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multiversefanfics · 1 year ago

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Best Friends (Part 2)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: You and Steve are best friends, but your friendship is tested when someone tells you he has feelings for you.

Best Friends (Part 1)

You woke up in your bed, trying to figure out how you got there, what day it was, what time. It was one of those sleeps, that deep sleep where when you wake up and you forget your own damn name. You grabbed your phone and checked the time, 2:30pm!? You jumped out of bed, quickly getting dressed, you were late for training, you texted Bucky letting him know you overslept and that you’ll be in the gym as soon as possible. You ran down the stairs and into the gym where Bucky was already starting his training “I’m so sorry, I overslept.” He smiled and nodded “It’s okay, I just started.” You were a little suspicious, Bucky would normally groan and make some sarcastic comment but he didn’t he smiled at you. You shrugged it off, and started your workout, usually you would listen to music but for some reason Bucky wanted to talk. “You and Steve have been getting pretty cozy lately.” You slowed down the treadmill to a walk “We’re best friends, that’s it.” Bucky chuckled “Steve is my best friend” You rolled your eyes and looked over at him “We can share, and besides so what you know I have a huge crush on him but he doesn’t feel the same way. So I’m trying to move on.” You shrugged your shoulders getting off of the treadmill, moving over to the punching bag, Bucky quickly followed. “All I’m saying is, don’t give up. Us men. We’re a little slow sometimes.” You groaned quietly placing your forehead on the punching bag “Dude, Im here to train not talk about my crush on Steve, so please can you drop it?” Bucky threw his hands up and walked away, you’ve never seen Bucky give up so fast before, it almost makes you think he’s hiding something from you. Bucky is also unpredictable, so this very well could be normal. You finished your workout and went back to your room for a shower.

Later on that day, you, Steve, and Bucky were sitting in the living room talking about a mission Steve was gonna be on, it was mainly them talking you would speak up every once in a while but ultimately you weren't listening, you were in your own little world thinking about the conversation you and Bucky had in the gym. Why was he so worried about your crush on Steve, did Bucky like you? No can't be Bucky is a very outspoken person although very private he would've told you if he liked you. You couldn't shake what he said, I mean men are a little slow but why would Bucky openly admit that. You realized you were zoning out when you felt 2 pair of eyes on you, you looked over and smiled "Sorry I was lost in thought." Steve chuckled and pat your head "It's okay, all I said was I won't be back until Saturday I was hoping we could watch movies when I came back" You nodded your head “Yeah, that sounds great.” He smiled at you then went off to go do something you weren’t really listening, you tried but you still couldn’t wrap your head around how Bucky was acting earlier “Whatcha thinking about over there?” Your head snapped towards Bucky’s direction but you didn’t make eye contact, you looked past him hoping he couldn’t see the gears turning in your head “Oh, I figured I’d get a jump on what movie we’d watch.” Bucky nodded like he didn’t believe you, and how could he, you weren’t very convincing. “You know you can tell me anything right?” You nodded and stood up to leave “I want to talk, I just need to gather my thoughts first.” Bucky nodded and watched you walk away, he wanted to follow but he knew that you’d talk to him when you were ready. You stayed in your room the rest of the day, you were trying to figure out how to ask Bucky if he likes you and if he does, you gotta figure out how to let him down so you two will still be friends, you valued your friendship more than anything in the entire world you would never jeopardize that and you know he wouldn’t either.

You got up and walked back down to the living room hoping Bucky would be there alone, and there he was sitting down with Steve watching a movie “Hey, where was my invite?” You pouted playfully plopping down between them “We’re sorry, doll we thought you were sleeping” doll? Bucky has never called you doll before you were confused but you also felt Steve’s leg tense up beside you, what the hell was going on with them, you rolled your eyes and stood up “Since neither of you smart guys got snacks, I’ll be in the kitchen making popcorn.” You walked over to the kitchen and started making popcorn. “Doll? Are you kidding me Bucky?” Bucky smirked and looked over at Steve “Funny how Friday is your cutoff day and you won’t be back until Saturday.” Steve tensed up again “This isn’t fair I have a mission.” Bucky nodded and looked at you struggling to open the popcorn bag “True, but you also had a day before you mission to tell her.” He slowly turned his head looking back at Steve, who was just staring he knew he should’ve done it already, and if he doesn’t do it tonight, Bucky would. Finally, you came back to them and sat down with a huge bowl of popcorn “So, what are we watching?” You looked between them then back at the screen “Sam suggested Scream, so we thought we’d give it a shot.” You nodded and glued your eyes to the screen, every so often the boys would jump at a scary part to which you would giggle, they fought some pretty scary stuff and they find this movie scary. When the movie was over Bucky suggested another scary movie but Steve wasn’t having it “I’m going to bed, you guys have fun.” You watched as he stood up and walked away “Goodnight, Steve” You turned towards Bucky looking at him “We need to talk.” Bucky looked up at you “Uh oh, I’m in trouble.” You shook your head, giggling a bit. “No no, uh I don’t know how to say this.” He raised his eyebrow “What’s wrong?” You shifted in your seat “I need to know how you feel about me” He furrowed his eyebrows “What do you mean?” You sighed throwing your head back “Do you like me?” He chuckled and nodded “Well, yeah.” You shook your head “No, I mean do you like me like me?” He thought for a second confused, then it hit him and it sent him into a fit of laughter “Oh god, no Y/N don’t get me wrong you’re amazing and very beautiful but you are like a sister to me and our friendship is too valuable to me.” You let out a breath “Thank god, I said the same thing I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship” You smiled wide and leaned over and hugged him, when you pulled back Bucky looked over, you followed his eyeline and there was Steve, he looked upset he didn’t say a word he just walked away. You were confused “What was that about?” You looked over at Bucky who had his head down “Shit, shit” He mumbled under his breath, he got up and ran to Steve’s room, when he got to his door he heard things being thrown around he walked in watching Steve throw his pillows around the room “Steve, calm down.” Steve was now pacing around the room, Bucky knew how much you meant to Steve, but Steve didn’t know that the hug was strictly platonic. “Steve, get a grip.” He stopped pacing and looked at Bucky “Get a grip? What the hell was that down there?!” Bucky put his hands out keeping the distance between them comfortable. “You need to tell her how you feel, she’s getting suspicious and she thought I had a crush on her.” Steve relaxed and sat down on his bed “Bucky, I have never been so nervous in my life. I have to tell her, but I need more time please.” Bucky shook his head “We had a deal, and we’re sticking to it.” Steve threw his head back “Fine. I’ll tell her in the morning.” Bucky nodded and put his hands down “Are you okay?” Steve nodded “I’m sorry for blowing up like that.” Bucky shrugged and chuckled “It’s okay, I understand.”

It was the next morning, and Steve is no where to be found he said he would say goodbye before leaving but it looks like he already left, you saw Bucky walk into the kitchen “Hey, is Steve still sleeping?” Bucky raised an eyebrow “He didn’t say goodbye to you?” You shook your head, you could see in Bucky’s face he was pissed but you didn’t know why, you didn’t question it either, it was better if you didn’t. He walked away and left you there wondering what was going on, why didn’t Steve say goodbye? Was it because he saw you hug Bucky the night before and now thinks that you two are a thing? What is going on?! The next few days seemed to fly by, although Steve was only gone for 2 days you still missed him and couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow night when he comes home, you missed the nightly movie, the cuddles, the snack, his laugh, smile, the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles big, his smile was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen and you couldn’t help but blush at the thought of him smiling because of you. Suddenly you were pulled from your thoughts by a knock at your bedroom door, you knew it wasn’t Steve because he has a special knock, yeah corny I know but you loved it. You walked over and opened the door revealing Bucky “Hey what’s up?” Bucky looked like he was up to something but then again when isn’t he. “We gotta talk.” You nodded and stepped aside letting him come in, he didn’t sit down even though there were many comfy chairs just spread out “Steve likes you.” You froze while you were shutting the door “W-What?” You finally looked over at Bucky and he’s staring straight at you “Scratch that, Steve is in love with you.” Your throat got dry and made it hard to swallow “Why are you telling me this?” You couldn’t move, no matter how hard you tried you just couldn’t, Bucky sighed and walked over to stand in front of you. “He was supposed to tell you this morning and yesterday, and for the past year.” Your eyes widen, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Steve loves you, you love him too but you always thought it was one sided. “Okay, okay what do i do?” That’s when Bucky started to smile and that was scary sometimes “Steve actually comes back tonight, so why don’t we put together a little movie night.” You shook your head “No, I gotta do something big. Meet me on the roof in an hour.” He nodded and you both went your separate ways.

