all too fond of humans. He had to wonder what the alteon’s past experience with humans had been. Was Gavin the first he’d met? Had he really made that bad of a first impression? “Oh yeah, I sprinted away from him full speed,” Gavin reminded himself.

People not liking him was not an unfamiliar thing for Gavin. Admittedly, he maybe didn’t have the best verbal filter, and had the unfortunate tendency to blurt out whatever popped into his head. He had been fired from his first job at a movie theater for accidentally calling his manager a “lazy dickwad” within said manager’s earshot. He had gotten sent to the principal’s office in third grade for letting it slip to another kid that Santa wasn’t real. And Gavin knew it was only a matter of time before he said something to Rael that really pissed off the giant.

If Gavin were smart, he would just keep his mouth shut. It was obviously what Rael would have preferred. The only problem was, Gavin wasn’t smart. Smart people became doctors, settled down with a sweet spouse, and moved into a fancy house in the suburbs. Smart people did not become thieves who stole from literal giants.

“So uh--are you like the Emperor’s delivery guy then?” Gavin asked. He didn’t really know where he was hoping the conversation would go or what he hoped to accomplish, but running his mouth felt familiar. If he stayed quiet he’d just end up wallowing in his own anxiety and fear.

Rael shot Gavin a quick, sharp look. “I am a member of the Imperial Guard, not a ‘delivery guy’,” he snipped, clearly not fond of Gavin’s insinuation.

Gavin didn’t really know what being in the “Imperial Guard” entailed, though he supposed it had a fancy enough name. Honestly, it kind of sounded like something out of Star Wars, though he wasn’t going to mention that to Rael considering the guy probably didn’t even know what a movie was.

“So did they specially choose--” Gavin’s sentence was interrupted midway through by an annoyed huff from Rael.

“There is no need for us to converse. So unless you have something crucial to say, I recommend you keep quiet,” the alteon stated coldly.

Despite Rael’s less than friendly tone, and the fact that it was a colossus of a man saying it, Gavin did not intend on keeping quiet. A familiar desire to be contrary was rising up in him. His mom had always called it his “urge to be a complete pain in the ass.”

Gavin didn’t necessarily want to intentionally piss off his captor, he didn’t want to make an enemy of the alteon. That would be stupid even for him. However, Gavin wasn’t about to roll over and behave like a good little boy. He was a criminal, following the rules was basically the antithesis of who he was. No, Gavin was going to talk to Rael whether the elf looking son of a bitch liked it or not.

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: Gavin Stone #oc: Rael

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marksloan · 3 years ago

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woah, can you tell us what happened with your dad and aunt? and how buzzfeed wanted to help? i am so curious

oh lord this is a story and a half. i can't believe i've actually never spoken about this before??

if you want a story about a messy family, buzzfeed unsolved being like aight yeah this is sus we want to help out, and my dwindling sanity, this is all going to be under the cut~

also side note, i have receipts of most things because we were terrified that my dad was going to gaslight about everything which, eventually, he did. we also knew that a lot of things were going to be deleted off of the internet for reasons we didn't know, so this is why i have a lot of shit just lying around omg. i literally sat here and watched every piece of evidence get deleted as i refreshed the page so this is the best i can do

TD;LR: we found out that my dad had a secret twin sister and he did everything he could to hide her from us alongside her mysterious death.

a few years ago, i started doing ancestry so i could find my family history and one thing lead to another and i found out that my aunt on my dad's side had also made a tree. while going through the birth records for births in the same area/time frame as my dad's birth, i found that there was a second kid listed under a mother with the same last name AND maiden name (because they list both the father and the mother's last name) alongside the same area code. this was super weird because neither name is super common and it was just a little too weird.

(name blocked out because ohhh boy this is supposed to be a sensitive family issue LMAO)

(here's some receipts of me messaging a friend on facebook because this whole situation is insane and i feel like i need to back myself up bc not even i'd believe myself omg)

flash forward to me going onto my aunt's family tree and finding out that she'd listed this random woman as my dad's twin sister. beyond sketch. we have never heard of this random woman and, when i mentioned it to my mother a few weeks later, she had no idea about it either, although, after a few days, she did recall a conversation she'd had with my uncle (my dad's older sister's husband) when my parents had just started dating. she said that he'd made a comment about my dad and just jokingly said 'oh, it's like a twin thing' and, very confused, my mum had played along. she hadn't thought much about it until i was sat there showing her screenshots of some random woman on my aunt's family tree. basically, she was fairly sure that it was right just from the genuine vibe of that side of the family, they're ex-military and very secretive and we've always got the feeling that something was a bit off.

she told me not to mention it to my dad and like a dumbass i did. i told him about the random woman on this family tree and he was PISSED. he told me that it was wrong and that 'it was easy to get lost and find the wrong people', despite being an account that was actively linked to his older sister's facebook account, and i decided to drop it. my dad can make your life hell when he wants to and i just left it alone.

but then my sister got involved oml. she picked right where i left off during quarantine in the summer and immediately dove right into this twin sister mystery. she discovered that this woman had died in the 90's, right before my parents got together, right in the vicinity that my dad's family moved (which, if you remember, they're military so they basically moved around the uk a lot. for someone who was originally was born in the north of the uk to randomly turn up and die in the most specific, random southern town was more than a coincidence.) however, my sisters ability to investigate extended a lot more than I did; she actually messaged my aunt over facebook and asked about this mystery woman that.

it didn't go well.

at the same time, she started tweeting about it on twitter and jokingly started saying 'oh maybe buzzfeed unsolved would be interested?'. this all happened around a week after aria uploaded his first(?) video investigating his father's best friend disappearing. i'm not sure what drove my sister to message aria but she eventually sent him a message on instagram and he (somehow???) responded and was very interested in helping us with our little family mystery.

this is what he sent my sister in response to her DMS.:

basically, this woman was impossible to trace. she only had a birth certificate and a death certificate, which in itself is very weird because in the uk you can at least follow people around the country with the regular census.

when my sister messaged my aunt we noticed that my dad was getting a lot of text messages constantly while he was out in the garden. we were deadass sat there listening to his phone just ping over and over. so my sister (like a stan twitter psychopath) decided to reset her twitter password, of which was linked to my dads phone and ended up actually going through his text messages.

i can't find the sc (my sister got a new insta account and it's what she sent me all the scs through) but if i remember rightly she sent him a message that was like: they're asking about [insert nickname for the twin sister] what should i say? and my dad I SHIT YOU NOT answered with i'll handle it. like I'm sorry sir is this an action movie? ur a taxi driver not james bond sit the fuck down.

(EDIT I FOUND IT IN A FACEBOOK CONVO)

f(he also, notably, lied to us and said that his sister had all of the family photos ~~~ imagine the way my ass fell out of my stomach when i read these text messages.)

we mentioned aria to my mum and explained how he might be able to help but she was very against it. instead, she took me and my sister out for dinner when quarantine eased (cmon eat to help out) and sent my dad a thick ass paragraph. i can't remember what it said for sure but there was something like 'do you want to be remembered as a liar by your kids because they're either going to find out the truth now or after your dead? its your choice xoxo'. god I'm so excited for the therapy I'm going to need in twenty years about my trust issues.

basically he admitted that it was true, but only over text message. he didn't give us any information, nor will he admit it in person or even speak about it. we know nothing other than the fact that this woman caused a lot of family drama and probably trauma and that they refuse to talk about her due to something she did to my grandmother (who as you can tell from the ancestry sc above, is long deceased.) basically this whole thing was a shit show and eventually aria agreed that there were too many messy factors, mental health and privacy etc.

there's a lot more involved surprisingly that i had to condense into this post but hopefully that explains it a bit. like i said, i'm beyond excited for this to cripple my ability to trust my family and men in particular and i'm just so excited for the therapy I'm going to need!

#buzzfeed unsolved #buzzfeed #soph talks #true crime #answered #anon #soph answers #aria inthavong #storytime #god this is so messy reading it back and i've missed so fucking much

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solynaceawrites · 4 years ago

Text

Subhuman

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, fem!Reader Tags: Smut, PWP, Porn No Plot, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Masturbation, Monster Sex Rating: Explicit Summary: The first time you have sex with Dante after he returns from the underworld, you learn just what it means to be his mate. Note: This came about after an interesting conversation in a server about Dante’s dick when he’s using SDT. Specifically, how it’s shaped. It’s also my first true foray into what I would call monster-fucking fics, so, uh . . . I hope you enjoy?

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The first time you’d seen Dante’s Sin Devil Trigger, you’d been trying to haul Nero’s dumb ass out of Urizen’s throne room. Your first thought had been, what the fuck, followed quite quickly by, that’s a nice ass, and you’d done your best to shove both of those to the side, as being stuck in the middle of a demonic tree was not the best time to be ogling your lover. The second had been a glimpse from the distance as he dove into the underworld, just a streak of burning orange across the sky and into the ground. You’d been more than pissed that he’d left, especially without so much as a good-bye, and you’d made that known to Morrison when he gave you the deed to the Devil May Cry. “He better not come back,” you’d said irritably, “unless he wants me to shoot him.”

But Dante’s disappearance, particularly after seeing that new form of his, left you with a rather particular problem. You’d told him once that you loved all of him; that love had extended into your sex life, and it’d been becoming more frequent for the dick he fucked you with to be scaled instead of flesh, for the hands that dug into your hips to be tipped with claws fit to tear through steel. You didn’t have much of an interest in finding someone else to date—Dante had truly been one of a kind—and there were times when the nice, normal dildo you kept tucked away in your bedside table just didn’t cut the trick.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like them. They’d always worked fine whenever Dante had to take an overnight job. It was the fact that thinking about Dante led to you remembering his easy grin and the way he felt curled around you at night, making the pain of his being gone much more apparent. The easiest option was to think about his other form; that one hadn’t made you coffee, or kissed the top of your head in passing, or told you how much it loved you. The problem with that was it was a bit disorienting thinking about a demonic dick while using a human one. So, you’d found a website that hosted an . . . unusual assortment, and selected one you thought was probably the closest match to a cock you’d never gotten to see.

You’d gotten one you could actually use, since some of the sizes they offered were a bit much.

The day it arrived, you’d closed the shop and gone to the room you used to share with Dante. The dildo, a model with a name you forgot almost as soon as you read it, was mouthwatering. Thick and ribbed and the size of your forearm, with a girth you couldn’t fully fit your fingers around, and you’d been careful as you used it for the first time. A lot of lubrication and plenty of time to let your body adjust around each inch, and you’d been so full that you’d come as soon as the base brushed your mound.

It was a particular favorite after that. You had a rather extensive collection of toys, from vibrators to dildos to other assorted odds and ends, and any time you’d been missing Dante’s demon cock, you’d pulled it out. Sometimes, if you were particularly riled up, you’d use a vibrator against your clit, and those were the times when you were so shaky-legged afterwards that you needed a day to recover fully.

That’s not to say you didn’t just miss Dante, because you did. The best you slept was with one of his shirts clutched to your chest, and you’d always leave a few slices of pizza untouched whenever you ordered in case he showed up and was hungry. Of course, leave it to him to pick the worst timing to come back home: you, taking a well-deserved shower that you weren’t expecting to be interrupted by the devil hunter, and if he’d gotten smacked between the eyes with a shampoo bottle, he more than deserved it.

Two weeks short of a year since he’d left, Dante had been back. You’d yelled at him, cried more than you ever had before, and he absorbed it all, his grin turning to a sheepish smile and then outright guilt the longer you laid into him. Part of you felt bad for it. He’d probably been expecting something out of the movies, where you ran into his arms and kissed him senseless, like you had when you’d been reunited in the tree. But he hadn’t chosen to leave you behind then, and the hurt you felt not only at his leaving but at his sauntering back in had quashed that little protest. And when he’d tried to make it up to you the way he always did, you told him he could either keep his hands to himself or sleep on the couch.

Life hadn’t exactly gone back to normal in the following month—there was a lot to talk about, and you did, and he listened—but just having him back was a good enough start as far as you were concerned.

“Dante,” you call. When he doesn’t answer, you pull your head from the fridge, frowning at the empty seat behind his desk. You need his help deciding what to do for dinner and, unless he wants an anchovy-pickle-mayonnaise sandwich, the two of you are going to have to get something delivered. “Dante!”

“Bedroom!” he shouts back.

You take the climb the stairs and head into the bedroom, intending to ask him if he wants lo mein or pizza, only to freeze when you see him sitting on the bed, cradling that damned dildo in his palms. “Uh . . .?”

Dante grins at you, and you try not to flush under his heavy gaze. Sex has been off the table while the two of you work through the hurt his leaving caused, and, with him around, you’d taken to carrying the dildo into the bathroom with you whenever you needed some relief. You must have tossed it onto the bed after your afternoon shower, probably intending to put it up after you got dressed only to forget, and while you don’t think he’s angry, he certainly seems bemused. “Nice toy,” is all he says.

“Uh.”

“Color’s especially interesting. In fact, I’d say it looks pretty damn similar to mine.” He taps the rubber before dragging his finger along a prominent ridge. “Even this. I’d known you missed me this badly, I’d have bent you over the desk as soon as I walked in the door.”

“What do you mean, if you’d known?” Your voice is harsher than you intend from your mortification, and Dante blinks as you stalk forward to yank it from his hands. “Did you think I was having parties while you were in the underworld?” It’s not fair to say, and you know it’s not, but there’s a vicious satisfaction when he frowns. You toss the dildo onto the bed and fold your arms. “I missed you like hell. I’ve told you how hard those months without you were. So, if I wanted to buy a dildo that reminded me of your dick to help with that, it’s none of your business, and you can forget bending me over anything while you’re at it!”

He doesn’t argue, which helps your irritation a little. “Sorry, doll. It just caught me off guard. Though . . .” The way he tilts his head reminds you so much of a big dog that it’s ridiculous, especially with his shaggy hair. “You know you can have the real thing, right?”

“Maybe I like it better,” you retort.

You know the challenge you’re laying at his feet, and a thrill goes up your spine when his smile takes on a predatory edge as he stands. “Is that right? Maybe we should test it, just to be sure.” Dante peels his shirt over his head and your mouth goes dry at the sight of his chest, broad and covered with fine silver hairs. This was why you’d wanted to wait on sex for a while. The moment he lays on the charm, your anger goes right out of the window, which isn’t always the best thing when there’s an issue to solve. For now, though, you decide that it’s fine, and you lean against the wall and cock a brow. Come and get me.

There’s a flash of heat that has you wincing. When you open your eyes, it’s to see the horns and claws and fangs you’ve dreamed of since the first sighting in the tree, and you hold your breath as Dante prowls towards you, his claws ticking against the hardwood floor. He crowds you against the wall and peers down at you. Dante’s already a good head taller than you when he’s human; now, you have to crane your head back to look at his chin, and he kneels to be eye-level with you, his maw parting so his tongue can slide over your cheek. The rough surface of it has goosebumps breaking out along your arms as you think of what it’s going to feel like rubbing over your clit, and when it slides over your lips you part them to suck it into your mouth.

Dante growls, his breath fire-hot where it fans along your cheek. You almost don’t notice him cutting through your clothing until cold air caresses your skin; with a gasp, you draw back, and his hand grips your waist to pull you up so his face is level with your chest. “Pretty,” he rumbles, the sound thick and foreign and full of gravel, and you grasp at his horns when he curls that ridged tongue around your breast. The tip flicks your nipple, making you squirm from the prickles of pleasure it causes, and, with a laugh that’s ash and smoke, he rubs over it firmly.

And, gods above, you’re probably going to finish from that alone.

It’s heaven: rough and slick and warm, his saliva thick as it coats your flesh, making the friction so much silkier. You tug at his horns a futile attempt for more, though what more is, you don’t know. Not like he can do much else with his teeth the size of daggers, but his touch has awoken something greedy within you that clamors urgently for attention. When he shifts to give the same attention to your other breast, you nearly sob, and your nipples are peaked and stiff and tender by the time he’s through.

His hands cup your rear and lift you, yelping, so that your sex is in front of his mouth. The claws on his wings hook your wrists to pull your arms above your head as he braces your knees over his shoulders, and you can’t stop the whimper you let out when those teeth graze your mound. There’s a low rumbling from his chest as he breathes you in, and then you watch as his fangs part as his tongue slides between your folds.

“Oh, fuck,” you whine. “Dante . . .”

He licks you exactly how you like—his tongue thick and flat and rubbing firmly from your ass to your clit—but the texture is something else entirely, and you’d be rocking desperately against him if he weren’t holding you still. He slips it within your weeping sex, and you nearly scream when it folds on itself so he can lash the tip against your quivering pearl; it hadn’t seem so long at first, but now you understand why he’s got difficulty talking in this form. Not that you care if he speaks or not. As long as he keeps fucking you like he is, he can stay quiet. Every time his tongue flexes within you, you keen, and his answering pants send heated air along your labia and thighs, only heightening the pleasure that you’re already drowning in. You come in no time at all, but he doesn’t stop. Dante keeps right on working your body until a second orgasm follows hard and fast on the heels of the first, leaving your back bowing as you cry out his name.

Your legs are too weak by the time it fades for you to stand. Dante carries you easily over to the bed, lowering you back down so your head doesn’t smack into the fan, nuzzling your stomach and crooning sweetly against your skin. You don’t know what he’s doing, but something about the sound relaxes you so you’re limp when he deposits you on the mattress. Then you catch sight of his cock, and you lift yourself into a sitting position, your eyes wide.

The damn thing is huge. Dante already is, but this form of his adds length and girth, and it glows the same fiery orange as his eyes and the cracks in his armor. The top of it is covered with darker plates that taper off as they wrap around the vibrant underside, and those plates are covered with tiny, ridged bumps; the shaft of it flares twice, thickening in the middle, and the flared tip that you remember has some sort of swirl that narrows it at the slit and has it widening into protrusions where it meets the shaft. At the base you can see what you assume are his balls, held tight to the shaft, and there’s a small part where it meets his pelvis that looks perfect for stimulating your clit. You think, is that even going to fit? Then, I’ll make it fit.

There’s fluid dripping from the tip that you have the most insane urge to taste. It’s thick, a bit darker than normal, and you lean forward to drag your tongue over the slit. Dante hisses a warped version of your name as you lap at the head, gathering as much of the precum as you can before swallowing. It tastes sharp and rich, with a faintly spiced undertone, and it leaves a tingling trail from your lips down to your stomach. You’re not entirely sure, but you’re pretty certain that it’s an aphrodisiac of some kind, maybe meant to either get his partner in the mood or make it easier for him to get that monster between his legs inside of them. Or both.

Either way, you’re going to combust if he doesn’t fuck you soon.

But how to make it work? Humming, you shift onto your hands and knees, but it still doesn’t quite line up right. “Dante, I think—hey!”

The bed creaks warningly as he settles between your legs. His thighs press you nearly wider than is comfortable, and the heat of his body blasts against your back when he leans over you, one of his clawed hands bracing next to your own. You study the armor plating at his wrist for a moment, but the feeling of his head nudging insistently at your opening has you digging your fingers into the quilt, a breathless, “Please,” falling from your lips.

Slowly, he pushes it within your opening. Your mouth hangs open in a groan as it stretches you; there’s no pain, just the same tingling you’d felt when you swallowed his precum, and you realize that your assumption was right. Still, as he carefully thrusts deeper, you’re not sure how much of it you’re going to be able to take, a thought that’s reinforced when the head of him is fully inside and your walls squeeze around it. He’s barely gotten started and you feel fuller than you ever had in your life, and when he presses forward so your lips open around the first flare of his shaft, you cry out, your legs trembling. The second flare sliding leisurely into your sex has you coming for the third time, all of this little ridges you’d noticed and the ribbing along the sides more than enough to have your head spinning. By the time his hips are flush to your rear and his sac is nestled snugly against your clit, you’re boneless in his grasp, and you understand, through the haze, one very clear fact.

Dante is going to ruin you.

He moves slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to his size as he pants hotly against your shoulder, and you mewl every time he rocks his hips. You’re honestly not certain how much more you can handle; each tentative thrust has those flares and ridges stretching your cunt, presses the head of him against something within you that adds a faint dash of pain to the overwhelming pleasure. His teeth prick your skin and you gasp, scrabbling for purchase against the sheets as his hips pick up the pace until you’re rocking over the mattress, rocked forward by every powerful roll of his hips. The sound of his body driving into yours fills the room along with your desperate cries, and all of it only seems to spur him on. The heat radiating from him ramps up as his claws tear through the quilt, and his fangs become better acquainted with your shoulders and the back of your neck, each mark he leaves drawing a moan from your throat.

Dante reaches beneath you to cup your stomach, keeping you lifted as he fucks you senseless. He growls something that sounds like, “Mine,” when he presses you up, and you nearly scream at the new angle, the new depth. Forget tomorrow or the next day, you’re going to need at least a week before you can go out in the field again.

“Dante,” you whimper, “Dante, baby, please—”

He grunts and draws out, leaving you breathless. Then he takes hold of your hips and flips you onto your back before sheathing himself within you again, and this time you do scream as that protrusion you’d noticed earlier bears down on your clit as he fills you. Every time he moves, it presses and grinds against your pearl, lending a desperate edge to the coil tightening in your stomach. Dimly you’re aware of his face drawing closer, and you don’t hesitate to open your mouth when his tongue nudges at your lips, sucking on his flesh eagerly. You’re close, so close, and when he thrusts roughly enough to nearly knock you into the headboard as his tongue grazes the back of your throat, you fall apart, consumed by him.

Wave upon wave of bliss wracks your body, which bows under and squeezes around his. And he doesn’t let up, rutting into you with growls and rasping groans that have your blood on fire until you’re dizzy and light-headed and your ears ring from the force of it all. You don’t know how much longer he works his body within yours, teetering on the brink of blackness, but you feel his tongue leave your mouth so he can sink his teeth into the flesh where your shoulder meets your neck, and the pain of that is blurred and diluted by the pleasure that comes when the first scorching wave of his seed fills you. On and on he comes, so that it smears along your thighs and pools on the sheets beneath you, so that you wonder if it’s ever going to end.

But end it does. With a lick over the wound he’s left, he draws out, and there’s a faint noise as he does so. More of his seed flows out, still hot enough to nearly be scalding, and you whine at the sensation of being so full and yet so empty at the same time. The sound of his footfalls shifts as he crosses the room from talons to bare feet; when he returns, he’s human again, and he kisses you gently as he lifts you from the bed. “Sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs. “It’s been so long, and I . . . Well. Guess I made a mess, huh?”

“A good one,” you mumble.

Dante chuckles and sets you down in the bathroom, and you watch sleepily as he fills a tub with warm water and your favorite bath foam. “You relax. I’m gonna go change the sheets.”

You nod, and he helps you into the bath, where you sink into the warmth with a groan. There’s a dull ache already forming between your thighs, and your shoulder is going to hurt like hell tomorrow if you don’t do something about it, but you’re far too tired right now to work even the simplest of healing spells. Besides, you think, he’d left that there as a reminder of his love for you, so you’re not exactly complaining. Dante comes back right as the water is getting cool enough that you want to get out, and he dries you off with a fluffy towel before once more picking you up and carrying you back into the bedroom.

You’re half-asleep by the time your head hits the pillows, though you manage to hold on long enough for him to turn off the lights and join you, his weight warm and familiar at your back. “Dante?”

“Hm?”

“Welcome home.”

He pauses, his arm tightening around your waist as he buries his face in your hair. “I’m back, sweetheart. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #dante/reader #dante x reader #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #writing #oneshot #myfic #subhuman

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gesternchen · 4 years ago

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Just randomly reviewing scenes from the movies no one remembers now. This week: Avatar (2009).

It’s not like everyone forgot James Cameron’s Avatar. Since we’re still getting some footage from behind the scenes of the sequel and news about the cast, at least someone takes pains to remind themselves of this cinematic experience from the year of 2009. It’s already been 84 (just kidding, 11) years and I’m still looking forward to at least watching the teaser (fun fact: I was 11 when Avatar came out, I’m 22 now). I even bought the Darkhorse comic book on Tsu’Tey’s backstory to, you know, investigate one of my favorite characters a little bit better (spoiler: the backstory wasn’t very much eventful but I noticed a nice detail there which I may talk about briefly a bit later).

Throughout the years Avatar has received a lot of backlash and more or less justified criticism, mainly for the plot and its problematic packaging. I believe, it depends on the perspective one watches a movie from. Of course, I wouldn’t call it an absolute gem of exciting storytelling, even though I truly enjoy it, as in majority its twists are undeniably predictable. However, I always disagreed with people saying relations in Avatar aren’t deep at all. Well, romance between Jake and Neytiri, which, let’s be honest, except for the scene of telling the truth, went too smoothly, and this is why I strongly believe clash of interests is inevitable in sequels. Their interaction remained the key one for the whole movie, and nothing is bad about that, people enjoy a nice lovestory, so do I. But 11 years after I’d like to focus on the disturbing conflict everyone prefers to ignore for some reason when recalling Avatar. For me it’s always been Jake versus Colonel Quaritch.

You guys may have already guessed which scenes I wanna talk about. Those really important ones that I consider climactic to the pace of narration. And what is more about them, they give us crucial details in character development and actors’ play to think through. The main message: Quaritch knew it was coming.

Let me firstly touch upon the scene of short conversation between Jake and Quaritch prior to Sully presumably leaving Pandora. While Jake is awating Quaritch in a large empty hall, he hardly seems to be calm about the talk, every nerve in his body is trembling, but why?

The way Jake’s drumming his fingers on the table makes me wonder if he’s okay.

Then Colonel enters the hall, grabs a chair and reminds that it had been more than two weeks since he got the latest report on how the misson was going. He knows, Sully is questioning reality, and no, he’s not ‘doubting his resolve’. He knows, the right moment to ‘terminate the mission’ is missed. He knows, he lost Jake. He knows, he’s talking to the deserter. Yet Quaritch speaks indifferent. He praises Jake’s effort and rewards him for that. With real legs he promised to him when they first talked. Quaritch hoped they’d trigger the realization in Jake. Which doesn’t happen. How sad he looks when Jake openly refuses to accept the reward.

In just one sequence Stephen’s face demonstrates the shift of all four feelings Quaritch goes through: dissatisfaction, melancholy, shame, disgust.

Quaritch sensed the moment when Jake expressed superiority to the mankind. Jake grasped that Quaritch knew everything, he played with fire, and that’s why he felt anxiety. And it lasted all the way until Quaritch stepped back for leaving the hall. But did Colonel really surrender? I doubt that.

The tension between them both feels electric, so it’s explainable why Jake’s transient smile is so awkward. Sam then heavily staring straight at Colonel's back suggests that up until now Jake regarded Quaritch as his enemy. The enemy he knew he would not be able to defeat.

I remember when watching this scene, I couldn’t get myself the answer to one question. The question was: which report did Quaritch refer to? ‘That report from two weeks ago’, but such information wasn’t satisfactory for me. To be honest, this small discovery became the actual reason why I decided to type this study. Let’s assume that this particular report which Quaritch mentioned was the videolog where Jake confessed that Omaticaya wouldn’t leave the Hometree. Here’s why.

The general audience is used to perceiving Quaritch as a cruel short-tempered military man who just waits for the starting pistol’s shot to destroy everything in sight. Again, nothing is wrong about this, the fact that his character was simply meant to be a generic personification of such type doesn’t leave us with any alternative impression of him. Let’s say, if he was given the order to ignite the operation of the Hometree’s destruction to screw the tribe out of the site, he would absolutely go for it (and so he does). He’s a man of his word after all. Let’s also say, if he was pissed off by Jake’s betrayal, he would transport himself to the mountain site in a blink of an eye, turn off the link and put Jake in jail right after the talk in the hall. Instead, Quaritch decided to wait and give Jake the last chance. Jake preffered unearthly wings to those more tangible, so Quaritch chose not to cut them so abruptly.

We’re moving to the next scene, taking place right before a toned down fight between Tsu’Tey and Jake (I’m saying so, because it’s actually one of the deleted scenes that got edited out of the final cut, and believe me, the pressure between two rivals there is way too intense). Quaritch is watching the record of Jake destroying bulldozer’s lenses with a stone. After that Jake’s face is zoomed and we watch Selfridge get frustrated, Quaritch looks pretty annoyed as well but doesn’t seem to be much surprised. What he’s feeling, is bitter disappointment in himself and knowing that he totally failed to persuade Jake to change his mind.

Just observe Stephen Lang’s performance here. He absolutely nails cold-eyed look, the fire burning slow inside of him is so palpable, and guess what, in a flash he flies off the handle.

Now, shall we check the ultimate scene, preceding the destruction of the Hometree. Though Grace versus Parker juxtaposition is central to this scene, the last time Quaritch confronting Jake face to face in his human body is essential to consider for making things clear.

When it comes to revealing to Selfridge the vainness of further negotiations with Omaticaya, isn’t it just interesting how fast Quaritch manages to find the correct videolog? It literally takes him not more than a couple of swipes to produce the proof. Here is why: he’s already watched the record and is completely aware of the Jake’s values having deteriorated.

You can tell, Jake knew he was under control, but he would rather like to ingnore this fact. His pathetic glance at Quaritch, who’s almost impending above his head, causes to think Jake would guess that Colonel could have watched this videolog. Rather, it was a mutual secret between the two of them until a turning point. But the moment of truth came, and Jake didn’t change his mind. Quaritch made sure of that and finally it was his time to triumph.

So how was it even possible to assume Quaritch may have watched the videolog I’ve been talking about for so long? Well, my explanation may be too easy to believe, but still: we can tell by Jake’s appearance and the date of the record that it is the vlog we need.

This telltale videolog was recorded 16 minutes after the another one, when Jake says that he’s uncertain, who he is anymore (LST abbreviation stands for Local Standard Time). Jake might have suddenly felt depressed and hopeless and got back to the camera while being too emotionally instable, and so must have forgotten to delete the final record.

I have one more note for you. If you check the videolog library Quaritch is swiping through, you’ll see that the latest important record, which he actually needs, is made in the interior of the mountain site block and dates back to August, 13. Other recent vlogs’ covers look nothing like Site 26 sequence. Jake may not have done any of these records at the mountain site. I still wonder though where those three or four ensuing videologs were recorded, the location seems to be red lighted, which means it isn’t blue lighting at Site 26. I may even assume he recorded some pieces at Hell’s Gate. Why would I think so? Probably because in those two scenes (dialog with Quaritch and confession at Parker’s office) Jake looks ten times better than before, he gained some weight at least and doesn’t resemble a living sceleton.