You went to the store picking up all the snacks he likes, you got him some flowers, you thought that might’ve been too girly but who doesn’t love getting flowers? You got some LED lights and candles a couple cute stuffed animals, you’ve never done this for anyone before and you were glad it was for Steve, he meant the world to you. You got back to the compound and went straight to the roof, where Bucky was setting up a white sheet and a projector he looked over at you and smiled “You look amazing.” You thanked him and looked around “Bucky this is great” You stood in awe as you watched him finish tacking the sheet to “Yeah, well don’t tell Tony about this he warned me before not to.” You smiled and set up the lights and candles you didn’t light them yet just in case he was late, laying out the comforter and pillows you two will be leaning on, you set up the bowls and put the snacks in them along with the various drinks you got because you couldn’t decide on what to get. You stood back admiring the cute scene in front of you “This is so cute it’s making me sick.” You playfully shoved Bucky’s shoulder rolling your eyes. “Just send Steve up when he gets here, tell him to come up here immediately” Bucky nodded and went downstairs to wait, you looked around smiling “I hope this goes well.” 2 hours went by and you got a text from Bucky saying Steve was on his way up, you hurried and lit all the candles and stood there waiting for him, you tapped your fingertips against the outside of your thighs you could hear him grunting at the top of the stairs before he opened the door “Hey, Bucky said- Woah what’s all this?” You took a deep breath and stared at him smiling wide “I like you too, Steve.” His eyes widened as he dropped his bag “Bucky told you?” You nodded watching him walk towards you “Believe me, Y/N I wanted to tell you I promise it just wasn’t the right time-“ You cut him off by placing your lips against his, Steve had a tendency to ramble on and on apologizing about nothing. Steve finally kissed you back, wrapping his arms around your waist pulling you closer to him. The kiss was innocent and sweet yet there was something that laid beneath it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, you wanted Steve in more than just a physical way, you wanted him for everything he is, mind, body, soul, his personality was the thing that struck you as hard as a rock, he was everything you’ve ever dreamt of and more. The two of you pulled back, breathless and happy “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” You smiled up at Steve, then led him to your makeshift bed where you two talked, laughed and watched your favorite movies together.

A/N: I hope you guys like it.

I hope you don’t mind me tagging you guys: @megamindsecretlair @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist - Steve Rogers Masterlist

#avengers #steve rodgers imagine #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #captain america

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kiwiana-writes · 5 months ago

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Ooooh please can I ask you about the rockstar!Alex WIP? I cannot explain how INVESTED in that AU, I gobbled up all the snippets of it that you've posted 👀

ABSOLUTELY you can, because I’m also invested in that one 😅

So this fic started out as a tumblr game. The basic idea was “send me an idea for a fake AU and I’ll give you five facts about that AU.” And @tintagel-or-cockleshells sent me “An AU in which Henry and Alex are exes, also Alex is a rockstar who puts a lot of himself into his songwriting. And there’s a happy ending.”

And… here’s the thing. Up to this point, I’d never had a conversation with tintagel one on one. I’d commented on some of her stuff, she’d commented on some of mine, we’d reblog each others WIP snippets on tumblr. We didn’t know each other outside of that. But EVERY DAMN TIME I did games like this, she would ALWAYS come in with something that made me REALLY wanna game fail and actually write whatever it was. She was just impressively tapped in to the sorts of things that make my brain go brrrrrr 😂

The other thing about tintagel is that she’s on, effectively, an opposite timezone to me. So by the time I answered the ask, she was already in bed. I also hit post on the answer and then immediately went into an hour-long meeting…

And came out of said meeting to like 40 notifications and a DEEP sense of confusion until I actually opened them. It popped off, and I absolutely succumbed to the peer pressure. Which meant that by the time tintagel was back online in her morning, this fic had run the full gamut from “this is a fake AU” to “this has a google doc and oh my god I think I’m writing original songs send help”.

At first I thought it would be MOSTLY epistolary, because I was really attached to #3, and then I had a brainwave about how I could make that epistolary, so… now it’s fully epistolary. I’m gonna have to create MULTIPLE new skins for this sucker. As well as like… recording original songs, because I have never made a sensible decision in my life.

And if you think I can’t inflict immense emotional damage via epistolary, I have a lot of Schitt’s Creek pals who would be HAPPY to prepare you for the Suffering ™️😂

[Sleepover weekend!]

#sleepover saturday #anti-homophobia-cheese #wip: rockstar Alex exes to lovers

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fizzywashere87 · 19 days ago

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hsjwjdjjw HIM brainrot 💖💖

—————

cont. 19th october (timeskip):

classes ended soon enough, and all of us walked down the stairs to the ground floor.

we stood outside the building, talking and laughing, like always, as we waited for each of them to get picked up by their parents, because they lived farther away.

[h] (our other friend who lives closer) split ways from us soon, as we began walking home.

[s] always drops me home before walking to his house, because he lives close. as we were walking to my house, one of the guys from our school, [m], who my friends thought liked me, was also behind us. he lived in the same apartment as I did, and went to the same prep school too.

he was always kind of weird, though, and definitely did not understand the concept personal space whatsoever. and I did not like him at all.

[s] knew this, and thought [m] was creepy too. so, once we had decided to fake date in front of [m], so he’d leave me alone. but we hadn’t seen him until today.

[s] held my hand suddenly, and kept swinging it.

“you’re gonna break my ball and socket joint!” I yelled, as he swung our arms in circles.

“oh, smartypants! stop studying so much,” he complained at my use of ‘ball and socket joint’ instead of just ‘shoulder’.

[m] caught up with us in a while, and [s] whispered to me, smiling, “he probably saw all that.”

I hope he did.

[m] got into the elevator, and waited for me.

“oh, she’ll come later, you can go. good night,” [s] smiled, and [m] nodded quietly, letting the automatic door close.

as soon as [m] left, we started laughing.

the next elevator was taking too long to come down, so we decided to walk up eight floors to my house.

such a bad idea.

“I should never have stopped going for athletics classes,” I whined.

“how are you already tired? we’re literally still at the 3rd floor!” he laughed.

“shut up!”

he pulled our hands together, lacing his fingers through mine. “you don’t even know how to hold hands,” he rolled his eyes.

“excuse me, I hold hands with [a] (my classmate and girl bsf at school) everyday,” I said. he rolled his eyes again.

“you know that prank? one day i’d propose to you, and you’d think it was a joke, but i’d be serious? and then you’d say ‘yes’ and we’d end up being legally married?” he said, laughing.

“OH! that’s literally the plot of a book I saw on instagram!” I said, and explained a book plot to him.

the whole time our fingers were interlaced, I almost forgot about it.

we reached the eighth floor, and I said, “you should come say hi to my mum. she hasn’t seen you in two weeks. it’s the weekend anyway, come on. you’ll need my parents’ blessings if you wanna get married to me anyway,” I smirked.

“oh, i’m coming, fine, but don’t worry. I already have their blessings,” he smirked back at me. I mumbled a ‘whatever’ and rang my door bell.

the next 20 minutes were spent in conversation between my parents and him about how studies were going, and slowly the topic of the conversation shifted to the latest movies being released.

I could get used to this sight forever, I thought.

—————

(more coming later!!)

gah damn why is she writing this with fanfic terms

LMAO

STOP NOT THE FAKE DAYING

You make me so mad now how can u he like this with him and refuse to confess i hate you

OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG UR ALREADY TALKING ABT MARRIAGE

#fizzytried #fizzy's answers #sending love ❤️#i love my mutuals

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tennfan2 · 2 years ago

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Nice to Meet You (Again)

(Oh hey - it’s my first scene log in… a long damn time! Also, Daisy? Put the card for this away while you read.)

First, a confession: my thing with memory play is that it kind of pisses me off that people are able to do it. I mean, I’m happy for them, but it’s always been kind of elusive for me. As a result, I’ve always had kind of mixed success with it as a hypnotist.

So when my friend Daisy, who I’d been talking with since last summer and doing online trancy things with since the fall, mentioned being sort of curious about it, I was happy to play around. She’s a really good subject - someone who just inherently “gets it” - so I felt pretty good about the possibilities.

So, over a few weeks, we played with some simple things and over time we built a metaphor I really love. The idea is this: our brains are reference libraries, our memories are books, and there sure are a ton of books there, right? Too many to keep up with. So we all have a card catalog we can flip through to find the right one. The books never leave (it’s a reference library, obviously) but if you lose the card that tells you where it is? Then it’s essentially impossible to find.

I learned that Daisy would be arriving to Charmed a day before I’d be able to get there, but since I live nearby, I had an idea. What if I picked her up on Wednesday evening and had her forget I’d done so, giving us two chances to meet for the first time?

I threw out the idea during one of our conversations and it was quite well received. I believe the response was just “HOT. Hot.”

A couple of weeks before Charmed, I had her in trance and walked through the particulars of the plan, and let her know that there was no need to remember that we’d even talked about it. Her (very excellent) brain did the rest and over the ensuing days she knew that we’d discussed… something, but there was no clue as to what.

So there I was, pulling up to the airport on the Wednesday before Charmed, and there she was, waiting on the curb. It had been a long time since I’d had that kind of moment–the one that comes from months of conversation and phone calls and Skype trances and that joy of finally meeting someone who felt like an old friend in the flesh. All joy, all around.