Selfridge gave Jake an hour to relocate the tribe, while gunships led by Colonel’s Dragon were already on full alert. Quaritch had no doubt that Jake’s peacekeeping mission would fail. He knew it from the beginning. Hence he sounds so sarcastic seeing Sully’s avatar tied.

Now Quaritch sipping his villain’s morning coffee tasting like fresh genocide doesn’t feel so cringy: he’s celebrating his victory over Jake (still I should agree with critisism on this point, it really is a stupid cliche and wasn’t intended to carry a deep meaning).

Now I should admit, it’s been a long journey to run this investigation and bring it to light by finally posting it. It took me around a day to collect my thoughts and express them by means of more or less readable English. Just would like to make a little side note: English is not my native, so I promise I did my best! Thanks to James Cameron for making a movie, which woke me up in the middle of the night to start reflecting, and to all the fans out there who still exist and remember this movie and so can read this essay. @avatarmovies I found your blog not so long ago and you guys say you enjoy headcanons (and movie reviews probably?..), so it would be nice if you reblogged this but I’m not insisting!!

#avatar #james cameron #james cameron avatar #movie reviews #avatar movies #colonel quaritch #jake sully #characters in conflict #gesternchen reviews

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stereksecretsanta · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas, greenleaf1316!

For @greenleaf1316. I hope you like it!!!!! I tried to go for fluff but it got a teensy bit angsty at the end :D

Read On AO3

*****

Hiding In Plain Sight

‘Shit.’ Stiles sat up abruptly and waved his hands frantically in Derek’s face. ‘Put your clothes back on.’

‘Huh?’ Derek frowned and under normal circumstances, Stiles would have been completely smitten with that little wrinkle between the Murder Brows ™ but he knew the sound of that car and he also knew that if Lydia caught them in flagrante delicto, he would never hear the end of it.

‘I mean it.’ He scrambled off the bed and peered out his window. ‘Fuck, she’s almost at the front door.’

‘Lydia?’ Derek, bless his heart, was actually up and fishing around for his henley, grabbing it off the floor and yanking it over his head. ‘Why are you worried?’

‘Because…well.’ Stiles wrung his hands. ‘Okay, so it’s literally only been a couple of months since we broke up and when we did break up, do you know what she said?’

‘That you were hung up on me?’ Derek grinned, all teeth. He had heard this story, in fact it was one of the reasons he’d finally made a move.

‘And do you know what I replied?’ Stiles narrowed his eyes at him.

‘That she was crazy and that you were in no way interested?’ Derek was smirking, amusement in every line of his face. It was a good look on him and Stiles was torn between wanting to wrestle him to the bed and carry on with what they’d started and shove him in the closet. That mental image made him snicker before the doorbell rang and he grabbed Derek and hustled him towards the window.

‘Stiles!’ Derek protested, but he let himself be steered. ‘You know you’re going to have to tell her eventually.’

‘Ha!’ Stiles wrinkled his nose at him. ‘I’ll tell Lydia that she was right when hell freezes over. She thinks she knows me so well.’

‘She does.’ Derek pointed out and Stiles gasped in betrayal and used both hands to bundle him outside.

‘Give it twenty minutes and then come back in.’ he ordered and left Derek muttering about not even having a chance to put his shoes on before he retreated onto the roof and out of sight. His head popped back in a moment later. ‘It’s all iced over up here and I’m freezing my ass off!’

‘You’ll live!’ Stiles slammed the window shut, barely missing Derek’s fingers, and hurtled out his bedroom and down the stairs, stopping briefly to untangle himself from his own shirt that he was attempting to put on upside down, and then skidded along the wooden floor of the hall until he slammed into the front door.

‘Dammit.’ he muttered, wincing as he pulled it open and found Lydia looking at him with a very smug expression.

‘I win.’ she announced and Stiles glared at her.

‘You absolutely do not.’ he hissed and she arched an eyebrow at him. Neither of them backed down until there was a sound like a cat being strangled from the roof and Lydia’s eyebrow climbed to Everestian heights.

‘No?’ She smiled sweetly but Stiles was wise to her cunning ways. Any show of weakness would result in his imminent destruction.

‘No.’ He folded his arms and then realised that his fly was undone. He turned around and jerked it up, squeaking when he nearly got his dick caught. He could hear snickering behind him and wheeled back around to find Lydia’s eyes sparkling with mirth.

‘It’s hard to do up your pants when you still have a hard on.’ she pointed out and he went red.

‘I was jerking off.’ he protested and that was of course the time when Derek’s usual grace decided to desert him and he fell off the roof, making a very un-wolflike noise as he crashed into the bushes that flanked the front of the house. He sat up, blinking blearily and shaking his head like a wet puppy.

‘Hmmmm.’ Lydia shoved Stiles aside and swanned into the house past him. ‘So I see.’

‘It’s a bit of a situation.’ Stiles was slumped so low in his seat that his ass was hanging off the chair. On the other side, the Sheriff heaved a sigh.

‘I don’t get why you don’t just tell them.’ he said and next to him, Derek made an I told you so face.

‘Shut up.’ Stiles gave him a look that he hoped was clear in it’s dissent to that particular idea. Derek snorted and went back to eating Stiles’ popcorn that he’d abandoned when Erica and Boyd had walked into the cinema.

‘Son.’ The Sheriff sounded like he’d rather be chasing down a multitude of bad guys than talking Stiles down from his self-imposed ledge. ‘You’re all adults. I’m sure nobody is going to have a problem with that fact that you and Derek finally pulled your heads out of your asses and got together.’

‘It’s not as simple as you make it out to be.’ Stiles grumbled. ‘I mean they all made such a big deal about the fact that me and Lydia had finally gotten together.’

‘You mean Scott made such a big deal about you and Lydia getting together.’ The Sheriff chuckled and Stiles wanted to strangle him. ‘Look, Scott’s just got to put on his big boy pants and realise that just because he still has a stick up his ass about Derek coming back an alpha and taking back his pack, it’s no reason for you not to be happy.’

‘Fuck.’ Stiles’ entire face creased up. ‘I hate it when you’re reasonable.’

‘It’s a gift.’ His father sounded unbelievably fond. ‘No go back to watching your movie and make out with your boyfriend and stop trying to convince me to call in a bomb scare to the movie house.’

‘Thanks for nothing.’ Stiles pulled a face when he got hung up on, his father still chortling and then screeched like a small child when he found two pairs of glowing golden eyes looking at him from the row of seats in front.

‘You know we can hear you.’ Boyd said. His normally taciturn expression was bordering on gleeful and Stiles decided that made him look more evil than all the villains the pack had faced altogether, and that included Deucalion’s multiple iterations.

‘And smell you.’ Erica reached over and snagged a handful of popcorn. ‘Why are you two hiding back here and why is Stiles trying to cause a terrorist incident.’

Stiles gaped at them both and then looked at Derek accusingly.

‘You told them?’ He batted at Derek’s arm and his boyfriend fended him off easily, still managing to cram another mouthful in.

‘He didn’t need to.’ Boyd rested his chin on his arm. ‘We could smell it all over you the first time you fucked.’

‘’You’re just lucky that Scott is the ultimate failwolf and can’t use his nose for shit.’ Erica grinned, her fangs just showing. ‘Besides, it’s not like we have a problem with it. We won the pool.’

‘Cora’s still pissed about that.’ Derek smirked and Stiles felt he had no choice but to hit him.

Stiles stretched luxuriously and turned to lean on one elbow, admitting Derek’s sleeping face. Even the fact that his wolf was on his back, mouth open and snoring like a band of happy lumberjacks let loose at a pine forest, couldn’t dim his ardour and he contemplated dipping under the covers and blowing him back to readiness.

Derek’s breathing hitched and he turned over onto his stomach, mumbling something about rabbis as he buried his face in the pillow and Stiles sniggered into his own pillow and then decided he needed something to drink. Sex with Derek was always athletic and enthusiastic and involved a hell of a lot of licking so feeling dehydrated was nothing new.

He sat up, using his toes to grab his discarded boxers and got up. He was still hitching them up when he cracked the door open and peered into the corridor. The new Hale house was a long white wood-cladded affair near the lake with Derek’s bedroom at the end of the corridor. Between him and the stairs was Peter’s room and Cora’s room, both of which were currently occupied. Thankfully, industrial strength soundproofing had been installed so he and Derek could be as loud as they wanted without anyone catching on. Boyd and Erica had been sworn to secrecy, as had Cora. She hadn’t even been allowed to tell Isaac, who she skyped daily.

He stumbled down the corridor, making his way downstairs and into the kitchen. It was all gleaming surfaces and had two enormous fridge freezers at the end. Stiles opened one, taking out a bottle of gatorade and cracking it. He downed half noisily and was just about to get started on the other half when the lights went on and he found himself face to face with a half naked Isaac.

‘Dude!’ He blinked in surprise. ‘Why aren’t you in France?’

‘Um…’ Isaac looked like a deer in the headlights. He had a series of huge bruises dotted all the way down his chest and it took all of a minute to put two and two together because clearly Cora and Her brother shared a marking kink.

‘Oh my God!’ Stiles hissed in excitement. ‘You two?’

‘Well, yeah.’ Isaac gave him a shy smile, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘And I’m assuming that Derek did that.’ He gave Stiles’ neck a pointed look.

‘It’s new.’ Stiles opened the fridge again and grabbed a second bottle, chucking it over to him. ‘So are you back for good?’

‘I think so.’ Isaac’s eyes flitted towards the ceiling. ‘I’d like to be. I just got in this evening and things kind of got out of hand but this already feels more like home than any other place I’ve been.’

‘I’m glad.’ Stiles beamed at him. ‘And I know Derek will be really pleased to have you back.’

They drank the rest of their gatorade in silence, both of them catching each other’s eye and laughing.

‘This has got to be one of the most awkward things ever.’ Stiles grinned. ‘But if you’re back then what happened Chris?’ He stopped when that very person stumbled into the kitchen. He was also in nothing but boxers, his greying hair sticking up in every direction possible. He squinted at Stiles and Isaac and then looked sheepish as hell, especially when Stiles clocked the massive bite mark on the slope of his shoulder.

‘Huh.’ He nodded at Chris’ mark. ‘Guess it runs in the family.’

Derek woke with a start. He shot up, fangs and claws out and eyes flashing and then settled when he saw who it was that had interrupted his sleep.

‘Jesus, Kira.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘What the hell?’

‘Just visiting.’ Kira had her wicked smile on. Since she’d joined her sisters in the desert, her propensity for mischief in keeping with her kitsune nature had become even more pronounced. ‘I wanted to say hi.’ She was balanced on her toes on the iron foot rail of his bed, her katana on her back and her black hair floating around her face, eyes burning orange.

‘Did you drive?’ Derek asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

‘No, I flew.’ Kira floated up into the air and landed soundlessly. ‘Isn’t it cool?’

‘Very.’ Derek couldn’t help smiling at her. ‘What time is it?’

‘Around three.’ Kira tilted her head, frowning at the bed he’d just vacated. ‘What are those?’

Derek looked behind him and felt his face heat up. He grabbed the black lace panties and shoved them under the pillow.

‘Nothing.’ he replied but Kira’s smile was now bordering on demonic.

‘You’re getting laid?’ she squealed in excitement. ‘Finally! Who’s the lucky girl?’

‘Oh...er..it’s…’ Derek floundered, not quite sure how to lay things out in a way that she wouldn’t be able to pick up on him lying. ‘It’s not so much a girl as it is a guy.’

Kira’s shriek of delight was enough to have him wincing at the assault on his eardrums.

‘Is it Stiles?’ She practically had heart eyes. ‘Oh God, please tell me it’s Stiles. You’ve had the biggest crush on him for about forever.’

That was when the toilet flushed and the ensuite door opened to reveal Stiles looking like the cat that ate the canary and possibly the entire aviary while he was about it.

‘A crush?’ He was beaming as brightly as Kira was. ‘On me?’

‘Shut up, Stiles.’ Derek ducked his head, knowing he’d been completely and utterly rumbled. Kira had been the only one he’d confessed to.

‘No, wait a second.’ Stiles’ grin turned smug. ‘All this time, I thought I was about the luckiest person on earth that you would even look at me and it turns out that you were pining for me?’

‘I wasn’t pining.’ Derek muttered, folding his arms and trying to get back some of his dignity. ‘I admired from afar.’

‘He pined.’ Kira giggled. ‘He pined so hard that I think we ate the entire grocery store stock of Ben and Jerry’s that first month you were dating Lydia. He made me go on a road trip to Vegas where all he did was mope and play the slots.’

‘I hate you.’ Derek growled at her but she completely ignored him and went over to throw her arms around Stiles, the two of them bouncing around like kindergarteners.

‘This is so great.’ Kira dragged Stiles back to the bed and hauled him onto it with her, all three of them getting tangled up. ‘It’s like my brother and my other brother getting together.’

‘That would be incest, Kira.’ Derek felt he was obligated to point this out. Kira crinkled her nose adorably and then shrugged.

‘Meh.’ She wriggled so she was between them, getting comfortable on the pillows. ‘Geez, I’m bushed after all that. Can I stay and nap for a bit?’

‘Sure.’ Stiles grinned badly at Derek over her head. ‘Although you do realise we’re both still naked, right?’

Kira mumbled something indistinct, already half asleep. Derek regarded her and brushed her hair out of her face.

‘She’s fucking nuts.’ he said, voice full of affection.

‘I know.’ Stiles replied. ‘But then again, who isn’t?’

Melissa hummed to herself as she wandered the aisles of the grocery store. It was nice having this time to herself between shifts and she stopped to peruse a selection of sandwiches, tapping her fingers against her mouth as she contemplated lunch.

A familiar voice broke through her reverie and she frowned and walked to the end of the aisle, peeking around the corner and grinning as she took in the scene in front of her.

Canoodling. There was no other word for it. What was even more amusing was who exactly was doing the canoodling.

She’d always known how affectionate and tactile Stiles was. When he’d been in elementary school and she and Claudia had got together for coffee while he and Scott tore around the playground at the park, she’d always loved how free he’d been with his affection. He’d always come back to Claudia for a hug or a kiss on the head before galloping off again, something Melissa had envied. Scott had become withdrawn after Rafael had left, not as accepting of Melissa’s overtures as he had been and she had missed it.

Then Claudia had gotten sick and Stiles’ sunny nature had clouded over and he’d turned from tactile to clingy in his desperation. Melissa knew that whenever she’d visit she would find him on Claudia’s bead, tucked under her arm or snuggled into her side. Then Claudia’s dementia had gotten worse and she’d stopped recognising her son and that warm physical affection had dried up. Noah had tried to be a substitute but Melissa knew that nothing could ever take the place of Claudia’s touch. She had died and Stiles had grown up far too quickly, and that reservedness had persisted. He’d taken to pulling himself back, putting himself out there with words and manic energy instead and that sunny happy child she had known was hardly to be seen.

This though, this was like getting hit in the face with the past and it made her heart soar to see it.

Stiles had Derek trapped against one of the milk fridges, hands on his hips and their noses almost touching they were so close. It startled Melissa a little to realise that there was barely an inch difference between them and how broad Stiles had gotten in the shoulders. He and Derek now faced off as equals rather than antagonists and Melissa was equally surprised to see the look of exasperated love on Derek’s face as he looked into Stiles’ eyes, his own arms resting on Stiles’ shoulders.

‘I have to get milk.’ he said and Stiles snorted happily and nuzzled at him.

‘Well, I have to get kisses.’ he replied.

‘We’re in the middle of the store.’ Derek protested but his eyes were crinkled up and he was smiling in a way that Melissa could never recall seeing him smile. He looked utterly besotted and it was a very good look on him.

‘Stop being a worry wolf.’ Stiles laughed. ‘The pack shops on the other side of town. Nobody will see us here.’ He peppered Derek’s face with kisses and Derek started honest-to-God giggling, trying not very hard to fight him off until Stiles got him good and pinned and kissed him properly, Derek’s arms looped around his neck and their bodies pressed up tight against each other.

Melissa watched until it got a little too heated and then turned and left, a smile on her face all the way back to the hospital.

+ 1

‘Derek! Wake the fuck up!’ Stiles sounded panicked, more panicked than Scott had ever heard him. He was already moving to the door of the examination room when he was moved aside by Deaton. Boyd had laid Derek out on the stainless steel examination table, his shirt slashed by the harpy’s claws and deep rents in the skin underneath that bled freely. Stiles was in a state, his own clothes smeared with grime and his hair matted with what smelled like blood. Boyd wasn’t much better himself, battered and bruised, as was Erica. She was holding onto Derek’s hand tightly, not letting go even when Stiles shoved her aside to get to him.

Not for the first time, Scott realised he was out of the loop. He hadn’t even known that there was something up or that they were going hunting.

‘This is bad.’ Deaton’s usually calm was rattled. He disappeared and came back with a jar of oily looking green liquid. ‘Can someone hold his head?’

‘Why isn’t he healing?’ Cora asked, her dark eyes huge and full of tears.

‘Harpy venom is usually lethal to werewolves.’ Deaton nodded at Isaac, who lifted Derek’s head gently. Scott watched Deaton pry his mouth open and tipped the contents of the jar into it, Isaac steadying Derek so he wouldn’t choke. ‘Stiles. If ever you needed to use your spark, now is the time.’

‘Okay.’ Stiles wiped at his face, tears leaving clean streaks through the blood and dirt. He laid his hands on Derek’s chest and closed his eyes. ‘Come on, asshole. You don’t get to check out on me.’

Across the table, Cora took her brother’s other hand and Isaac laid Derek’s head down and moved to wrap his arms around her. Boyd came to stand alongside Erica, his arm around her waist.

‘Call him back.’ Deaton was looking at Stiles intently. ‘You know what he needs to hear.’

Stiles nodded, sniffling loudly when Derek’s wounds started to smoke as the potion kicked in.

‘Come on.’ He leaned down so his forehead was resting against Derek’s. ‘Please Derek, don’t leave me here without you. You know I can’t be alone anymore, not now I’ve got you with me.’

Scott frowned, his brain racing to catch up.

‘It’s not working.’ Erica was crying freely, her mascara streaked all down her face.

‘It will work.’ Stiles tightened his grip on Derek’s hands. ‘Come on, you stubborn son of a bitch. I need you and if you think I’m letting you go without a fight, well you can take that and stick it up your ass.’

As if on cue, Derek shuddered and took on a deep breath. He started coughing, eyes flying open to glow red as he convulsed on the table. All the other wolves ran to hold him down but it was horrible to watch, even as his wounds slowly sealed up and his breathing eased.

‘That’s it.’ Stiles was smiling through his tears. ‘Another deep breath, just like that baby.’

Derek’s head fell back to the table with a thump and he made a face that would have been comical if it hadn’t been for the circumstances.

‘I feel like I got chewed up and spat out.’ he croaked and everyone sagged in relief.

‘You almost did, man.’ Boyd laughed, but it was choked. ‘Fuck, we thought we’d lost you.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Derek looked up at Stiles, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. ‘I’m fine, okay.’

‘You’re not, but I’ll take it.’ Stiles replied, still crying and kissing Derek’s forehead. ‘You stupid self-sacrificing dick. If I didn’t love you so damn much, I’d kill you myself.’

Scott looked at Deaton, who shrugged, cryptic smile back in place.

Derek smiled, exhausted but soft.

‘I love you too.’ he replied, pulling Stiles down into an upside down kiss that went on and on and didn’t stop even when the back door slammed open and a wild-eyed Peter charged in, claws and fangs out and his eyes electric blue.

‘Harpies?’ He waved his hands at them, looking for all the world like Stiles when he flailed. ‘What the fucking fuck?’

Stiles and Derek broke apart, holding onto each other tightly.

‘Your pack.’ Stiles murmured, nosing at Derek’s hair.

‘Our pack.’ Derek replied and pulled him back down to kiss again.

#greenleaf1316 #stereksanta20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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pixelatedrose · 5 years ago

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Soulbound part Six

First | Previous | Part 6 | Next

Ao3 link

Masterpost

Word Count: 2,651

Pairings: Platonic LAMP, Prinxiety, Logicality, background Remile

Warnings: uncensored swearing, unsympathetic Deceit, one small mention of being shot (metaphorically), if i missed anything please please tell me and if there's something in particular you want me to tag, don't be afraid to let me know!!

Summary:

Roman Prince and Logan Rose are soulmates. They’re platonic soulmates though. They both have the same Soul mark to prove it. But they both have one other soul mark, binding them to one other person. And when they find Patton Miles, it just so happens that they’re both his soulmate. Logan being his Soulbound Soulmate, and Roman being a platonic soulmate. But something feels missing. And it feels filled, shockingly so, when they meet a certain someone a year and a half after they found each other.

Chapter 6

It was five minutes till the bell and 15 minutes ago Roman had given up on hoping Mr. Sanders and Virgil would come back. For all he knew they could be through a magical portal and would come back a day later and twice their ages and having gone incredible life changing journeys and Virgil would have realized too late that he wanted to be Roman's bestest friend in the entire world.

Of course if that happened Roman would be pissed cause they went on a magical journey without him!!!

"SORRY CLASS!!" Mr. Sanders announced loudly, bursting in through the door dramatically. Roman, who had been standing near the door, jumped nearly 5 feet in the air and suppressed a shriek, having it come out as a scream instead. Not much better.

The class laughed softly and from behind the teacher, Roman saw Virgil.

And what a sight he was.

His eyes were tear streaked and red, but his eyes danced with joy as he held back a laugh. It was like witnessing raining stars, if you know what that is; when the sun shines on falling hail, it looks like sparkling stars streaking from the heavens.

There were still the remnants of tears caught in his lashes and just the tip of his nose was red, matching his cheeks. And somehow, it was only then that Roman noticed his freckles, unmasked by tears and a lack of concealer.

He was beautiful.

And once again Roman got caught up in the moment and had forgotten where he was and what had happened.

Virgil seemed to have caught Roman's staring and threw his hood over his head, obscuring his eyes, however failing to hide his shy smile that he thought he was so cleverly masking.

"Well! Sorry about that but it's all over now and I would sincerely appreciate it if you didn't mention this to people!" Mr. Sanders finally said when the class settled down.

Rose raised her hand. "I'll be happy to keep my mouth shut, but what happened exactly?"

Mr. Sanders hesitated and Roman saw Virgil, who was still behind in the hall, stiffen up and all joy flicker off his face, his eyes shimmering with an uncomfortable glaze.

Roman's emotions sizzled softly under his skin and he was about to turn on his friend when Mr. Sanders beat him to it in a much kinder tone.

"That's something that I think can stay between me and my brother. Sorry, Rose."

Had Roman been drinking anything it would be long sprayed over the rest of the class.

Virgil and Mr. Sanders are brothers?! I mean I sort of knew they had the same last name, but I mean so does Bernie Sanders but they're not related!!!

Roman opened his mouth to voice his disbelief, not catching the horrified look on a small emo boy's face. "Wai-"

Ding!! Ding!! Ding!!

Damn that bell.

"Alright class! That's it for today and don't forget that the syllabus needs to be signed by Monday!!" Mr. Sanders called to his students who were shuffling around the room now, grabbing their books and bags and slowly filing out of the room.

And swept up in the crowd, Roman lost sight of a purple haired boy with pale skin and pretty blue eyes.

Roman cursed under his breath but halfway back home he silently blessed that the universe swept the small boy away from him. Virgil had obviously had a trying day. He didn't need a near stranger nagging him for information on his personal life after such a day.

~~•~~

Virgil could have melted into the ground then and there when Thomas had announced to the whole class that they were brothers. Luckily the bell saved him and before Roman inevitably came looking for him (he had every other time of the day) Virgil slipped into the crowd and disintegrated his presence.

He slipped into a side hall and watched Roman pass him by, a look of hot disappointment tracing his features.

It stung a little to watch, but Virgil could deal with a tinge of regret for a few seconds if it meant he could escape the drama of the day for a breath or two.

After everyone was out of sight he turned around and went back into the classroom.

"There you are!" Thomas said happily. "I thought you'd ended up running home. Which would have been fine I mean, it's your choice after all." He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish and sloppy grin plastered on his face awkwardly.

Virgil nodded. "Yeah it's fine. I want to talk to you about the letters anyway." Sudden realization dawned Virgil's mind and he frantically ran a hand through his hair. "Oh god of course I overlooked things!!"

"Hey, is everything okay, Virgil?"

"Yeah...I mean no! I mean- ugh!!" Virgil threw his hood over his head once again. "Mom will freak out if she doesn't know where I am…" He looked up at Thomas who had disappointment glazing his eyes. Virgil tried to correct himself. "Oh!! No no, no I'll just tell her I'm at a friend's house!!" He nodded to himself. "Yeah that will work!"

Thomas looked at him. "Alright, I'll be in my office cleaning stuff up and then we can go if you're absolutely sure."

Virgil nodded and pulled out his phone. He opened the messaging app and clicked on his mother's profile picture. He never did like calling people. Even his mom. He'd rather send a text and plan out what he's going to say rather than be put on the spot.

He typed out a quick message and pressed send. Two seconds later Virgil's phone lit up with the call menu. Mom was written across the top and his mother's smiling face was flashing at him.

Dammit, mom! Don't you know that texting is easier?!

He answered the phone bringing the violent buzzing to a stop.

"Hheeeyyyy mom!" Virgil said awkwardly. Not that his mother noticed apparently.

"Virgey, honey! Tell me what is it that you're doing?" She sounded genuinely confused and Virgil had to hold himself back from facepalming.

"Mom, I sent you a text…"

"Oh I know, baby, it's just that mummy would rather hear it from you and not some computer thing."

"Mom it's literally the same thing."

"Oh it is? Oh...Well I wanted to hear your voice anyway!"

Virgil rubbed the bridge of his nose before returning to the phone. "It's fine mom! I just wanted to go and hang out and study at a friend's house. That's all."

There was a pause on the line and Virgil knew he'd met his doom. Of course she wasn't going to let him!! He should have just walked straight home and not looked back, he should have-

"Oh honey!! You've already made friends?!"

It was like being shot through the skull. Virgil you idiot you don't have any friends. How can you go over to a friend's house if the friends don't fucking exist.

"Yep!! I've already made a friend!" Virgil lied through his teeth, sweating bullets.

"Aww!! My baby's growing up and making friends!! What's their name? What are you studying?? Who are they???"

Shit, shit, shit, fuck, uhhhh….. Virgil thought desperately of someone he could use as a friend. And before he had completed the thought in his mind, his mouth started forming words.

"Roman Prince." Virgil said confidently.

Wait fuck no-

"Oh that's lovely! Well you have fun with your new friend darling dear!! I'm expecting you home by 5:30 for dinner!!" His mother squealed, the way she half sighed half giggled the word 'Friend' sending warm shivers across his cheeks. He knew he didn't have any friends but it wasn't something to swoon over!! Virgil heard the call end and he was left with a hot, embarrassed blush across his face and his mouth open like he was ready to catch something in it.

"She was overly excited and way too quick to accept it wasn't she?" Thomas asked, coming out of his office with a shoulder bag.

Virgil shook himself back to the present and nodded his head. "Yeah…"

"Yep she's like that. Doesn't care where you are but cares way too much about what you're doing. She'll probably try and read any journals you keep tonight. Either that or she won't leave you alone during dinner."

"She was like that when you were a kid too?"

"Oh yeah. Deva doesn't seem to have changed much, if I'm being honest. And it's only more clear now why dad left her…"

"Oh...She's...She's not that bad, is she?"

"I mean in my opinion yes. But I can't force you to think things."

"Right…"

Virgil arrived at Thomas's place after a car ride full of belting out Disney songs as loud as possible and talking about the darker meanings behind each movie, and Virgil just felt that much more comfortable around his brother.

"And welcome to my humble abode, brother Virgil!" Thomas said theatrically.

Virgil rolled his eyes. "I see why you're the theater teacher, now."

Thomas smiled before cupping his hands around his mouth. "GUSS-GUSS, JAQ, I'M HOME!!"

"You have roommates?"

"Yeah but they don't pay rent. And they're a mess to clean up after."

"That doesn't sound like they're good roomies…"

"Oh they make up for it by being cute."

Thomas walked up the stairs waving Virgil to follow. He rounded into a room that was sure to be his and flicked on the lights, strutting over to a cage on the far wall.

Virgil took the time to drink in the room and Thomas' s house. It was nice, and it smelled more like home than "home" ever did to Virgil.

Thomas returned holding two fluffy objects in his hands. "This is Guss-Guss and Jaq!" He said bubbly. He held out his hands which were clasped warmly and safely around two mice. "Like I said, they make up for not paying rent by being cute!"

If Virgil didn't have pride he would have cooed and melted at the sight of the puffballs. "Can I…?" He gestured in an odd way that somehow got his point across.

"Yes! Yes you can hold them!" Thomas was delighted.

He handed Virgil the two soft rodents and Virgil squeaked in delight, reminiscent of the mice themselves.

~~•~~

An hour later, after eating leftover cake, watching Thomas try (and fail) to slide down his banister majestically, and talking about emo bands they were (or are in Virgil's case) into, Virgil and Thomas sat on the couch in the living room, Virgil absently feeding Guss-Guss little bits of coconut shavings.

"So," Thomas began, Jaq falling asleep in his shirt pocket. "You wanted to talk about the letters? What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't really know…" Virgil confessed. "I guess I just wanted to talk about them to get to know you better, but I don't know...I already feel like I know you." Virgil paused to pick up the mouse in his lap and delicately placed him on his shoulder. "The other thing was that I wanted to answer all the questions you asked me. But it feels silly just listing them off myself, so-"

"What's your favorite color?" Thomas interrupted Virgil, a faint and warm smile on his face.

"What?"

"What's your favorite color? It was one of the first questions I asked in a letter I think." Thomas's words were soft but his eyes were beaming, as if he was the most clever person ever. "So. What's your favorite color?"

Virgil smiled widely. "Purple!"

Two hours later Virgil was being dropped off. He had talked the entire time about things they did, stories Thomas had missed out on, and Virgil's interests. It so happened that Thomas shared a lot of them. They almost got caught up talking about Avatar the last airbender for nearly half an hour towards the end of their talk, and still had a million things they wanted to know.

"Hey drop me off here!" Virgil asked.

"Why? Your house is still a block away."

"I know, but I don't want mom to know I was with you."

"Ah. That makes a little more sense." Thomas pulled over and let Virgil out of the car.

Virgil did a double take before running up to the drivers side window and reaching through, giving his older brother the best hug he could from where he was.