We got into the car and started driving and chatting, but I looked at my GPS and realized I’d totally overestimated the drive from the airport to the hotel. I quickly asked her if I could do a thing, and she agreed; I put her into trance as we drove and reminded her about the plan:

I’d take her to the hotel and get her settled, but as soon as I left, she’d forget how she got there, remembering only a lovely rideshare ride with a very nice driver. She’d know she’d gotten there safely and it would all make good sense in her mind. I also planted some other Easter eggs for the weekend, and helped reinforce some safety suggestions we’d built over the time we’d be playing.

We got to the hotel and she checked in, I went up to her room with her and got her settled, and then headed for home. Friends, it was *audaciously* hard to pry myself away. But I knew the payoff would be worth it.

She actually texted the next afternoon to see when I’d be arriving with my merry band of carmates, who I’d told about my plan, but when we arrived, she was engaged as a demo bottom and eager learner in Wiseguy’s first-day class! It was hilarious because I’d rounded up most of my covid pod for the weekend to watch the big reveal, and they were… slightly impatient as we awaited her getting out of class.

But when she arrived from class? It was pure, unmitigated joy, again. I knew it would be fun to meet her twice for the first time, but I can’t overstate how cool it was.

The look on her face to “finally” meet was so real, so joyful. It was as close as one could get to perfect. I introduced her to my friends, and then leaned in to ask… “is there anything you need to remember?”

Y’all. Y’ALL. It could not have been better. Her eyes rolled up and fluttered for what seemed like a minute, but was probably just a few seconds. Seeing the memories return to her mind in real time was unlike anything I’d ever really experienced. She turned to me, said “... you little shit.” (a term of endearment - take my word for it) and then just collapsed into a squat for… a while.

It was so fun, so exciting, and so incredibly cool to do this, and I’m so grateful to Daisy for letting poke around in her brain (which is a truly excellent co-conspirator in all of this). What a great way to start a great weekend.

#my charmed #my charmed 2023 #my pal daisy #hypnosis #amnesia #this was so much fun

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runnning-outof-time · 1 year ago

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So I’m a few hours removed from my Oppenheimer viewing experience, and if I had to sum the movie up in three words they’d be: intense, moving, and WOW.

I’ve got a bit more to say about it, but I’ll put it under the cut so as to avoid spoilers:

Ok so first off I want to say that I’m really not the best at film typed analysis…I’m rather just a fan who enjoys movies and then just wants to have chats about them, so I’m not going to be the one to analyze the characters/the aspects shown in the film…instead I’m just going to comment on the elements/parts that stuck with me. I hope that’s alright with y’all - please don’t come for me. With that being said…here we go (sorry for the rambles to come - this turned into a long post y’all):

I loved how it was sequenced and shot - the whole cutting back to Strauss in his hearing and seeing what’s happening there and then focusing on Oppenheimer’s life, and the hearing that he also went through, made the film more exciting to me … it’s like we’d be getting these pieces of information through a formal lense and then we’d get to see it play out how it happened. And then the big reveal of how Strauss was actually related in regards to Oppenheimer was amazingly done as well - it was cool to see the shift in the story once that information was given to the viewer as well.

Speaking of Strauss - RDJ acted his ass off in this film. My mom said that she didn’t even recognize him, and tbh I wouldn’t have either had I not known he was in the film prior to seeing it. He portrayed Strauss in such a clever way…I felt like his intentions behind the great scheme of things really went unknown until the information came out that he was one of the major actors behind Oppenheimer getting his clearances revoked. And like I said, it felt like the whole energy of the film shifted once this knowledge came out and he handled that beautifully.

Cillian was amazing…of course. He really made the role look easy. And I know that’s silly of me to say because we all know that it was the furthest thing from it, but I think that that’s just a testament to how great of an actor Cillian is - he makes these intense rolls just look easy. I compared this performance to Leo in The Revenant in an ask a few days ago and I honestly stand behind that — this movie wouldn’t be half of what it came out to be if there had been any other person in the main role. Cillian carried this movie, and he did it with the utmost grace. My mom and I were talking about it just a bit ago and she brought up the great point that there were only maybe a handful of scenes that he wasn’t in…and in the scenes that he was in, you could really feel the weight of his performance. I’d honestly be shocked if he doesn’t get any nominations for this - I’m not sure if there could be as perfect of a storm as this role was for him.

The ending held the most weight for me, I think … it was so cool to finally see what he and Einstein were actually speaking about at the pond (another amazing choice in structure) and oh boy did that conversation rock me — those words are so true, especially in the scope of history and how people are remembered/legacies play out. It was a stark and honestly perfect ending for the film.

Also another thing that I just couldn’t get out of my mind was how human the movie was. Like it’s so cool to see how people reacted to certain things and it’s one of the most fascinating ways to look at history — take the Trinity Test for example (which by the way…damn. Wow) their initial reaction to it being successful was to cheer because during that time it meant that the US was going to be back on top with the arms race and now hold this power to essentially bring the fighting to an explosive end. But looking back on what came out of that successful test, the mood really isn’t as cheerful and exuberant. Same thing with the rallie after the bombs were dropped — there was much revelation because of how the war turned out and not much care for the carnage that had occurred due to that event happening. It’s not only until the years roll on and history gets written that we start to look at the other viewpoints and how each and every side reacted to/was effected by such events. I think the movie did an excellent job at showing how human people are - how they’re quick to react with their own thoughts and agenda first before considering it all … and I liked how the shift in Oppenheimer’s views became apparent once news of the bomb being dropped came out - it was clear that the real life effects of it were at the forefront in his mind and he was already grappling with it.

One more thing I just have to point out is the ladies in the film - Florence and Emily did amazing at portraying Jean and Kitty!! Even though Flo’s part was small, you really felt the impact of her scenes (even if she was naked in nearly all of them) - you can so clearly see the impact Jean had on Oppenheimer’s life just from those few scenes. And then Emily and her portrayal of Kitty was so well done, espeically in the later scenes, specifically the one where she was being questioned — I was like damn, you go girl!! Their relationship was so, so interesting to see and I think that Cillian and Emily did amazing at showing it. I also just had to think of Lauren ( @emotionalcadaver ) ‘s response to those commenting saying that Kitty had no arc — you’re absolutely right in saying that it’s perfectly fine that she didn’t because she’s a REAL PERSON … this is how this woman lived and reacted to the events she was placed into. She was one of the stand out characters in the movie for me partly because she didn’t show growth…she stayed stagnant and then responded to things thrown at her, much like a real person would.

Welp…I said that I’d ramble on about this - I’m really sorry for having made you read an actual essay, and if you’ve made it this far down, I really commend you for doing so. This was one of the best films I’ve seen in a while (it’s immediately going right up there with The Revenant and 1917) and it’s certainly the first that I’ve written this kind of a response to. I honestly would have been happy with watching another two hours of it, and it really didn’t feel like three hours passed by - that’s how good it was.

I’d love to hear what y’all thought of it if you saw it, and you’re absolutely amazing if you’ve read down this far — thanks for coming to my Ted Talk, I guess.

#k speaks #k’s film reviews…i guess #this wasn’t proofread - sorry if any part doesn’t make sense

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itisaterriblelove · 9 months ago

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GIVING ELLE SPACE WAS PROBABLY a better idea than spending any one on one time with her. But the fucking truth was that it probably wasn’t Elle who needed the fucking space—the opposite, actually, considering the whole damn fight was about me ditching her for Tyler—it was me. Maybe I just needed to get my head on straight, because it was starting to feel like everything was turning upside down and I was helpless to do anything but watch it spin.

I don’t know what the fuck happened.

Elle and I had always had a dynamic friendship, pretty much since grade school. She’d been one of the weirder kids, and a lot of the others had made fun of her for it. But I’d thought she was fucking fascinating, even then, and not much had changed since.

It was never a sexual thing, not with Elvis. Some people were just too fucking awesome to complicate shit with sex. She was special to me, and I’d never made any qualms about admitting that. Not to her and not to anybody else, either. After years of the same, everybody seemed to understand that about us.

We’d been fine. We’d been perfect. Elle and I had been coasting on a perfectly functional relationship for years. Until recently.

I liked girls. I liked hooking up. I even liked relationships. It was fun to see how two people gelled together and what stupid shit we managed to get bent out of shape about with each other in the process. What shit eventually ended it. But the thing all of my relationships had in common? Yeah… They all fucking ended. Mostly on good terms, but me and the girl were sure as shit not best friends before or after it. And it was okay when those girls came and went. When things changed… As long as the big things stayed the fucking same. And Elvis Hirsche was one of those big things.

Which was why—without ever really talking about it—Elle and I had decided to avoid that whole fucking messy minefield. It had never needed a conversation before.

So why the fuck did I feel like it needed one now?

Maybe it was just me? Maybe I was making a bigger deal where there wasn’t one. I couldn’t be sure. It suddenly felt like I couldn’t be sure of anything where Elle was concerned.

“Gavin?” The sound of my name on her lips let me know that she’d said my name more than once while I lost myself in thought about her. Elle’s impatient face confirmed that assumption. “Am I playing this right? It sounds off?”

I tried to listen as Elle strummed on my guitar, but all I could hear was the rushing sound of blood in my veins as I watched her bite down on her bottom lip in concentration. And it was mother-fucking distracting, to say the least.

I cleared my throat and forced my eyes away from her cute little body, bent over my guitar on the sofa in my living room. Today’s lesson had been longer than anticipated, and it was all my fault, I knew it.

“Sorry baby, do that one more time for me.”

I had to clear my head if it was the last thing that I did. There was something off track in me when I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how it felt to wake up with Elle curled up in my arms, with the scent of her hair pressed against my nose.

I liked my girlfriend—a lot. And I didn’t see that changing any time soon. So I really couldn’t understand where the frustration had snuck in from.

Elle strummed the series of chords again without complaint, effectively pulling me out of myself long enough to concentrate on the music. It was a rare fucking day where music didn’t have my full attention, but apparently I was going a bit against the grain today.

She was right, actually, about something being off. But it wasn’t because she’d done what I showed her wrong. Quickly, I realized my own mistake. I was supposed to be teaching her a new song, but my mind was so off topic that I hadn’t even played it right for her to learn from me.

“It seems like it should go more like this…” She played in a way that better rounded the music, creating a more complete tune with barely a mistake. For a moment I could only sit in stunned silence as I processed what had just happened. It wasn’t like Elle was playing by ear—not exactly—because I was teaching her something that I wrote. And so she’d taken my mistake and fixed it, then somehow managed to make it sound even better without my input.

“Gavin?” She prodded me with her foot, lifting her face from the guitar to stare at me. One of her eyebrows arched and I realized that I had been silent for too long. “Where is your mind today?”

“I only just taught you those chords last month!” I knew it sounded like a complaint, but I really couldn’t help myself. “Fuck, Elle! Maybe I should stop teaching you, before you become a better guitarist than me.”

She beamed at me, all the smugness splayed across her expression, and shrugged. “Better watch your back, Gavin Porter.” Elle tapped my guitar gently and shot me a warning look. “I might be taking your spot in the band soon!”

“Hey, hey!” I cupped my heart in mock-offense. “That’s so fucking rude.” I shook my head at her. “I thought we were starting our own band. What happened to that?”

“Oh, yeah!” Elle actually wiggled on the sofa with my guitar in her lap, she was so excited by the thought. “I could play the bongos and we could travel in one of those campers.”

“Now that’s the life.” I laughed at the genuine gleam of excitement in her eyes; it was hard not to take her seriously when she said outrageous things like that. I suspected she actually meant them all.

“We could live off love and a tip jar,” she announced with a sage nod of her head.

My smile softened as I agreed with her. “Sounds good to me, baby. Sign me up.”

She shifted, settling my guitar down next to the sofa, propped up against the end table. “What do you think we should name our band? And can I finish my fashion design degree first?”

Yeah, okay. She was probably fucking serious. I shrugged. “You should definitely finish your degree first. Garrett and Amy would never let me hear the fucking end of it if I ran off with you and didn’t let you finish school. You know, they think I’m a bad influence on you?!”

Elle scoffed. “It’s like your parents have never met my parents before…” She shook her head, but the smile on her face gave away her actual appreciation of my parents’ assessment of our friendship. She snapped her fingers at me in the way people do when someone’s being too slow about something. “Names, bucko!”

I blinked at her. “Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “You’re better at that stuff than me. You pick.”

She squirmed again, and I could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “I’ll have to think about it, then. And you’re not allowed to veto anything that I pick! Since you’re not contributing.”

“Those are some steep terms, Elle.” I regarded her seriously but she didn’t even flinch. “All right, fine. But no boy band references!” I had to at least have that much assurance. “Non-negotiable.”

She pouted at me. An honest to god, serious fucking pout that had me nervous all over again. Fuck. Everything. “Non-negotiable, baby.” I repeated, refusing to be swayed.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when she threw herself in my lap. I mean, fucking honestly. I should have seen it coming, because this was Elle, and this was just the shit that we did. But damn.

I was on the floor, a notebook opened on the coffee table in front of me, and literally at Elle’s feet from where she sat on the sofa. And one second she was there, pouting, and the next she had launched herself onto my lap like it was no big deal.

It shouldn’t have been—it wasn’t always—but it really fucking was.

It wasn’t a sexy thing that she did. I mean, it wasn’t supposed to be… She was in some regular jeans and a hoodie and nothing fucking special, and I had held her in my arms a hundred thousand times. So it should have been run of the mill.

Except it was Elle, all warm and soft, and smelling like vanilla for some fucking reason. And when she wrapped her arms around me, all I could think about was sliding my tongue up the curve of her neck, and it was really fucking me up.

My heart started going a hundred miles an hour, which was just so fucking dumb. But I was a hundred and fucking ten percent sure she tasted better than she smelled, and all I could think about was finding out for sure.

“I’m sorry we fought last night.” Her breath and her hair tickled along my neck, as I carefully wrapped my arms around her. “It was stupid. I hate fighting with you. I’m sorry I ruined your date.”

I tried to tell my heart to calm the fuck down but it just wouldn’t listen. I breathed, slowly in and slowly out, before even trying to respond to her. “I’m sorry I ditched you, baby. It was my fault.”

It wasn’t.

Elle had been less than gracious about Tyler from the start, and I had been pretending not to notice all along. But shit, I was noticing now.

“What's your problem with Tyler?” Elle shrugged and I felt, more than saw, her shoulders rising with it.

“I don’t know. I don’t have a problem with her?” She tipped her head back so that she could look at me. Which was a horrible fucking thing for her to do, because it just put her face that much closer to mine. If we shifted, I could have her on her back in a few seconds. Out of the hoodie, out of the shirt, just my hands on her skin. My mouth.

It was soft—Elle’s skin—and smooth and tan and taut. She’d probably let me do it, too. I thought she might.

Un-fucking-believable. I couldn’t focus for three seconds.

I swallowed and leaned my head just slightly back. It took a moment for me to get my thoughts back on track, to reorient myself to the topic of conversation. Girlfriend, right. One that Elle did not like. “I think you kind of do, Elle.” My tone wasn’t as light as I expected it to be, because my tone was usually always light. Soft, uncommitted. But at the moment everything was heavy and filled with tension. Even my vocal chords.

Elle sighed. “I guess I’m just… jealous.” I could see the word was hard for her to push out, and it was even harder for me to hear. It caused a tightness in my chest that I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with. And I must have looked like something—I don’t fucking know what—but my face was telling Elle something that she apparently did not want to hear. I knew this when she pulled away from me and scooted onto the open space on the floor beside me. She pulled in to herself, drawing her knees up, and rested her chin against them.

I’d been uncomfortable with her right up on me, but I was fucking hating the space that she’d created once she moved.

“I mean… You have someone and I don’t.” She sort of shrugged without looking at me, and her voice had gotten smaller. That tightness in my chest increased, but I couldn’t understand exactly why.

“I think I just need a boyfriend.” At that word—boyfriend—all of my muscles tensed. Like a coiled spring, every part of me clenched together. I was fucking speechless, and breathless too.

For some reason, the idea of Elle needing a boyfriend sucked all of the air out of the room.

“I mean…” she blinked, and her big eyes zeroed back in on my cornered expression. “I spend almost all of my free time with you. And I’m practically graduated college and yet I’m still a virgin! That’s crazy, right?!”

I couldn’t have answered her if I’d wanted to… Every fucking word in the English language had just erased from my mind.

I must have been quiet for too long, because Elle twisted her body to look at me and arched one eyebrow again. “Gavin?” She prodded my kneecap with her pointer finger. I caught her finger and tugged, encouraging her to come back to me. This time her legs straddled me on either side, and we sat there, face to face for a moment where I really wasn’t sure what I was going to do next.

I settled my hands on her hips and let out the breath that I’d been holding. “Don’t have sex with some asshole just to say you did it, Elle.” There was my voice, and it wasn’t even shaky. It was some kind of fucking miracle. “I would hate that.” The longer I looked at her—this close to my face—the surer I was that I was going to kiss her. Just fuck the consequences, I was practically desperate to feel her lips on my skin. I wasn’t proud of the realization, but I knew for sure that I wanted my tongue in her mouth.

If she moved, if she even breathed hard enough.

“You should make sure it’s the right asshole, okay?” There was no reason for me to be whispering, except the obvious… That I was still thinking about kissing her, still deciding if I was going to do it. She nodded and it was almost my fucking breaking point.

I could push her hips to my hips, I could slide my hands underneath her shirt. She would definitely let me. I couldn’t even feel my heart, it was beating so fast.

“And you’re not allowed to spend less time with me. I’d miss you too much.” It was meant to be a joke, meant to lighten the mood and create that bit of space I really needed to break this fucking hold she had on me at the moment. But it didn’t work. When I said it, it sounded too much like flirting. And, fuck me, it sort of felt too much like flirting, too.