"Thanks, Thomas. I'll see you tomorrow!"

"See you tomorrow, Virge!!" Thomas called out to the purple haired boy.

Virge… Virgil had never actually been called Virge before. His mother always ended it with a cutesie "y" at the end, making him feel like a toddler.

He found that he enjoyed the way Virge sounded.

It suited him.

He liked it.

~~•~~

A boy called Deceit sat in his room thinking. He wanted to get the purple haired boy to be his new puppet friend victim. He stood up and crossed his room, fishing a clean notebook out of an all too messy desk, in the process disturbing the bracelets on his wrist causing a hint of a tattoo to catch the light.

The boy called Deceit panicked and dropped the notebook, slapping a hand down around his wrist. He took a few calming breaths and adjusted his bracelets again. He picked up his notebook and began writing everything he knew about the purple haired boy down.

He's reserved.

But not afraid to talk back.

He's been through shit and I'll put him through hell.

He seems fairly depressed and easy to manipulate.

Use that against him.

Or don't.

He's drawn to Roman Prince. That's a problem. I can probably fix that with time.

He's the new drama teacher's little brother. And at least I'm not an idiot like the rest of this dull lot and I know who the new teach is.

I can use that too.

A short boy who was called Deceit thought back to Roman Prince and how he was tied up in all of this when a grand idea struck him as he scribbled out what he had previously written about the semi-popular boy.

Oh I can use that.

Oh now this will be a fun game to play!!

~~•~~

Patton got home from school that day, a little sad that he wasn't able to walk home with Logan that day. His boyfriend had said that he wanted to start going to Chess Club as soon as possible and heaven knows that Chess Club is B O R I N G.

It had been a particularly odd day for Patton, emotions-wise. He had a slight prickle of dread in him for the first half, followed by tiny warm fuzzies that didn't last too long. That was replaced by more dread bubbles that burst into full blown betrayal and regret by the time 6th period was rolling around.

It had evened out though, Patton felt unusually happy and content for the rest of the day. It had been a weird few days, but it wasn't something he could help.

Hormones, amiright?

Patton flopped down onto his bed and sighed happily. It had been a long while since he had been this blissfully content with his life. He glanced over at his fishtank- He was allergic to cats and his parents wouldn't let him have a dog no matter how much he begged, so he settled for fish.

Fish and dogs were basically the same thing, right? I mean there was such a thing as a catfish so dogfishes must also exist.

Patton giggled happily to himself as he imagined a fish on a leash, floppy little dog ears sprouting from its scaly head.

Something felt right.

Something felt calm.

It felt like there were going to be good days ahead.

And Patton couldn't wait to greet them.

Authors notes:

So uh yeah good news. This chapter WASN'T late!! In fact it's EARLY!! Yeah so i got hit with some mad insomnia last night and ended up writing a whole bunch. It's not a long chapter, but i think it's a good break from all the angst. Don't get too comfy though~

Anyway, love you all and stay fresh and minty my shiny folks!! 💛

TAG LIST

@anxietea-and-insanitea @ghostboi-bambi @scrunchiescrunchie @badluckkaren @ambrechandra @nadja-chamack16 @athenashipsthings @slitherynchiken @crooked-harmony-student @icequeenoriginal @just-a-hufflepuff @nerd-in-space @sammys-ghostz @nutsanddults

#logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #thomas sanders #ts logan #ts patton #ts roman #ts virgil #ts sides #sanders sides #logicality #prinxiety #highschool au #soulmate au #Soulbound Au #sanders sides fic #ts sides fic

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bangtan-madi · 5 years ago

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546 Days Without You — One: Negative 41

Pairing — Seokjin x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Seokjin, older brother!Yoongi, producer/songwriter!MC, military au (ish), idol au (ish)

Genre — fluff, angst

Word Count — 3.1k

Summary — Kim Seokjin is your entire world, and that world falls apart the moment he and your older brother Yoongi are conscripted into the South Korean military.

Part — 1 / 15

A/N — Hey lovelies! This is the first chapter of an estimated 15 part series. Feedback is always welcome! I anticipate a chapter of this story going up every weekend, either Saturday or Sunday. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!!

(gif not mine. credit to original creator.)

Previous — Next

Not every great love story starts with a chance encounter, and not every beautiful relationship blossoms from love at first sight. Sometimes the universe has a sense of humor as she tosses two unlikely people at each other just to see what could happen.

Sometimes it's not love, but annoyance at first sight.

"All right, again, from the top," you state into the microphone at your desk. "This time, try to nail that middle note. I know you got it in you, Kook."

Jungkook glances up from the sheets of music that line his podium in the recording studio. From behind the glass, he gives you a big thumbs up and boyish grin.

"That's producer-speak for, 'Again...but with passion!"

You don't have to turn to know who's sneaked up behind you, speaking over your shoulder and into the mic so Jungkook can hear.

The youngest member snickers, replying, "Aish, I got it, Hyung. Go back to your own room."

"I finished recording mine!" Seokjin retorts, causing you to finally glance over your shoulder at him. "My vocals were flawless so it didn't take nearly as long as the rest of you."

Without thinking, you pop your elbow back just hard enough to hit Seokjin in the ribs. Being the dramatic fool that he is, Seokjin jumps back, cradling his rib cage as if he's just been shot. The look on his face only causes you to roll your eyes.

"Oh, you're fine," you murmur. "What were you recording anyway? You didn't say."

He shrugs. "Mostly just practice, nothing specific."

"Well, if you're done being secretive, can you go be annoying somewhere else, just for a few minutes so JK can finish his session?"

"What do I get out of it?"

You tap your chin for a moment, pretending to think it over. "My undying gratitude?"

Seokjin scoffs. "I already have that, Jagiya."

"C'mon, Jin," Jungkook intervenes. "Leave [Y/n] noona alone."

"Five minutes? Then I'm off the clock and all yours. Until then, maybe go bug my brother. I know that makes you happy."

At the mention of Min Yoongi, Seokjin's face spreads into a wide smile. He leans down, presses a quick kiss to your cheek, and says, "Okay, okay, I get it. I'll go bug Yoongi until you're done. Then I'm holding you to your word."

Attempting to hide the happiness that simple gesture brings you is hopeless, so you settle for saying, "See you in a minute!"

Seokjin flashes a wink as he reaches for the doorknob. "Don't you dare be late."

Once the oldest member has left the room, you turn back to Jungkook with a grin and wave of your hand. "You heard the man: Again, but with passion!"

After wrapping up at the studio—a task that takes closer to an hour than five minutes, like you initially promised—you turn off the lights and lock the door on your way out. Jungkook had really sung his heart and soul today, and you couldn't help the proud smile that stays on your face on the bike ride home.

You're lucky. Of this, you're very much aware. Not only are you involved in one of the most lucrative businesses in South Korea but the particular company you've dedicated yourself to for the past eight years is truly one of a kind. Big Hit has given you so many opportunities, just like all of the other five-hundred-ish employees. Your CEO, Bang Si-Hyuk who is often referred to as either Hitman Bang or Bang PD, is one of the most passionate and empathetic humans you've ever met. If it weren't for him, there's not a change Big Hit would be where it is today. The co-CEO, Lenzo Yoon, is also a talented man, but he came into the picture far later than Bang PD, around March of last year.

But your luck doesn't just stop with the company or its leaders. Your specific job is one you've always wanted. Not only do you get to manage some of the best music coming out of your country, but you get to produce and write it alongside the biggest band in the world. This is a group that includes some of the most important people to you, including your older brother by two years Yoongi, your boyfriend of four years Seokjin, and your best friends of almost eight years which make up the rest of the group.

You don't like to think of your life as fate or destiny, but hard work and a little luck paying off after years of struggling.

There's no greater example of your success than what you get to come home to. Some people might see the nice apartment in downtown Seoul and think that's what you mean by success. Nice things, nice home, nice location just down the street from Big Hit HQ. But what you mean when you say success is the person, or people, you get to come home to.

On most days, the entire band is at the dormitories a few blocks away, but a couple years ago, you and Seokjin decided to get a place to yourself so you could have some space as a couple. This is where you spend most nights, but Seokjin still splits his time between the two locations. Lately, you've noticed him spending more and more time at your shared apartment, and your heart sinks when you remember why.

The word feels like venom in your mouth, and your hands grip the handlebars tighter as you pull the bike through the front door of the apartment.

Enlistment.

Everyone knew this was coming. It doesn't make it any easier to accept. Big Hit's had lawyers fighting against the boys' conscription for years. They've tried every argument they could think of: their impact on the South Korean economy, the fact that the Idol projects were started by and are still majority funded by the government and thus they've already served, the Hwagwan Order of Cultural Merit they were awarded by President Moon Jae-in himself.

So far, nothing has worked, but they swore they would keep trying until the very last day.

A string of uttered curse words brings you out of your thoughts and back to your surroundings. The beautiful apartment, simple and elegant as well as lived-in and homey, gives you an immense sense of comfort. As you park your bike in the interior walkway, you hear even angrier muttering from the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Seokjin stands over a set of sizzling pans. Several ingredients are strewn across the counters, and the heavenly scent of traditional Korean food fills your nose. Soft instrumental music plays in the background.

The sight wouldn't be unusual if it weren't for Seokjin cursing at the pan that's holding what should have been mildly brazened vegetables. However, the greens are charred beyond recognition, and Seokjin's palm is clutched to his chest.

"Wow, that radish must have seriously pissed you off."

Seokjin jumps and lets out a yelp. Knowing how easily scared he is, the sight makes you giggle, much to his dismay.

A scowl quickly replaces the fearful expression. "It's not nice to sneak up on an unsuspecting boyfriend, you know!"

"You'll live," you reply, teasingly popping a small slice of carrot into your mouth. You gesture for him to extend his hand. "Let me see?"

The brunet offers his hand, and you examine his palm. There's a small burn there, nothing too nasty, but it does look like it hurt a few moments ago. You bring the palm to your lips and kiss it tenderly before moving towards the pan of burnt vegetables.

"Burning the food and then yourself. Are you feeling okay, Jinnie? It's not like you to be so careless in the kitchen. I'd expect this sorta thing from Joon, but not you." Lifting your eyes to meet his, you add, "Something on your mind?"

Seokjin's smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but not in the way it usually does. It's not playful or teasing, nor is it caring or empathetic. It's a little sweet, a little sad, and a little bit too revealing of what's going on underneath.

"Honestly? I just wanted to have a nice night with my Jagiya. No talk of the album or tour, no one or several of the guys interrupting, no one but us. And I wanted to impress you by making your favorite meal!" He runs his un-burned hand through his hair, messing with the long black ends absentmindedly. "I guess I have a lot on my mind, and it distracted me."

You remove the pan of ruined food and place it quietly in the sink. "You wanna talk about it?"

"You probably already know, Jagi."

You do. Of course, you do. What else could make the happiest person you know this distracted and frustrated?

It's just like a few years ago, and you feel your chest tighten at the thought of the friend you lost. You felt a similar sense of impending doom just before he left for the military, too. After all these years, you thought you'd forgotten that feeling, only to have it return ten-fold with Seokjin.

Shaking your head, you turn on a different playlist—something more upbeat, and turn back to Seokjin with a grin. "C'mon. I'm hungry, and you need a sous chef."

Seokjin's somber expression melts away. Reaching into the cupboard nearest him, he pulls out two chef's hats that belonged to a couple's costume set you'd worn for Halloween a few years back. Being the goofball he is, Seokjin kept both hats and forces you to wear them whenever you cook together.

Placing the item on your head, tucking your hair behind your ears, he gives his signature windshield wiper laugh at your eye roll.

"You can be my little chef!"

The reference to the animated movie Ratatouille, which you both adore, causes you to chuckle along with him.

"So does that mean if I yank on your hair, you'll do what I want?"

Seokjin's laugh becomes outrageous and uncontrolled. Realizing how your words might've sounded, a deep heat rises in your face, and you pull your sweater collar up to cover your cheeks.

Your boyfriend claps his hands, thoroughly entertained by your reaction. "Well, you can give it a try, Jagi! I think that jus—"

"—Shut up or I'll stab you."

The laughter didn't stop for another few minutes, and the teasing didn't cease the entire night. If you're honest with yourself, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Seokjin was right; it's nice for once just to be alone together. Not that you don't adore the boys—hell, one of them is your brother—but it is nice to have a quiet night in, filled with good food and great company. Despite it just being the two of you, nights like these are never dull. You doubt there's ever been a dull moment in the man's entire life.

After the meal is finished, you decide to do your usual wind-down routine: shower, skincare, dancing on dangerously damp floors to the sound of your favorite playlist. The usual.

When you are finished, you exit the bathroom and enter immediately into the adjacent master bedroom. What you should've seen is something simple: a few pieces of furniture, various personal items, and a large mattress in the center. However, it seems as if Seokjin's taken the opportunity while you're in the shower to redecorate.

All the pillows are on the floor, in front of the mattress. Several duvets cover the floor. Throw blankets line the space, and curtains are strewn in the air above it, creating a sort of carnival-esque tent. Fairy lights are strung from the ceiling down to the interior of the space. BT21 character pillows line the exterior, creating a walkway of sorts. The whole space looks cozy and enchanting and well thought out.

He's gone way out of his way to make tonight special, you think to yourself.

You grab a notebook from your nightstand before nestling down into the pillow fort. You're unsure of where Seokjin has sneaked off to but are fairly certain he'll be back any moment. Until then, you hum gently a recently crafted melody to yourself, repeating it over and over, until you get it just right. Once nailed, you sketch the notes onto the blank music sheets inside your notebook, knowing that if you don't write it down you'll forget.

Yoongi's notification pings from your cellphone. Placing your notebook on your lap, you read the text before swiping to respond, all the while continuing to hum the newly created melody.

"You can sing like an angel and yet you still refuse to do vocals for us." Your eyes lift to meet Seokjin's as he stands in the door. "Do you like holding out on us or something?"

After seeing Yoongi respond with a smiley face emoji and a thumbs up, you turn off your cell and drop it onto the pillows. "How long have you been standing there?"

He shrugs. "Long enough."

"And...why are you staring at me?"

"So I can have a better picture of you in my mind."

You toss your notebook aside with an exasperated groan, only causing Seokjin to laugh. "You're so cheesy, my god."

His playful smile doesn't fade as he approaches the pillow fort. "Worldwide cheesy is my second nickname, you know."

"I am not calling you that. And I do not sing like an angel. So...no. Not holding out on anyone."

"But you do write your own lyrics and melodies. You don't share most of that with us, either. Except maybe with Yoongi, but that's not fair."

Seokjin plops down on top of you, his weight causing an "Oof," to slip from your lips. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and slips his arms under the small of your back.

"Are you seriously pouting because I tell my brother, my producer and songwriter brother, about my shitty drafts?"

A muffled, "Yes," comes from your boyfriend's mouth.

Rolling your eyes, you relax into the comforters and relish in the cozy and intimate atmosphere. One of your hands tangles in Seokjin's dark hair, playing absent-mindedly with his long hair. The other rests against his broad shoulders; your fingers dance along the edges of his ocean-blue sweater, the one you often steal for yourself.

"Tonight was really sweet," you whisper after a few minutes of silence. "You didn't have to go out of your way like that."

"I wanted to. We haven't spent a long of alone time together since we started pre-production on the next album. And before that, there was the tour for Seven. I feel like 2020 has been a year we've spent more apart than together, and it shouldn't be like that..."

His sentence trails off, and you know what his somber tone is implying. It's 41 days until his twenty-eighth birthday. What should be a day of celebration will most definitely be a day of mourning.

"There's still hope," you mumble, pulling him tighter to you. "The lawyers haven't given up yet. They're still working on getting you and everyone else an exemption."

"Yeah...you're right."

"Hold on, can you say that again? I didn't quite catch it."

Seokjin nips gently at your throat, earning a surprised giggle from you. "Watch it, Jagi."

After your laughter settles down, the peace of the evening returns along with the blissful quiet. It's not often that Seokjin is still or silent, but over the years, you both have found a rhythm that works for you. You have your obnoxious, loud, exciting times, and then there are the serene, still, hushed moments like these. Both are beautiful in their own way, but after a full day of work, this is exactly what you needed.

"I wish every day could be like today," you murmur, half to yourself.

Your brunet boyfriend moves slightly, resting his head on the pillow beside yours. He shifts you so you're curled up against his side, arms and legs tangled under the covers he pulls over you both. A yawn slips out, despite you trying to fight the signs of sleepiness. Your eyelids become droopy, and his fingers rubbing circles on your ribs doesn't help.

When a second yawn escapes, Seokjin chuckles and presses his lips to your forehead. "You can sleep, [Y/n]. I'll be here when you wake up."

Loving nothing more than to spend more time with him, you know he's right. It's been a long day, and you have another one ahead of you tomorrow. Instead of fighting him and slumber, you curl closer, pressing a brief kiss to his lips, then tuck yourself under his chin and wrap your arms around his small waist.

"Promise?"

As if to show you, Seokjin holds you tighter as he continues to run his fingers along your rib cage and spine.

"I promise."

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pokeshipping · 5 years ago

Text

Takeshi Shudo Blogpost - Translated!

Dr. Lava, YouTuber and Pokemon enthusiast, investigates and shares behind the scenes details of various Nintendo properties. Recently, he arranged to have some of Takeshi Shudo’s blogs detailing the develop of the Pokemon anime translated, and he shared that translation on his website!

This particular blogpost detailed the creation of Lugia and the early development work done on the second Pokemon movie, Revelation Lugia. There’s some interesting trivia here, including how the Porygon incident contributed to Shudo’s creative freedom on the first movie, and how its success led to more freedom on the second:

Lugia’s Explosive Birth, as well as the first movie, Mewtwo Strikes Back, were both lucky films to work on from the perspective of a scriptwriter. Because right before Mewtwo Strikes Back, an unfortunate incident occurred — a flashing sequence in the Pokémon anime caused a substantial number of viewers to have seizures. So I think the film management team was so busy dealing with the seizure situation, that they didn’t have time to worry about the script of the first movie.

Mewtwo Strikes Back ended up exceeding all our expectations and became a huge hit. This led the film’s main producer to say, “I have some concerns about certain aspects of the first movie, but since it was such a huge success, I won’t interfere with the second one. I just want you to put ‘Explosive Birth’ in the title.”

And, while this has been confirmed elsewhere, we now have Shudo’s own perspective on creating Lugia available in English:

I mentioned this once before — during a big meeting (in which even game development and distribution staff participated), the name “Lugia” was chosen by a majority vote. Since Lugia was a Pokémon I designed myself solely for the new movie, I was surprised it ended up getting used later in the games and TV show. I can only imagine what was going on in the game development and TV show departments.

This is also the blog post where Shudo outlined his idea for bringing Ash’s story to a conclusion. It’s interesting to read a full translation of these ideas. Over the years, reports and an older translation have given the impression that this conclusion was going to imply that Pokemon were a child’s fantasy that Ash had. That doesn’t seem to be the case; it seems more that the series and its adventures are a broader metaphor for a journey to “discovery of existence.”

Months and years pass. Ash grows old, then one day suddenly he looks back on his past. He remembers his childhood fondly. The adventures he had with his amazing Pokemon, the friendship, the coexistence.

Maybe Ash wasn’t able to experience these things later in life. However, as a kid there was Pikachu and lots of other Pokémon, Jessie and James, and Mewtwo… And so much more — elderly Ash remembers everything that happened during his adventures as a young boy.

He can hear his mother’s voice. “Go to sleep already, you’re setting off on your journey tomorrow.” The next morning, he is woken up by his mother. He’s a young boy again, leaving his house excited to start a new adventure.

He’s going on a journey not to catch Pokémon or become a Pokémon master, but to discover the meaning of existence, to discover how to coexist with others.

Shudo also seems to be of a mind with at least some fans: he writes that “after 3 or 4 years, a new Pokémon adventure with a new main hero should begin. With its own topics — this new Pokémon should adapt to its times.”

If you ever wanted to know more about the “Pokemon revolution” idea that Shudo had, this is where he wrote about it too:

I thought about writing a fourth movie, but I couldn’t come up with any ideas.

If I wrote it, I would have used the story that I had planned for the final anime episode. The Pokémon would stage a rebellion much like Spartacus in ancient Rome. Although at first glance Pokémon appear to be friends with humans, they would realize they’re actually being used like slaves, which would lead to an uprising. Pikachu would become the leader of the revolt and end up fighting with Ash. Team Rocket, who are in possession of lots of sinister Pokemon (including Meowth, who can translate the Pokémon language into human speech) would try to mediate the conflict, but they’d do a poor job of interpreting and only make things worse…

That’s all I came up with. However, an episode like this would break the rules of the Pokémon world and make it impossible for the series to continue. Continuing into perpetuity is the series’ objective. If it could ever be produced, I think it would literally have to be the last episode ever.

I tried to think of a different plot, but I couldn’t.

Most of the blogpost, though, is about the development of Lugia and the second film. It isn’t the blogpost where he discusses Misty and her relationship with Ash; that’s another post, one that remains untranslated (at least in full.) But there is this one little tidbit:

But in this case it was a movie script, so there was a big meeting with lots of people — which is rarely the case when it’s just a script for the Pokemon TV show. The first comment I heard in the meeting surprised me.

“Which one is the scene that’s supposed to make you cry?”

“The what?”

I never had any intention of including a scene that’s supposed to make you cry. Since [I was young], I’ve been trying not to write scripts that force tears out of people. If someone happens to cry because of my script, they’re not my tears — the tears belong to that individual viewer. These kinds of tears are their treasure.

If a writer is planning “where to make them cry”, “where to make them laugh”, “where to put the spectacular reveal” — it means that writer is guiding the audience’s every emotion. The audience should cry when they feel like crying, laugh when they feel like laughing, and if the film is boring, get bored and walk out of the theater.

“I won’t talk much during the big Pokémon meeting… So, if anything happens, I’m leaving it to you,” I told the movie’s director [Kunihiko Yuyama] beforehand. So when that question was raised, he jumped in and made up an answer. “It’s when Misty saves Ash from drowning.”

I didn’t say anything, but I was pretty pissed — I still remember, even though the meeting was about 10 years ago.

To which all I can say is - good on ya, Yuyama XD

~ Z

#pokemon #news!#translation #takeshi shudo #misty #lugia #revelation lugia #dr. lava

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that-terrible-writer · 5 years ago

Text

Not Like This

This got away from me, and when I mean that: I mean it. Although it didn’t go the best, I still wanted to continue it. I’ve been meaning to post this during when the Flash is on, but it’s me.

Part 2

Part 1

Barry Allen x Reader

Warning: It’s over 4k long.

You managed to collect yourself after crying into Ralph's chest for thirty minutes. You stared at Ralph, who sat across you; you both chose to stay at Jitters due to the business and had a better chance of no one overhearing. You remained quiet, sipping at your drink while Ralph's eyes burned into you. He was giving you time to gather your thoughts, your emotions, but there's a point where he knew you were buying time.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened? Or will I have to ask Barry?" Ralph quipped. His tone, stern mixed with a hint of concern, knew that Ralph was not in any mood for jokes or games. Ralph wanted to be a friend first, but he enjoyed being part of Team Flash. Having an affair mixed with work, it would only cause a rift between everyone; choosing sides and getting nothing done. He knew you were smarter than that. Though, he didn't want this to affect your mental state. Seeing you break down in front of him, worried him. You needed to be on your A-game, or not just the Team would be in trouble: Central City would be too.

"Ralph," You called out, waving you hand in front of his face to regain his attention. Ralph's mind liked to complicate things, more than one should. "It was only once," You assured him, "It's not going to happen again." You watched as Ralph rubbed his mouth in frustration, not fully believing you. You felt your hand tightening on your cup, trying to control your emotions, and not spill coffee on you again, "I'm serious."

Ralph placed his hand along with the table, tapping the side of his hand against it, "Even so, Y/N, it doesn't cancel what you and Barry did. You two slept together. You slept with a married man." You sighed, rubbing your eyes while hiding your face away, "When Iris finds out—"

You snapped your head straight up, pointing a finger towards Ralph, quickly silencing him. Your eyes pierced through him, tightening your lips shut, "Iris isn't going to find out, Dibny," You corrected him. You felt your heart rate rise, your hand curling into a fist with white knuckles to show how annoyed you were getting, "It meant nothing. It was a fluke."

"Did it mean nothing? Or are you just telling yourself that to justify what you two did?" Ralphed questioned, "Does Barry feel the same way?" You retracted your hand, pulling it back into your lap, listening to Ralph's spiel. Deep down, you knew Ralph was right, and it made you sick. "Even so, Iris is a journalist. She will figure it out. It's just going to be a ticking time bomb." Ralph's expression softens after he saw how you were sinking in your seat. You felt the guilt, no question about it. "Do you have feelings for him?" Ralph asked.

You avoided his gaze, looking off to the entrance of Jitters. "I can't," You phrased, you took another deep breath, closing your eyes, "There was a time where I did. Though, even then, I knew I never had a shot." Your heart ached just thinking about the past and having to hear Barry talk about Iris when she was with Eddie. When he was thinking about asking her out and when he was about to propose. After that, Iris would come to you talking about the wedding, asking you to be her bridesmaid alongside with Caitlyn to watch them exchange their vows up close. It felt like you trapped in a horrible plot for a rom-com movie, and there was no way to escape.

"Would you go after Barry?" Ralph quickly regretted his question, raising his arms in defense since the look you shot him showed you were in no mood to discuss this further. "What I meant was, if Barry wasn't with Iris or if Barry was still chasing after her, would you try and take the risk?"

You pressed your lips together, your fingers fiddled with the hem of your shirt, "Yeah," You truthfully answered, your voice grew quiet as you were ashamed to let the truth out, "But that door closed years ago." Your eyes flickered towards Ralph's, watching his face grow concerned. His eyebrows furrowed, looking around his surroundings in a panic. "What's wrong?" You asked him.

Ralph wasted no time. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you from around the table to crouching behind the chairs. Just seconds behinds, the glass to Jitter's doors blew in, shattering everywhere; Ralph tried to cover you the best he could. You looked up at Ralph, realizing who was going to be walking through the door, "Your powers..." You whispered. You scanned the room, seeing people not having enough time to run out the other exit, hiding behind the pillars, others behind tables or chairs, finding some way to protect themselves. One girl, in particular, caught your eye. Tears ran down her cheeks, covering her mouth so no noise could escape.

The sound of the glass crunching underneath the heavy boot shook everyone in fear. "Stacy Volt," the metallic voice echoed, wrapping around Jitters for all to hear. You watched as the girl's tears became more uncontrollable. It was clear she was the Meta that Cicada 2.0 was hunting.

Ralph shook you, bringing your attention back to him, "You need to leave." Ralph demanded. You shook your head, pulling out your phone to send an alert back to STAR Labs. "Barry will kill me if anything happens to you."

"He won't," You assured him. You looked over your shoulder, watching Cicada searching for her target. You looked back at Ralph, shaking your arm out of his grip, "If anyone needs to leave, it's you. She'll figure out soon that there are two Metas here."

"I'll be fine, Y/N," Ralph whispered, "You don't need to worry about me."

You looked at Ralph, a slight smile on your face, "Same." You stood up, walking around the table to be in clear sight for Cicada to see. You looked over at the frightened girl, placing a finger along your lips to tell her to remain quiet; a gesture to say to her it was going to be ok. You wished your mind could accept it as easy as it was to say. Locking eyes with Cicada, it sent a chill down your spine. This girl had no sympathy. She killed her uncle without looking back, a man who did everything for her while she was in a coma. She didn't have to think twice when it came to killing, and a Meta no less.

"Stacy Volt?" Cicada's cold voice called out. You nodded your head. Cicada took a few steps towards you, running her dagger across your chest. You shut your eyes, having the fear take over your body. You took a few breaths to try and calm yourself down, to make sure you had a poker face. You couldn't give in to someone like her. You opened your eyes, seeing that she was pleased with the sight that you were giving.

"Trying to be brave?" Gracie mocked.

You squinted your eyes, giving off a smirk, "Trying to convince yourself that you're doing good?" It wasn't the best idea you've had. You never had the chance to go head to head with the villains you fought. When this moment came available, there was no way for you to pass it up. You watched her cocky expression change within seconds, from amused to pissed.

Cicada twirled her dagger in her hand, having it positioned perfectly in her palm to make it a clean kill. Gracie pulled back her arm, ready to trust it forward towards you; in a blink of an eye, you watched Gracie go to the other side of Jitters. You saw at the door Killer Frost and Barry standing there, once again saving the day. Although it was more of Killer Frost saving the day as Barry's powers were blocked.

The look on Barry's face was a mixture of relief and disapproval. He was glad to see that they made it in time to protect you, but you shouldn't have placed yourself in that situation. Barry's eyes widen, his mouth ajar as he yelled, running towards you. Your body went numb, not knowing what to do. You looked down to your side, seeing part of the dagger sticking out of you. You went to touch it lightly, trying to convince yourself that it was part of your imagination. When the blade went back to Cicada's hand, the pain it brought made it a reality that it was indeed real.

Your legs couldn't support you anymore, shaking and soon dropping you to the floor of the cafe. Barry was able to catch you, covering your wound with his hand. He wrapped his arm around you, shaking you to try and keep you awake. Your eyes, glazed and half-open, tried their best to look at the Flash, to see him talking to you. "Y/N, you need to stay awake. You're going to be fine," Barry ensured. Cicada teleported herself out of Jitters, making it easy for Barry to head back to STAR Labs for you to be looked at by Caitlyn.

Barry placed you on the cot, waiting for Cisco to vibe back Killer Frost to get the medical attention you needed. Barry removed his mask, letting you have a better view of his worried face. He was frazzled, walking back and forth, and kept returning to your side. Barry grabbed some gauze to place on your injury, trying to stop the blood from coming out any more than it had. Barry wanted to give you more comforting words; he wanted to hold your hand while this was occurring. Yet, when Iris came through the door, he knew he had to hold back on those actions.

"Oh my God, Y/N!" Iris exclaimed, rushing to your side. She helped Barry press down on your wound, though all her attention was on your and not him, "What happened?"

"Cicada," Barry could barely get the words out of his mouth, "She—she stabbed Y/N from behind before fleeing." You found it more and more tricky to keep yourself awake. You were telling yourself it would be a quick two seconds before opening your eyes again. The talking became muffled, just white noise to you as you just closed your eyes for a quick rest.