“Relax, Gavin,” Elle patted my shoulder reassuringly. She leaned back, so I shifted and she stood. Thank fucking God. She ran her fingers through her hair and rolled her shoulders. “It’s not like I’m going to do the next jerk I go on a blind date with or something. I just mean maybe I should date.”

She shrugged like it was no big deal, and maybe she was right with that. Maybe it wasn’t.

But I still felt like something invisible had wrapped me up in a vice-grip and I couldn’t get free.

#my writing #my art #artists on tumblr #fng #fng ch09 #gavin x elle #ummm...#tw excessive swearing #bc gavin #didn't this man already have a cold shower??#i think he did.#didn't help.#smh

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mortemoppetere · 2 years ago

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TIMING: current. PARTIES: @muertarte & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: metzli and emilio butt heads when they end up going after the same person. it doesn't end as poorly as it could have. CONTENT WARNINGS: head trauma.

The rapid sounds of feet crunched and thumped against the wet earth while tree branches groaned with the weight of a predator. The prey’s heavy breaths wheezed desperately through overworked lungs, and the sound only brought joy to the vampire’s ears. It wasn’t uncommon for them to toy with their meal, especially when it had taken to an atrocity such as forging. Metzli scoffed to themself at the thought, lamenting the dead prospect of attaining a Renoir.

The man who called himself Henry brought in a lackluster forgery, offending the vampire within seconds. Metzli’s body reacted far quicker than they had anticipated, forcing the pursuit to begin immediately, much to both their delight and chagrin. They preferred to be a little more calculated than that, but they supposed it couldn’t be helped. There was no other option than to go along with it.

The chase was lasting longer than it took them to see through the prey’s facade. Which, to the idiot’s credit, he was determined to sneak a fast one to the best curator in the state. Metzli had to give him some credit for mustering the cajones to try, though. The vampire knew rumors spread quickly about how people like Henry went missing after a failed swindle at Muertarte. Now he was going to be next.

He’d been watching the guy for a while now. Henry — though Emilio had figured out pretty quickly that that wasn’t his real name — had his hand in the door in so many illegal activities that it was almost impressive. At first, the detective had assumed he was a siren, or maybe a spriggan. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

His latest client was one of many people who’d been swindled by the guy and, if it were just the swindling and the stealing, Emilio wouldn’t have given much of a shit. People stealing from each other rarely blipped on his particular moral radar given the number of times he’d been in a position where he had to steal something himself, and the people who tended to come to him about it typically had enough money to throw around that it was more of an ego blow than anything significant. But ‘Henry’ wasn’t just stealing. His rap sheet was longer than that. And more than a few things on that rap sheet made Emilio figure that, human or not, somebody needed to take the guy out.

Today was planned as a recon mission. Watch the guy on his latest scam, take a few notes, put together whatever version of a ‘plan’ someone like Emilio was capable of coming up with. (Not much of one, Rosa used to say. Em’s plans are just ‘stab here,’ when you really get down to it. She’d always known him better than most.) He wasn’t looking to make contact, but when ‘Henry’ peeled out like the damn house was on fire and nearly took Emilio out in an attempt to shove past him… Well, there was no time like the present, was there?

“Hey, what’s the rush?” He shoved the man backwards, slamming him against the brick wall. “You know, it’s funny that I’d run into you. I was hoping we’d get the chance to talk.” A knife slipped from his sleeve and into his hand, and he held it up briefly to keep Henry from trying to run. It didn’t seem as effective as it normally might have; the man shoved against the hunter’s grip desperately, unable to break the hold but clearly panicking more than he should have been. Christ, Emilio thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It’s just a fucking knife. What a goddamn baby.

In any case, it was clear that there’d be no conversation that was anything less than entirely one-sided. He might as well get the killing out of the way so he could move on to the next case. “All right,” he relented. “Guess we won’t talk. Not much good at it, anyway. Prefer the fun part.” He shifted his grip, preparing to drive the blade home.

Metzli’s path was cut short given the new body in their field of vision. The man seemed to know the vampire’s meal, and while that should’ve deterred them, it only made their mouth water. Made their pupils turn into mere points as they widened their eyes with a quiet snarl. No way a silly man was going to take what was rightfully theirs.

Wasting no time, they positioned themself above the pair, listening for the right moment to drop. Their ears perked at the finiality in the man’s voice, signaling to Metzli that it was the right time to quite literally let go and let gravity do its thing.

They landed with a dull thud just behind the would-be assassin, granting the vampire the opportunity to reach around, take Henry’s head, and smash it into the wall, rendering him unconscious. With him taken care of, Metzli grabbed the stranger from behind, ready to snap his neck as they allowed him to explain why he was trying to take their rightful kill. It likely wouldn’t do much to deter them, but they were just trying to be polite.

“Few seconds before I kill and take mine.” They spoke in broken English, still trying to get the hang of such a stupid language. “Speak.” Metzli squeezed even tighter for a moment, slipping their leg between the man’s to get him to his knees. Having only one arm, Metzli had learned they had to level the playing field somehow.

It crept up on him, that feeling that made every hair on the back of his neck stand up at once. A familiar sensation, one Emilio had come to know well throughout his life. As a kid, his mother made sure it was the kind of thing he’d recognize in an instant, stuck him alone with every undead thing she could find just so he’d never be caught off guard. Something dead was closing in. It was enough to give him pause, for a moment.

He figured he could deal with it when this was taken care of, take out that trash once this one had been finished off. And maybe he should have known better. After all, for Emilio, things so rarely went as planned. In any case, he wasn’t expecting the vampire to attack him first. He should have been. After everything he’d been through, he really should have.

They moved quickly, slamming Henry’s head against the wall and turning him to dead weight in the hunter’s arms. Emilio scowled as he was grabbed and yanked around, hand shooting into his coat pocket to retrieve a stake that pressed against the vampire’s chest in an instant, leaving the two of them in a standoff. The vampire, with their hand gripping the slayer’s throat, and Emilio, with his stake pressed against their skin but not yet breaking through.

“Don’t see your name on it.” There was another familiar shiver down his spine at their accent, at the way it curled around words not yet familiar. Similar to his own, a sure sign that they’d probably both be a lot more comfortable doing this in Spanish. Even with the realization, Emilio refused to fall into the comfort of his first language. He was just petty enough to make things harder on himself if it meant he could also make them harder on someone else, too. His bad leg screamed as the vampire tried to force him to his knees but, using enhanced strength that they must not have realized he had just yet, he managed to stay on his feet in spite of it. “There are plenty of other people to kill. Why go through so much trouble for this specific one?” It would be easy to just let them have it. Emilio wanted the man dead, but he didn’t particularly care how it happened. But stubbornness ran through his veins in a way that wouldn’t let him give in to anything undead, even if he wasn’t losing anything in the process.

The dance was a familiar one, sharp and furious with a speed that only few knew how to sync with. Especially when the parties were never meant to keep pace with one another. It looked to Metzli that the man had experienced his fair share of tangos, moving to the music of danger and chaos. A delicate and unstable crescendo of instruments that usually came in the form of sharp metal and flesh.

This time though, wood decided to join in on the symphony, and much to Metzli’s dismay, the musician had no intention of putting it down. They squeezed tighter around his neck, snarling at the lack of tact in his demeanor. Figuring him to be a hunter given the obvious, they decided to use their words instead of their teeth. Not the route they truly wanted to take, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, as if they had any other option anyway.

“And your name? Do not see it on him.” Metzli hissed, letting their body sink into the stake ever so slightly without ever changing their expression. There was no pain to be felt since Eloy taught them to numb themself to it. They really should have cared more, if only for their dress shirt. It ripped at the chest, rendering it trash. Oh well, Metzli supposed. They had to deal with trash first anyhow.

“Attack my business. My kill.” They admitted with a monotone, looking toward the body. “Why you care? Did he do a crime on you?”

The pressure around his throat increased, but Emilio didn’t falter. His glare bore into the vampire, even as the added pressure made breathing a little more difficult. He’d faced far worse than this; strangulation was one of the first things his mother taught him to endure, long before he was old enough to be locked in rooms with the undead and expected to survive the encounters. If anything, this was easier than most of the training that had preceded it. The vampire had only one hand to squeeze his airway shut with. His mother had always used two.

Of course, the vampire wasn’t backing down any more than Emilio was. In a way, he was almost glad for it. With the asshole behind him unconscious, he’d need something to entertain himself, something to keep him from falling back into his thoughts. Figuring out whether or not he wanted to drive this stake home would be a good means of entertainment, he decided. Though, given the way the vampire leaned into the wood, he might not have to make the decision at all. His grip on the stake tightened a little, just in case this was some ploy to get him to release it. He had more in his jacket, of course — his pockets were always weighed down with more weapons than ought to be possible for one man to carry — but it was always best to avoid being taken off guard.