You felt groggy. Your body finally reacting to your injury, you struggle to sit upright in the medical bed. Your vision finally clear; you looked around to see the Team discussing something in the control room. You watched through the glass as Barry was getting heated between Ralph. You knew it was about the decision you had made at Jitters. Barry was acting out, and poor Ralph was on the receiving end.

It was reckless of you, but you couldn't hide while Cicada was endangering someone's life. You were part of Team Flash; your purpose was to protect the citizens of Central City: human or Meta, no exceptions. Barry's glace went towards the window, seeing you looking in on the Team. His heart stopped for a moment, which was hard to do; his anxiety lessened once he saw you were awake. He swiftly came into the room, the door hitting the wall, staring at you, "What the hell, Y/N?" Barry roared, causing your eyes to widen in shock. Seeing Barry this angry, wasn't new to you, but having it directed at you was. "What were you thinking?"

You had not time to even put a few words in when you opened your mouth, Barry was quick to lift a hand to tell you to stay quiet, "Let me answer that, you weren't thinking! You were careless. You could've waited, but you didn't!" Barry's hands curled in a fist, flexing every muscle that was in his arm, yet when he saw how scared you were becoming, he knew he had to tone it down.

"She would have killed the Meta," You finally got out, watching the other make their way into Medbay, "That Meta was scared, she wasn't using her powers for evil. Even so, didn't we say we would protect all of Central City?" Barry rubbed his mouth, placing a hand on his hip. Again, he had to remind himself not to get too worked up on this. If it showed anymore, Iris would grow suspicious.

"We already lost Nora," Barry tried to mask his feelings, "We can't lose another key member to our team." You stared at Barry, wondering if that was indeed the reason or if there was more meaning behind it. Iris walked over, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"At least you're ok," She hummed, "Caitlyn was able to take out any bits of the dagger inside of you. There are no traces of dark matter, so you should be ok to go. " You looked over at Caitlyn, giving her a half-smile. Grateful that she was able to save you not just as Killer Frost, but as herself.

"Please tell Killer Frost, thank you, and also to you," You said. You pulled the blanket off you, getting yourself out of bed and walking out to the control room. "I don't know about you, but I'm heading home to sleep. Being stabbed takes a lot of energy out of you." You turned to see the joke was not well received in the room, "Jeeze, loosen up a little. I'm still here, still breathing."

"I would recommend rest for you," Caitlyn piped up, watching you were gathering your things, "We want our Y/N to be back to her normal self."

Cisco opened a breach to make it easier for you rather than walking back and taking public transportation in your current state. You placed down your bag, walking over towards the kitchen to fix yourself a drink after a long and draining day. You saw the two cups of tea on the counter, cold and reminding you of the night of mistakes. You poured out each liquid into the sink before reaching for another glass.

The look on Barry's face kept flashing in your mind. It read more than just a worried friend. The anger that he was feeling was more than what a friend should have felt. You thought you were reading too much into this, but after your talk with Ralph, he may have a point. You may try and say that it was nothing, didn't mean it was for Barry. He wanted to express himself early in the morning, but you were quick to ignore him. Ignore what he was feeling. You were precisely doing what Iris was doing, and that was something he didn't need.

"Y/N," You heard your name being called out. You jumped, quickly turning to see that Barry was inside your apartment. You placed a hand over your heart, trying to calm yourself down. Barry hastily went over to you, panicking what he just did, "I'm sorry! I needed to see you, and your door was unlocked, so I just thought it was ok to walk in." You waved your hand in front of him, trying to tell him it was alright.

"I know, you meant no harm," Your voice was shakey, "Your voice, I knew it was you, it's just—" You finally went to look at him, seeing that same concern look written across his face. Your heart ached, something you were trying to stop. "It's just I didn't exactly want to see you as of this moment." Barry followed you over to your couch, helping in any way he could to make you feel comfortable.

"Well, I thought we needed to finish the conversation you rudely ended this morning," Barry joked, causing you to laugh a little. Your side ached, the stitches reminding you of your wound.

"Don't be funny, Allen," You groaned, "I'm not in the best shape to laugh." You flashed Barry a smile to show that you weren't genuinely annoyed with him. Your eyes flickered over to Barry, quickly looking at his lips. It gave you that moment of remembering Barry's lips against your skin, against your lips, your collarbone, even the little butterfly kisses between your thighs. You shook those thoughts away, trying to focus on the matter at hand: Barry's feelings.

Barry took hold of your hand in his, rubbing his thumb against the back of yours, "Before you give me your spiel, just hear me out," Barry smiled. His manner showed how relaxed he was, how confident he was in his words, which worried you. Whatever he was going to say, you know it was the truth.

"I've been thinking a lot about Crisis and how close it's coming." Your heart ached the moment you had to think about Crisis. You and the rest of Team Flash were trying ways to avoid it, but so far, you came back with nothing. It was inevitable. "If I'm going to disappear, I want to live my life with as little mistakes that I can make. That being, all the decisions I make are essential, those that affect the Team, the city, even you. Yesterday, I wanted that to happen. I came here."

You pulled your hands away, only to be pulled back in by Barry. Your eyes locked on his, seeing his calmness and the love that he was pouring out to you, "I knew this day was going to happen, Y/N," Barry softly said, reaching his hand up to crease your cheek. "I went and saw Thawne while I was in the future."

"Barry," You called out, placing his hand in your lap. You grew concerned quickly. You knew their relationship. You saw how betrayed Barry was when Thawne revealed his true identity when he learned the things that Thawne did. "Why didn't you tell us? Why would you go?"

Barry chuckled, enjoying seeing you frazzled and concerned about him. It was clear to him how you felt, and that made his decision a lot easier. "I didn't say anything because this would have been the reaction with the whole Team. Too many questions for me to deal with when I already have to deal with so much." Barry relaxed his smile, staring at you, "The visit with Thawne made it clear how I felt about you."

"Stay away from Nora," Barry growled, glaring as he watched Thawne walk around in his cell. Eobard held his straps, hands resting along with the device that ruined kept him, prisoner. He couldn't help but smile at the Flash. He knew to talk to Nora was doing a number on Barry, but to bring in another factor would be satisfying. Barry turned his back towards Eobard, about to get ready to head back. Yet, Thawne couldn't allow Allen to have the last words. It wasn't that simple.

"How's Y/N doing?" Eobard taunted. Barry looked over his shoulder, the mention of your name struck something inside His hands balled into fists, his breath getting shakey. He had to get a complete look at Thawne to see that smug look that burned in Aleen's mind. The look that Eobard knew something that Barry didn't. "I haven't heard about her in a while or even see the poor thing." Barry marched his way up to the glass, getting a more accurate view of the criminal.

"Don't speak about her as you care," Barry spat. Thawne raised an eyebrow, pleased with the response he had gotten: precisely what he wanted.

"Care like you do, Allen?" Thawne hummed.

Barry retracted himself from the glass. Confused by his outburst, shaking his head lightly, "It's not what you think. She's just a close friend," Barry explained. Thawne chuckled to himself, knowing what he was about to say was going to affect the Flash. It was a risk on his plan, but it was just worth it to see Allen not be the golden boy that he perceived himself to be.

"Barry, Barry, Barry," Eobard sighed, shaking his head while he stepped closer to the glass, "You think you can lie to me of all people? I know you: your past, present, and your future. I know the things you've done and the things you do: even who you do." Barry furrowed his brows while he listened to every word coming out of Eobard's mouth, trying to figure out if it was indeed the truth or just one elaborate lie. "That girl means something to you. You would do anything for her, risk anything: even your marriage."

Barry shook his head more violently, trying to tell himself that this was Eobard Thawne speaking to him, "You're wrong. I would never betray Iris like that. We have Nora."

Eobard's eyes widen, causing him to laugh more, "Barry, you should understand more than anyone that the timeline is always changing. Though there are things that whatever timeline it is, those paths will always cross, and you and Y/N are of one them." Eobard walked away from the glass, heading back to his bed. He looked over to Barry one last time, a smug smirk across his face, "I would spend as much time with her as possible; before Cicada finds her."

Barry didn't want to listen to any more of Eobard's words. Barry sped off, heading back to the present and back to speak to Iris about their daughter.

"Seeing Cicada hurt you, it was heartbreaking for me," Barry confessed. Barry's hand returned to your cheek, smiling at you softly, "I know you're scared. I know you're worried about Nora and Iris but don't. That's my responsibility to hold. I will figure out what to do, find the right words to say."

Barry leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours, staring genuinely at you. Your cheek became heated, your heart beating a mile a second, you tried to control your heart as it was thinking faster than your brain; your hands gently touched Barry's cheeks, your fingertips brushing against his skin. "I want this, Y/N," Barry declared. Your breath got hitched in the back of your throat, your nerves becoming more and more unsettling. "I don't want this chance to leave me as it did once before."

You leaned forward, placing your lips against his. You wrapped your arms around Barry's neck, pulling him in closer. Barry was careful where he put his hands, not want to ruin the moment with an accidental touch on your stitches. Butterflies filled your stomach, you feeling light as air as you did the night before with him. The thought and feeling of guilt never came to you. Barry was right. It felt as if it was meant to be, destined to be together.

Barry's lips moved down to your neck, his lips grazing your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine. You tried your best to hold back your moans, but Barry already knew your body well. He knew what areas were your weakness, not being able to hold back a smile when he heard how much you were enjoying it. Barry pulled away, giving you a few more kisses on your lips, leaving you breathless.

Your eyes grew doe-like, staring at Barry, "I love you," You said, breathlessly. It took you a few seconds to register what you just said, your eyes growing in fear. Barry wasn't reacting like you thought he would. He relaxed his shoulders, cupping your face in his hand, brushing your cheek with his thumb. You were still frazzled. You weren't able to look at Barry in the eye, trying to think of a way to retract what you just said.

A knock echoed in your apartment, scaring you but also saving you at the same time. "You need to leave," You whispered at Barry, getting up from the sofa to make your way to the door. Barry followed suit, going over to you one last time. He grabbed your arm, pulling you in for one last kiss. You were equally happy to kiss Barry back, with as much passion as he gave you. In a blink of an eye, Barry left your apartment, making sure there was no trace of him in sight.

You looked through your peephole, surprised who was on the other end. You opened the door, growing concerned and scared, seeing Iris in tears. "Iris, hey, what's wrong?" You asked, motioning her to come in. Iris wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a hug. Iris wept on you, her tears and heartbreak becoming uncontrollable. Iris was able to collect herself after a few minutes, peeling herself away.

"I think," She sniffed, rubbing her eyes to try and stop the tears from falling. Her gaze showed how much pain she was in, the words she was trying to say were becoming too much. Her voice cracked, trying not to appear weak, "I think Barry is cheating on me."

Tagged: @randomfanders-blog

#Barry Allen #barry allen imagine #barry allen x reader #arrowverse imagine #The Flash #the flash imagines #the flash imagine #the flash x reader #DC imagines #dc imagine #grant gustin #grant gustin imagine #grant gustin x reader #the cw flash

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years ago

Text

Exactly What You Need: Owen

To the Anon who won the “guess the post-apocalyptic New Zealand kids’ show Owen Grant had a guest star role on”: Here is your requested drabble! Owen Grant, the night he ordered Kauri.

CW: Owen is a fucking creep. Implied/referenced assault/abuse with younger!Vincent Shield, manipulate/abusive thoughts, dehumanization. Owen Grant is a dark man and people triggered by abuser thoughts regarding rape/assault should please heed that and stay safe

Tagging: @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings,

It started with the hair, and the eyes.

Originally, he hadn’t really thought about Vince, exactly - he was just… he was just kind of lonely, and he’d been scrolling the Whumpees-R-Us site, thinking about how it seemed like basically everyone with a name worth knowing and a good stock portfolio had one of the Box Boys or Box Babes now.

And it might be nice to have someone around here to talk to. It’s not like he could talk to the fucking Roomba.

The condo was gorgeous, and he went out to lunch a few times a week with Nicole and some of the former costars and everything that he’d kept in touch with, went to conventions, even wrote an introduction for a book on the dark side of child acting that was pretty well received. He went to the gym three days a week, he watched a bunch of Youtubers that updated pretty regularly. Owen kept himself busy, basically, and none of it stopped him from being really. fucking. lonely.

His mother had called one night after he’d been drinking for two or three hours straight, slowly killing a bottle of gin and a bag of limes while sending increasingly drunken text messages to no one in particular.

He and his mother still talked two or three nights a week. He was probably the only former child actor he knew who still had a really close relationship with his mom… or at least as close as your relationship can be when you’re lying to her about fucking everything about yourself.

She knew anyway. She’d been the one to help him cover it all up with Vince, what happened, why they never spoke again. She knew - but her constituents were bigoted assholes and in the part of the country Carlotta Grant set her sights on, you have to play to the bigoted asshole or you don’t get elected.

His mom was the biggest bitch he knew, but she wasn’t a bigot, exactly. Just happy to roll over for them for the sake of her Senate career. It would kill her ambitions if too much about Former Child Star Owen Grant got into the news, so Owen lied to everybody and everybody pretended to believe him. He’d been lying about it since he was still acting, it’s not like it was that hard to just… keep lying, right?

Even if he’d sort of hoped quitting acting - getting away from Vince and what happened - making his own life out here away from everyone… he’d sort of hoped he could stop lying, then. But nope. Mom got all political and Owen kept on lying.

He’d fucking hate her for it, if he didn’t love her so much.

In any case, she’d called and Owen had been trashed and it… well. The whole time he’d had the Whumpees-R-Us site up, looking through options, scrolling past faces that weren’t right. Or they almost were. But they weren’t the one he wanted.

“Mom, I just want someone here who cares about me,” Owen had said, heavily, into the phone. He knew his words had gone slightly slurred, and he waited for her derision - his mother was the queen of it, after all, of cutting you apart with words alone. “Listen to this - a Whumpees-R-Us nonproductive pet can arrive with any skillset you require or phys, physical combination of- shit, sorry, Mom, I’m drunk-”

“Yes. I can quite tell you are. Don’t be ridiculous, Owen, you’re not getting one.”

“I’m a grown-ass man, Mom, and I say I am.”

“Would you at least order a girl?”

There it is, Owen thought. Carlotta Grant didn’t care if her only child bought a living human person, just if it fit the version her constituents wanted to see.

He took incredible pleasure is pausing long enough to take another long sip of lime and gin before he answered, “Oh, it’ll definitely be a boy.”

“Owen…” Carlotta sighed, heavily. “Darling. We talked about this.”

“No, you talked about it. At great length, no matter how often I asked you to stop. I want a boy and I’ll have one. Here’s a compromise, Mom - what if I don’t let it leave? I’ll keep it in here with me, they can train it to not be able to even walk out the door without me.”

“Owen…”

“Take it or leave it, Mom.”

Carlotta went quiet again, for much longer this time. Then she finally said, “Fine. Owen… I know that my decision was difficult for you-”

“All of your decisions are difficult for me, Mom.”

“Your decisions haven’t exactly been easy for me, either. Vincent Shield could still cause trouble for me, if he ever chooses to air what you did to him publicly.”

“He won’t. We told him I’d stay away from him if he kept it hush-hush, and he did. He won’t say anything to anyone, Mom. You can trust him. I couldn’t, but you can. It doesn’t help his career either, you know, if they find out about him.” Owen felt his throat catch, had to swallow hard against the tears.

“Right. We don’t need them find out about your latent sadism, either, but I suppose I must put my trust in the career aspirations of Vincent Shield. Get whatever you want, Owen, but I had better not see it step one foot outside of that condominium if it makes it into the news.”

They spoke for a while longer, about nothing and relatives and people who had recently died or pissed his mother off, senate bills she was worried about and Owen’s latest project bankrolling a documentary exposing a monopolizing pharmaceutical giant, and the whole time Owen’s mind wasn’t on the conversation at all, but on Vincent fucking Shield.

They’d been inseparable. They’d made promises to each other. Then Owen had fucked one tiny little thing up - just the one thing, and it hadn’t even been that bad, what he’d done, and Vincent had probably liked it anyway - and Vincent had left and never came back.

He glanced down at his empty glass with a bit of ice that still clinked, and then up at the Whumpees-R-Us website. Create a completely customized option for minimal surcharges and receive the perfect pet of your dreams.

He poured more gin, added another twist of lime. “You know what my perfect fucking pet is?” He asked no one in particular. The Roomba beeped softly under the couch in its docking station. “Vincent Shield’s my perfect fucking pet. Make him feel pretty fucking sorry for what he did. They don’t have anyone on here who even looks like him…”

Then his blurry, bleary eyes caught a line at the bottom of the pictured Box Boy options. This does not represent the totality of what Whumpees-R-Us can provide. Send us your requirements and we will dedicate ourselves to fulfilling your every need, with an added surcharge.

So he clicked on the custom order form for Box Boys, watching it load, blinking at how fucking huge the page was. And it started with a simple box that asked what kind of pet you were searching for.

Owen very nearly wrote I’m so fucking lonely.

Instead, he settled for Companion.

The screen blinked and new options appeared. Platonic, Romantic, Domestic, or Combination?

Owen snorted. Platonic. He wasn’t some fucking sicko, he was just looking for someone to bring some life into this place. But… maybe it was just that he was drunk, or maybe it went deeper than that. In any case, a thought came to mind. He pictured wide blue eyes in a face that used to be pale, now tanned on all the movie posters. Thought of those eyes full of tears, for him. Then… then he thought of what it might be like if those eyes weren’t full of tears, but something else.

The thing Vincent had owed him, and had never been able - or willing - to give.

Then he unclicked his previous decision, and chose Combination.

We will return to detailed specifics of your [Combination] requirements in a later section. For now, please list physical requirements for your Box Boy.

Owen swallowed, looked up the photo of the movie poster for Dimmer Switch, with 20-year-old Vincent Shield and 17-year-old Owen Grant in action poses against a dark background and a glowing light. Vincent’s face was clearly visible - soft and slightly sweet-looking, wide blue eyes, curly black hair. Long limbs and kind of a slim body type, not as muscled-up as he was now.

Not that Owen kept up with his career or what he looked like now, or anything.

He started with the hair, and the eyes. At first it felt wrong, like he was trying to build a Frankenstein’s monster for himself, but it was all perfectly legal and if it was really wrong, why were so many people buying them now?

No, this was fine.

Owen was fine.

He was going to bring Vincent Shield home, and once Vince came back here, he was never, ever going to be able to leave.

He checked every box, wrote down details. At the bottom of the physical requirements section there was a spot to upload photo references, and he added the movie poster, some other pictures from magazine interviews from back then, he and Vince together in a few of them. Shots of Vince with the mop of curly hair and a bright wide smile, flashing whitened teeth. Shots of Vince with his arm around Owen, the both of them grinning for the photographer.

It took nearly two hours to finish, and by the end of it he’d stopped being drunk or maybe he was drunker than ever, but he’d entered a place of perfect clarity about his decision. He was about to spend a lot of money on this boy.

It was going to be perfect.

In the final box for any added comments not covered by the questionnaire, Owen Grant typed, Make it so he can never, ever leave me without fear. Make it so he wants my touch more than anything else in the world. Make it so he would lose his mind before he’d lose me. I want him to be sweet, and kind of a soft person. I want him to put up with anything I do to him.

He paused, considering, and then added one more thing.

I want him to love me.

Then he pressed SUBMIT, made himself drink a glass of water, and passed out in his bed.

When he woke up the next morning, the Roomba was in the middle of a cleaning routine and his phone was ringing. He squinted at a number he didn’t know, but decided to answer it on kind of a whim. His number was private and only a few people had it - if someone was calling he didn’t know, it was probably one of his mom’s staff members. “Hello?”

“May I speak with Mr. Owen Grant?” A warm, melodic voice spoke on the other end of the line.

“Ah, this is Owen Grant.”

“This is Karen Renford, Client Satisfaction Director at Whumpees-R-Us. We received your request for a custom order last night and I’ve just had time to review it. There is… an exceptional amount of specialization in this order form, Mr. Grant.”

“I… I know. Shit. Oh, sorry.”

“No apologies required. I indulge in a bit of profanity myself on occasion.”

“The, the order form… was it too much?”

Too much to hope for, that Vince’s blue eyes could be all for him. Too much to dream, that he could fix all his old mistakes. Too much, to think he could keep someone here when Vince had run so far, so fast, and made it impossible to get close again.

“Not at all. We are aware of your… connections, Mr. Grant. We would love to work with you on this request, and hope you would let your influential mother know how excited we were to be given this opportunity to truly prove the merits of our methods.”

Owen tried not to audibly snort.

“We already have a suitable candidate in mind who is most of the way through his basic training, although there have been a few… hiccups.”

“Hiccups?”

“Ah, it’s all part of the process.” She did not quite laugh, but there was a lilt to her voice that suggested she wanted to. “645898 is a sweet soul at heart, once you take apart the rest of him. I think he’ll be perfect for what you need.”

“So why the phone call?”

“It is customary for the company to directly contact clients of your… discerning and exacting taste. Considering the costs associated with so many specialized requests-”

“I am more than able to pay the amount owed, Ms. Renford.”

“Oh, we know that. This isn’t about money at all, Mr. Grant. Whumpees-R-Us is dedicated to client satisfaction, and it’s my job to look at this form, speak directly with you, and ensure that you receive exactly what you need.”

“So you can make him… want to stay here? Not able to leave?”

“Can we make him ‘love’ you, as you requested on your form?” Her voice held no mockery, no hint of judgement. “Mr. Grant, your request is considerable, but I believe we can ensure that your boy won’t ever be able to take a step out the front door without you by his side. We can make sure those big blue eyes are focused entirely on you, no matter what you do to him.”

Owen’s free hand clenched slowly into a fist, and something twisted and untwisted inside of him.

Vince’s eyes, all on me. No matter what I do.

“That sounds perfect,” Owen breathed out, shifting in the bed. “I want him to think I’m safe. That I’m the safest thing in the whole world.”

No matter how much I hurt him.

#whump #box boy #box boy multiverse #owen grant is a nice guy #pet whump #dehumanization #erase to control #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #tw: abusive language

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disappearinginq · 4 years ago

Note

I'm sure you're not surprised by this at all, but Big Brother Instinct for Magnum please. :-) Anyone can be the big brother, either Magnum and Rick towards each other or TC as the big brother to both of them, since he seems to be turning into the one with the most common sense on the show. :-)

Rick pressed a hand to his nose, sniffing when he saw blood stain the back of it. “What do you want from me?”

The young lieutenant sat opposite him, spinning the chair around so that he straddled the seat, leaning his chin on folded arms. “They talk about you like you’re some sort of legend. Guys think they’re invincible when you’re Overwatch. You been here…what, three tours already?”

Rick said nothing. Officers had only one use for him, and he’d be damned if he was going to offer anything of his own free will. The lieutenant clearly already had enough information on him. Nobody talked like bored Marines downrange.

“You been home in all that time?”

Rick laughed, a harsh, derisive bark more than genuine amusement. He could taste blood from a cut in his cheek on his tongue, and he spat at the floor. “For what? So I can get shot at there instead of here? Least here I get paid - tax free.”

“One tour is hard. Two is tough. Three is a form of self torture.”

“Maybe that’s my gig. Self-flagellation. It’s a little hard to find a BDSM club out here though, so I gotta improvise.”

The lieutenant was quiet for a moment, and Rick had to consciously force himself not to fidget beneath that steady gaze. “Why don’t you have a spotter anymore?”

“I like to work alone.”

The lieutenant squinted at him, giving a small shake of his head. “Nah. If that was true, you wouldn’t be the guy you go to. No one would come fucking near you.”

“Go to?” he echoed, snorting. “For what?”

“Everything. Seems you know a guy just about everywhere in the world, Sarge. That’s not the type of person who likes to work alone. So. What gives? Why no spotter? You that special? Don’t need a second set of eyes, ‘cause you don’t miss? Did I hear that right?”

His first shot on his first tour - the first time he fired a gun at another human being - flashed so violently through his mind’s eye he physically flinched. He grabbed the bottle in front of him, taking a long, hard drink. The heat of the winter sun. The pressure of the M-82 against his cheek. The smooth pull of the trigger in between heartbeats and the explosion of blood through the scope. The kid next to him clapping him on the shoulder as he congratulated him like he’d just scored the perfect wave out on Waimea Bay instead of taking a human life.

Or like it was trophy hunting.

“I like to work alone.”

Again, that stare. The feeling like the lieutenant could see past the flimsy shell straight to his rotting core without ever saying a word. Rick could sit still for hours. Whole nights and days. But something about that dark-eyed, all knowing stare made him want to turn away.

“I know burnout when I see it.”

Rick folded his arms across his chest, leaning back in the chair. “You know, I’m not the only one with a reputation here,” he said. “Rumor has it you turned on your Team. Never seen a SEAL out here on their own. Guy’s gotta wonder how long you can tread water out here, all by your lonesome.”

“We know how rumors are,” the lieutenant dismissed.

“Yeah - that there’s a little bit of truth to all of them. So what’s your truth, LT? You do it? Turn on your guys ‘cause you didn’t like getting your hands dirty? How’s the SEAL liking it down here in the mud with the rest of us poor fucks?”

The younger man didn’t necessarily flinch, but the reaction was just as telling. Those expressive eyes went completely blank, flat as that of any predator, closing him off as easily as slamming a door in Rick’s face.

“Hit a nerve, did I?” Rick sneered, taking another long, hard pull from the bottle. He’d regret his decisions tomorrow, but for now…for now it was still tonight, and he hadn’t drunk nearly enough to be able to sleep. The high pitched whine still echoed in the back of his mind and he wondered if there was enough alcohol on base to silence it. He was willing to test that theory.

“You know, most snipers, they’re not bothered by their jobs. What’s so different for you? If you hate it, why the three back to backs? Why not take the money and bounce?”

“Who says I hate my job?” Rick said, noticing his words were finally starting to slur. That might be more rage than liquor, though. Or maybe a concussion. “Maybe I love it.”

The lieutenant laughed at that - just as hollow and empty as those eyes suddenly were. “That why you come out here every night to get your ass kicked? Drink until you pass out, someone drags you back to your rack, just to do it all again tomorrow? Some kinda love, man.”

Rick pushed himself to his feet, stumbling slightly when his heel caught on the leg of the chair as he shoved it back. “Fine, sir. You seem to have a particular story in your head already, so why don’t you just tell me instead of making me fucking guess, huh?”

“I think you hate it. I think you hate even more that you’re good at it. Maybe the fucking best at it. I think you come in here and let someone kick the shit out of you so you feel as broken and bruised on the outside as you do on the inside. That on some level, you think you deserve it. Except I don’t think you’re haunted by the lives you take. I think you’re haunted by the ones you didn’t save. I bet if I asked how many targets you eliminated, you wouldn’t be able to come within half a mile of an accurate number, but if I asked how many died under your watch you could tell me their names and fucking describe them to a sketch artist.”

“Fuck off, sir -” Rick snarled. “I asked - what do you want from me. Either in you’re in trouble, someone else is in trouble, you need something, or you want me back outside the wire tomorrow, and we both know that officers don’t ask, they tell. So if you’ve come in here to make it seem like I have a choice when we both fucking know I don’t, then you’re a special kind of asshole. Now, how ‘bout for real this time - what do you want from me?”

The lieutenant was quiet for a long moment, and Rick thought maybe he’d stunned the pretty-boy SEAL into not answering. Typical goddamn bars and stars, Rick thought nastily. They can always push until someone pushes back.

“Your pilot sent me to you.”

Rick blinked. “TC?”

“Seems in your down time, you’re a hell of a door gunner. Not sure what you did or who you pissed off to pull duty for two totally separate MOS’s downrange, but…I guess that’s the world we live in. I came to you because I have an assignment beyond the fence. I need an Overwatch, and I would prefer to have you.”

“Yeah? Get someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else, Sarge. I want you. But I won’t make you go. Your choice.”

He outright sniggered at that, staring at the bottle abandoned on the table, suddenly wondering what could be in there that caused auditory hallucinations. “Choice. Yeah, right. Fine, sir. I’ll play. Why me?”

The lieutenant leaned back in his chair, gripping the back where he’d been leaning, fingers white knuckled around the battered and stained wood. “Because I want someone who still sees people when they look down their scope. Because I want someone who knows that every target is a human being. Because I want someone who will only pull the trigger when he has to. Because I don’t want a machine. To be honest, I don’t want you to have to pull the trigger at all, but if things go that south…I want minimum casualties. Not a goddamn shooting gallery.”

Of all things the man could’ve said, that was so far down on the list it wasn’t even on the list. Rick stared at the man, really looking at him for the first time since he sat down in front of him. He was young. Probably not nearly as young as he looked, but downrange had a way of bringing out painful reminders that the old were not who were sent to die, but the young. He’d only run into a couple of SEALs - mostly during EXFIL with TC, but a few times in places like here, times like tonight - when he couldn’t tell they were still human. The world was black and white to them. It was ‘them or us’ - always. No exceptions. Their jobs didn’t allow for those.

If Rick didn’t know the rumors, hadn’t heard the story or seen the trident on the man’s left shoulder, he would’ve never believed he was one of them. He was too…honest. Rick was pretty good at reading people. With his family, you had to be. It only helped him during his service. He knew who to trust, who couldn’t lie to save their ass, and who you avoided at all costs.

But…

Rick scowled, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m going to ask you one question, and don’t you dare think about lying to me. Are all the rumors true about you?”

“In my defense, I didn’t know the horse belonged to Sheikh Muhammed at the time.”

Despite his best efforts not to, Rick laughed at that. It was thin, and brittle, but genuine. Damn the man. “Fair enough. But I could’ve guessed that one. That’s not the one I wanna know about.”

The lieutenant fidgeted, the first sign in this entire conversation that he even could be rattled, not meeting Rick’s steady gaze. “I don’t - ”

“I said no bullshit.”

The younger man looked down his hands, sucking in a breath as he rapidly drummed his fingers against the back of the chair before pushing himself to his feet to look Rick steadily in the eye. “I can’t promise to bring you back alive. But hell or high water, no one is left behind. Everyone comes home. Everyone.”

It was something out of a movie. People didn’t talk like that, not really. But instead of coming off as cheesy and campy and utter horseshit that officers thought sounded inspiring despite everyone rolling their eyes, Rick found himself stunned by the quiet earnestness there and the open honesty. The lieutenant meant every word.

Goddammit, he cursed himself. I actually believe him.

Not that he was about to tell him that.

“I still don’t know that I trust you, sir,” he finally admitted. “But I got your back.”

If the rumor’s were true…someone had to.

#magnum pi 2018 #magnum pi reboot #short piece #fanfic #first meetings #asks answered #bad things happen bingo

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