“How do you know? You don’t know my name.” The statement was dry, the kind of thing that might have passed for a joke if the person he’d said it to had had a heartbeat. Tilting his head up slightly, Emilio studied the vampire for a moment. “He’s done a lot worse than attacking businesses. You think you have a right to him because he lost you money? Hurt your pride?”

Of course the hunter was difficult, they were trained to be. And really, Metzli had a little sympathy for the cretins. There were similarities in upbringings. Torture disguised as training, desensitization used as a ploy to create soldiers and mold them to feel nothing even as white-hot pain threatened to pierce through their steeled flesh. It would be easy to acknowledge that, to find some sort of common ground, but as two warriors on opposite sides of the never-ending war, that truth would never come out without crimson staining their skin. Without boring into each other’s eyes as their torture mirrored one another to give them pause, just as it had for the vampire.

For the first time in a while, Metzli’s eyes were reflected back at them, letting some form of emotion creep in ever so slightly. Something in his eyes hovered like a ghost, like anything that returned from the dead. Those only come back for two things. Love or revenge. And the man in front of them wasn’t around for the former.

“Do not need to know name.” They practically tutted with annoyance at having to speak English when the person in front of them had an obvious accent. Metzli chocked it up to his innate need to do nothing for the undead but kill them. It didn’t matter anyway. They’d just speak in their native tongue and let it be one-sided. He could answer in English if he wanted. “Forgers always have more cons and far worse backgrounds, especially when they think they can steal from me. Which he didn’t because I am not an idiot.”

Metzli shoved the hunter away with a kick to his stomach, completely tearing their shirt. They groaned quietly, wishing they had worn a binder, but they were satisfied nonetheless. There was distance between them now, and their kill was just behind them. All they needed to do was pick him up and ignore the nuisance in front of them. “What is it they call it here? Dibs? I have dibs. Now leave.”

In truth, the expression on the vampire’s face was a familiar one. Emilio had seen it in the mirror more often than he’d care to admit. The careful blankness of it, the way they refused to let anything even remotely human shine through. They had more of an excuse for that than he did, all things considered; physically, Emilio was as human as he’d ever been. He just didn’t feel like it anymore. Everything that had ever made him feel like a person had been stripped from him in that massacre, and everything left now served only to remind him of what he’d lost. He wondered if it was easier not having to hear your own heartbeat, not having to fill your lungs with air. They were both dead things walking. Emilio just happened to look it a little less.

“Wouldn’t tell you, anyway.” Odds were, they’d recognize it. And if things were tense now, he couldn’t imagine they’d get any better with his family’s reputation between them. Part of him wanted to say it anyway, wanted to welcome the inevitable fight that would come with it, but he held back. His pride was the only thing that could outweigh his melancholy and as much as he might want to make a martyr of himself, he wasn’t about to let a vampire be the one to end him.

He clicked his tongue as the vampire continued in Spanish. “Stupid enough to chase him through the streets. Should have taken care of him on the spot. Would have had less competition.” Continuing in English put him on an uneven playing field, he knew. He wasn’t good with English. (Frankly, he wasn’t much better with Spanish — Elena Cortez had never had much interest in teaching her children to speak. A blade didn’t need to know how to carry on a conversation.) But Spanish was the vampire’s preferred language, and Emilio didn’t like the idea of giving them anything they preferred. Forcing his half of the conversation into a language that didn’t fit well in either of their mouths might be inconvenient for him, but it was inconvenient for them, too. That was what mattered.

The kick wasn’t entirely unexpected, but he grunted as it knocked the wind out of him all the same. The stake remained tight in his grip, ripping the vampire’s shirt as it went backwards with him and his eyes darted down to ensure that it was undamaged enough to avoid needing replacement. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the mark on the vampire’s now-exposed chest. It was a familiar one. His uncle had sketched it out once, pointing to the curves of it carefully. His mother made Emilio and his siblings memorize it, along with others. Eventually, they would have been expected to take action against the clan, as they had others. It was this particular mission, the one to rid Mexico of any vampire clan that kicked up dirt within the country’s borders, that led to Victor’s death. But not this particular clan. This clan, Emilio had learned, was torn apart much later and from the inside. One of the leader’s own lieutenants, for reasons that evidently hadn’t been a power grab given the way the entire group dissipated once the leader was dead. “You’re a long way from home, no? Though I guess you don’t have much of one anymore. Los Sombras del Sur. Trying to stay relevant?”

A low rumble thrummed in Metzli’s chest, a growl quietly escaping their mouth, dripping with irritation. It didn’t really make a difference that the hunter was from their homeland, but it didn’t help. A hunter was as much of a pest as a rat, though that was insulting to the rodent population. What made a real difference was the fact that he knew exactly what clan Metzli was from. Not exactly surprising, they supposed. They just didn’t want to be associated with a life that took everything from them. Being relevant had nothing to do with it.

“Had nothing before, have nothing now. You are an idiot if you think being of any sort of relevance was an option in that clan.” Metzli nearly laughed, but all that happened was a smile began to form. As if it was noticeable. “All that mattered was Master Eloy. Killing him myself fixed that. His and the clan’s existence are done. I imagine you would be easy in comparison to an elder, but I have no use in killing you.”

They kept their eyes trained on the man, watching for any signs of an attack. So much as a twitch, and Metzli would be on the prowl. For the time being though, they unsheathed their knife and plunged it into Henry’s neck in one fluid motion as crimson eyes bore into the darkness. If they couldn’t take the kill with their teeth, they were spiteful enough to do it with a boring and tasteless blade. At the very least, the sound and smell of sweet iron made their throat and muscles tense. A hungry monster was dangerous. Add intelligence in there, and one had a lot of trouble coming their way. To make matters worse, at least for the slayer, the monster in front of him had a well-known name in Mexico’s supernatural ecosystem.

It was a fair assessment of the clan, though Emilio was surprised they were the one making it. Typically, vampires were more loyal to the clans they’d come up in. It was an irritation at best — it meant you couldn’t take on the leader of any clan without taking on the rest of them, too, meant that you were never fighting a battle with just one person, meant that anyone manipulated or forced into it wound up as collateral damage. His mother would hate that line of thinking, Emilio knew, but he’d seen plenty of supernatural people who weren’t all bad. Even undead ones. They didn’t all deserve to die, even if the vast majority of them did. But clans, and the elders who lead them, had a tendency to force the people under them into submission.

Some with less efficiency than others, apparently. A faint expression of vague interest crossed his face as they mentioned killing Eloy, and he wondered if it was true or if it was just some attempt at intimidation. It was plausible enough. He knew the leader of Los Sombras del Sur had been killed by a lieutenant, knew that the lieutenant had survived the ordeal, and had no idea where they’d wound up after. He’d been a little too busy losing everything to keep up with the specifics of what anyone else was doing around that time.

Any begrudging respect he might have had, though, dissipated as the vampire continued, and he rolled his eyes. “If you did do what you’re claiming,” he said, “you ought to know better than to underestimate an opponent. I may not be as easy to kill as you think.” Plenty others had tried, over the years, and Emilio was still standing. Sometimes, he let himself believe that that meant something.

He watched the knife bury itself in Henry’s neck with a sigh, rolling his eyes again. He didn’t much care who killed the criminal, at the end of the day. A dead man was still dead, no matter who delivered the fatal blow. But it was a little annoying, if only because the vampire was beginning to grate on him. He didn’t tend to hang around the undead for more than a few moments at a time unless he was ‘questioning’ one, and that faint buzz alerting him to their presence got old after a while. “Great,” he said dryly. “You gonna come at me next? Be polite to give me a warning.”It was the vampire’s turn to roll their eyes. Not only was the Spanish one-sided when it didn’t need to be, they hated when the need to repeat themself arose. Speaking held such little value in comparison to actions. People always tended to fluff up their words and misdirect; lie by any means in order to sate their needs. Metzli didn’t care for lying. So much so that they even detested things like diet soda. It was just a drink lying about being soda. Not even mixing blood in it could make it taste good. The very thought made Metzli want to grimace, but they had a more important matter to take care of first.

“I killed him, and I did not underestimate you. I merely made an assessment. Which, mind you, I would not be surprised if you proved wrong. Hunters are nothing if not persistent.” Metzli licked the knife, barely humming as the taste coated their tongue with a sweet and savory flavor that they could never get tired of. They had no other choice, not really; all thanks to the fateful bite Eloy bestowed upon them. There wasn’t much use crying over it, and it wasn’t like they would at that moment. It had been many decades since they last shed a tear anyhow.

“I told you already that I had no use killing you. That includes hurting you. I provoked you when I went after my kill, and now he is dead. My job here is done.” Finishing the final remnants of blood on their knife, Metzli sheathed their knife and studied the body on the ground. Maybe it was the wrong call, but they didn’t feel threatened anymore. If the man wanted to make any sort of attack, they were confident they could handle it. “If you won’t tell me your name though, I will at least tell you mine since you are the least annoying hunter I have met.” Metzli turned back to the slayer, “Metzli Bernal. A pleasure...” They bowed at the waist, sighing when they returned to standing upright. “Whatever your name is.”

It was hard to tell when a vampire was being honest. In some ways, Emilio almost envied wardens for that — at least the monsters they hunted couldn’t spin lies to try to tangle them up with. The safe thing to do, his mother would say, was to assume that anything undead was always being dishonest, to trust those with a heartbeat and discount those without one. But Emilio no longer found things to be so clear-cut. After all, Lucio’s heart had been beating strong when he’d sold his family out. Breath in his lungs and warmth on his skin hadn’t stopped that. And this vampire, in this moment, didn’t seem to be lying.

Maybe, a few years ago, Emilio would have been some version of impressed. Killing an elder wasn’t easy, even for a vampire. He never would have admitted to any respect it might have earned them, of course — doing so while his mother was alive, when it might make it back to her, would have been about as smart as sticking a fork in a light socket and ten times as dangerous — but there might have been some there. These days, though… It was hard to feel much beyond the grief and the anger he’d buried himself in. Most days, all he was was sorry. “I’ve been called persistent, sure.” He got the feeling they didn’t mean it as a compliment, but he’d heard far worse insults.

“Oh, most you could do is try. I’m sturdier than I look.” Still, there was something… interesting about it. A vampire stepping back, leaving a hunter be. His mother would have said such a thing was impossible. Of course, his mother would have stuck a blade in his gut for standing here and having a conversation when there was a perfectly good stake in his hand, so it might be best to take her voice in his head with a grain of salt this time. “Emilio,” he replied, making no move to offer anything beyond his first name. “You’re not the most annoying vampire I’ve met, I guess. But I don’t think I’d call you the least, either.” He inclined his head back towards the corpse now sitting against the wall. “I’m not getting rid of that. You killed him, you take care of the body. Anything else’d be shit manners.”

Surprise nearly painted across Metzli’s features, not expecting the slayer named Emilio to reveal himself. Wasn’t usual for either side to behave so amicably. It was always bite first, ask questions later. Safer that way for each party. Attacking first meant no one could catch you with your guard down. While Metzli’s wasn’t entirely up, they still had a layer of caution in every movement, knowing that any wrong move could prove catastrophic. Until then, they decided to go along with whatever the two were creating. It wasn’t a friendship or alliance, but it was something along the lines of a temporary tolerance. If such a thing were possible in their world.

With a sigh, they planted their hand on their hip, looking at the body with a shrug. “You’re right. It is only fair. I will get rid of him. My friend will consume it. Bones and all.” Metzli gestured vaguely to the body, crouching down to assess how bad the cleanup would be. They tutted to themself, a small chastise for letting their pettiness get the better of them. It was a petulant outburst, but they hardly regretted taking something from a slayer. In spite of this, they still had manners. Metzli was no heathen. Not even to a sworn enemy. “No trace back to you, Emilio. No…shit manners here.”

Metzli stood erect again with a bemused hum, looking down at the man with a blank expression. He’d half-complimented a vampire of all things, and that was an alluring act. It deserved some investigation. “Are you a…what do they call it here?” They tapped their chin, trying to find the right term. “Oh. I remember. A coconut? You have the accent but speak no Spanish.” It was more of a taunting jab to get Emilio to speak their tongue, but their face or tone of voice gave no indication of that. Metzli wasn’t a funny person and they didn’t normally partake in jokes because they were never allowed to—never learned to, but they certainly could now, when it benefited them enough. That was the beauty of their hard-earned freedom.

Their friend. It seemed a surprising confession to make, given everything. Context clues allowed him to guess that their friend was also undead. If ‘friend’ wasn’t a term that mostly meant ‘pet,’ he could assume that whoever it was was also sentient enough to have friends, which made him lean towards zombie. Part of him itched at that, the same way it always did when he got wind of something undead. Some habits, some thought processes were hard to break free from, and Emilio’s upbringing had left such little room for exceptions when it came to the undead. But this vampire had taken care of a problem back in Mexico, and they weren’t attacking him now. If anything, their goals seemed to align somewhat with his — taking out people who needed taking out. He could give them a momentary benefit of the doubt.

He could always kill them later, if he had to. Right now, he meant it about expecting them to get rid of the body. Lugging corpses around wasn’t nearly as easy as it had once been now that he had a bum leg and a body that hadn’t been properly taken care of in years. “I’ll hold you to that. Anybody comes sniffing, I throw your ass under the bus.” Though he wouldn’t let them be arrested. A vampire in a human prison wouldn’t end well for anyone involved, and assisting the police in any way had never been of much interest to Emilio. More likely, if the police came sniffing around, he’d pay off Javier for an alibi and stake the vampire out of spite.

As they continued, he stiffened a little. The term wasn’t one he knew, but based on context clues, he knew he didn’t like it. The attempt to coerce him into speaking their shared native tongue was a smart one; Emilio had always responded to jabs before thinking over their motivation. “I speak Spanish when I want to,” he said irritably, the words rolling off his tongue in Spanish so much easier than they ever would have come in English. “It’s not my fault my English is better than yours. Maybe you need the practice.” The taunt wasn’t entirely fair, given the fact that his English really wasn’t much better than the vampire’s and certainly wasn’t good, but Emilio tended to respond to perceived insults in kind.

Emilio was a funny guy, it seemed. Hot-headed but somehow calculated all at once. As an older man, an older hunter, Metzli supposed he had to be a decent mixture of the two if he’d lived this long to be considered that. Hunters his age were short on supply thanks to their dangerous occupation. They were indeed sturdy, like many of the people they hunted, but it was often that roles were reversed in an instant in the heat of battle. Whoever falls as prey, loses their life. Emilio was fortunate—or possibly unfortunate given what Metzli knew of families in their line of work—to have never fallen as prey. They wondered if it was that careful humor he held within him. It certainly gave the vampire pause. Enough to not wish to kill him. Yet.

“Ah, so not a coconut?” Metzli grunted with amusement, taking a seat next to the dead body to scan Emilio a little further. They could hear how elevated his heartbeat was, but it was much better than it was when they first pounced on him. If they didn’t know any better, Metzli would have to guess that his current bps was simply his baseline. Another gift from the job. Had the vampire had a heart, they thought maybe theirs would be the same, possibly even hiccuping with anger at the privileged choice of words. Not that Emilio was privileged by any means. He was just sounding a lot like those kinds of people. America may have sunk its teeth too far in, much to their chagrin.

“Calm down. You will start sounding like all those Americans who tell us to go back to our homeland.” Emilio responded to jabs, so Metzli gave another, hoping to irritate him into behaving. “I just got here not too long ago. After killing Eloy, they told me to leave Mexico, but they did not exactly make it easy to do so.” They shrugged, rubbing at their shoulder in an attempt to hide their smile. It was nice to speak and hear their native language, even under those circumstances. “I will learn in time. Our people are resilient and determined. What about you though? Why America? This is not your home.”

“No. Not that.” It was strange, speaking to them in Spanish. Emilio might have claimed it was because they were undead, though it wasn’t entirely true. His native tongue felt like something of a double-edged sword, these days. It was the language he’d used to sing his daughter to sleep at night, but it was also the language spoken by the monsters who had killed her. His nephew hadn’t known a word of English, and neither had his murderer. It was the language with which his mother had praised him when he did well, but also the language she’d used to berate him for his every mistake. Both knife and salve, somehow, making wounds and repairing them in the same strike.

Gritting his teeth in irritation, he waved a hand in Metzli’s direction at the accusation. He’d had the same experience, of course, throughout his time in the States. Strangers hurling insults because of the way his words came out wrong, scoffing at the way he didn’t always understand the things they said. But this kind of teasing was different when it came from someone who shared your heritage. Less a toss off a cliff face, more a playful shove.

Their question, though, gave him pause. Staying in Mexico would have been dangerous for him, to be sure. The vampires who had ripped through his town and killed his family would be chomping at the bit to take out the final member, with even those who hadn’t been a part of the massacre eager to earn the bragging rights that would come with wiping the Cortez line off the map. But that wasn’t why Emilio left. He hadn’t been trying to save himself, hadn’t been looking to spare his own life. It was somehow both simpler and more complicated than that. “I don’t have a home,” he replied, shrugging a shoulder. “Not here or there.”

“Hm…” Metzli leaned back against the tree, nearly fully relaxing. It was becoming easier to, especially with the developing rose-colored glasses. Coming to a compromise with an enemy had a cathartic element to it. Cemented the idea that monsters could have light behind their eyes, not just motivated by bloodlust. By rage. Quiet and simmering entities that were empty, dark, and full of malevolence. An all-consuming combination that left its host feeling as if their mind was not their own.

In Metzli’s case, it wasn’t, and they didn’t know Emilio all that well to speak for him and find common ground in that like everything else they had so far. “I see…I do not either.” They finally replied, close to feeling something. Metzli was a bit more inclined to try to relate to someone when they could compare wounds, and the loss on Emilio was evident. They were surprised they even tried, all things considered. Emilio was a hunter—a slayer, but he had paused. This, in turn, compelled the vampire to extend themself to him. Fight against every instinct to tear at his skin.

“You have my condolences.” Eloy had brewed his monsters together himself and made every fledgling his. He controlled the entity in them, and when he felt any semblance of defiance, he disciplined quickly. Took more of their essence and replaced it with that darkness. Metzli thought they’d get themself back when they killed Eloy, but his death left much to be desired. Whoever they were, they were still lost. All that was left was a numb and dark beast, somehow managing to feel the faintest sparks. Of what though, they didn’t know. Perhaps it was that empathy Honey talked so often about. The thing that made her shed tears when Metzli gathered their thoughts enough to speak about how they felt about their experiences coherently. Had to be. It was a humorous idea. A vampire empathizing with a slayer. But Metzli was nothing if not defiant. They’d always encompassed that trait.

Emilio grunted in response to the vampire’s statement, unsure how to feel about it. He wasn’t certain if they were trying to relate to him or simply stating a fact. He wasn’t sure which option would be preferable. Even now, even after having decided that he wouldn’t be killing them in this moment unless they made it a necessity, he wasn’t sure how to feel about having things in common with one of the things he’d been taught to hunt all his life. Elena Cortez had raised her children up with a mentality that forced a strict way of thinking, and while the birth of Emilio’s daughter had broken some of that spell… it was a hard thing to shake in its entirety.

Perhaps that was why he bristled when Metzli offered their condolences, why every muscle in his body seemed to tense at once. Or, more likely, maybe this was a reaction he would have had from anyone who offered such a thing. Condolences spoke of a grief that Emilio had been desperately trying to replace with anger since the tragedy that birthed it. Accepting them would place him on a ledge he wasn’t sure he could balance for long. “I don’t want condolences. It is what it is.” There was no home to return to, and that was fine. There were no people to miss him, and that was better. That was by design. He’d left Rhett behind for a reason, after all.

Deciding a change in subject was necessary, Emilio spoke again. “This town, you live here? You said you had a business.”

The teeth in the slayer’s words didn’t sting, didn’t leave a mark. It was a small nip from a big dog, demanding Metzli to step away from their offer. They could understand, to a degree. Accepting their condolences would not only mean he’d have to concede his teachings on what vampires were to him, but also acknowledge his loss. “Fine. I did not want it either when my town was massacred.” Metzli ran too—had been running since they learned how to shut themself off from the world. It was easier that way. That’s what they told themself. But the reality of it was that the pain was inevitable, came in waves that could make one drown if they didn’t learn how to swim away. And it appeared both Metzli and Emilio were very good swimmers.

“Yes, I live here. I own the art gallery in town. If you hear of forgers going missing in this area, it is likely my doing. Do not care for liars or dishonorable thieves.” One would think there was no such thing as honor in the act of stealing, but Metzli believed there was. Not everyone was dealt an easy hand, and when they were younger themself, they had taken to stealing food. But stealing highly sought after art that was worth thousands, if not millions. Well, that wasn’t exactly just a necessity, was it? That money was used for far more than just living costs and regular daily expenses. There was a bigger operation, and now Metzli knew both sides intimately. Their beliefs are the reason a shipment of crates that took food from the poor went “missing” during one of Eloy’s many missions. Sadly, like Henry, they were caught and promptly punished, leaving them with one less arm.

“I worked hard to get the business started, and idiots like him,” Metzli pointed a thumb at Henry, “Are usually in with more than just forgery. Trafficking, murder, torture…” They tutted as they shook their head, with a grimace painted on their face. “Rather get rid of them.” Pausing for a moment, Metzli tilted their head, growing curious. “And you? Do you live in town as well?”

Metzli’s statement about their town was so familiar that Emilio had to stop himself from flinching at the words. He wondered, for a moment, if they’d recognized him from the start and were only playing with him now, if they knew exactly what he’d lost and were just pretending not to in order to lower his guard. The paranoia that lived in his chest forced a lump into his throat, insisting that this must be the case, that Metzli was toying with him the same way they’d been toying with the dead man in the alley behind them. He shook the thought from his head as best he could, trying to force it from his mind. If Metzli was telling the truth about who they were — and Emilio had no reason to think they weren’t — they had even fewer connections in Mexico than he did. There was hardly any threat of them running off and telling those left over from the massacre in Etla where to find him. And even if they did… That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? To face the monsters that tore his family from him head on. To keep going until everyone responsible for that massacre was dust, or to die trying. That was all he was good for now.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he nodded curtly. “I won’t offer any condolences. For any of it. I think we both know I would be lying if I did.” Harsh, maybe, but honest. He liked to think they’d appreciate that more than a pretty lie. And they were being honest enough with him, too, admitting to ‘taking care’ of forgers and thieves around town. It wasn’t quite what Emilio did — he tended to focus more on violent criminals than thieves, though many like Henry fell into both categories — but he could understand it nonetheless. Art thieves were rarely people worth mourning. “Hope you’re usually more discreet about it than this,” he said, nodding to Henry’s corpse. There was something almost akin to a lilt in his tone. The undead rarely saw Emilio’s version of a joke unless he dealt it out with a heap of pain on top of it, but the fact that Metzli hadn’t come at him again meant he was a little closer to whatever kind of ‘at ease’ he could manage, these days.

“Yeah. I was after him for something like that.” He pulled out his phone, flipping clumsily through a few photos in his gallery before turning the screen around to display a photo of a young woman smiling at the camera. “Was looking into him for something else, and her name came up. They found her on a hiking trail in Florida. Didn’t have enough on him to send him away for it, but it was him. Probably came here to get away from it.” He pulled the phone back, locking it and sliding it back into his pocket. “Some things you shouldn’t be allowed to get away from.” He didn’t care much about the client Henry had swindled, though that had been what put him on the man’s trail. If it were only that, Emilio probably would have been a bit more angry about the corpse on the ground, upset that he’d have to find some way to give the client an update that would still allow him to be paid even when he couldn’t tell the client what became of the problem. But there were some things far more important than all that, and this was one of them. Henry got what was coming to him. Henry got off easy. Glancing back up to meet the vampire’s eyes, the hunter shrugged. “For now. Don’t know if I’ll stay.” It wasn’t entirely true. He’d set up a business for himself here, which meant he was staying for the foreseeable future. But he wasn’t in the habit of sharing that sort of thing with undead strangers, even if he’d decided that Metzli wasn’t the worst person around. It was always better to give away too little than too much.

Metzli grunted with amusement, not usually one to laugh. To do so, a person would have to feel free to do so. “I was feeling a little more fun than usual. The night was quiet enough for it.” Even with Eloy dead, liberation still didn’t feel real. There always seemed to be some sort of shadow looming just over Metzli’s shoulder, waiting to discipline. For them, that freedom came in cautious waves, leaving them anxious for hours, but painting smiles on those who motivated the sound to ring out. They knew freedom came at a cost, and in time, they’d pay less and less. As frustrating as that was. At least Emilio was funny without being overly so. Metzli wouldn’t know how to handle feeling free or at ease thanks to a slayer.

“You are not so bad.” Again, the vampire grunted. Emilio may not have made a joke, but the overt honesty was somehow humorous. A hunter showed a bit of kindness in not lying, a sort of respect toward a vampire. Metzli saw the irony in it, and then they smiled, genuinely. “You speak plain and your humor is dark. I do hope you stay in town if only for jobs like these.” They nudged their head toward Henry, “Human or…” Their hand gestured to themself, “Not. Species doesn’t really matter. Anyone can be worthy of death.”

With a sigh, Metzli looked at their watch and quirked a brow. It had been far longer than they thought, and now they were late to seeing Honey. She’d understand when they showed up with a body, but punctuality was something Metzli favored. “Hm…I must leave, unfortunately. Have to meet my friend. Do you think you could at least take care of the blood? Consider me owing you a favor. You seem like fun to work with anyway.”

It was strange, the fact that this vampire had the same idea as ‘fun’ as Emilio himself. Even now, part of him felt nauseous at the concept, stomach clenching in a way that reminded him of nights full of far too much whiskey without the pleasant numbness that preceded it. It wasn’t as bad as it would have been years ago, when his mother was alive and anything that might pass as rebellion filled him with a dread so heavy his lungs were crushed by the weight of it. Punishment in the Cortez household was always swift and brutal, but it was the disappointment Emilio had always feared more. He’d known, for a long time, that he wasn’t his mother’s favorite child. He’d never quite found a way to be okay with that.

He shook the thought off as best he could, coming back to himself in time for Metzli’s compliment to nearly send him spiraling right back down. Instead, he managed a quiet grunt that might have been some kind of affirmation. “Most people don’t like my jokes.” Juliana had, up until the point where that budding resentment between them meant she didn’t like much of anything Emilio had to say. Rosa had always laughed at them, but part of him wondered if some of that was just politeness. The only person who’d ever really thought Emilio was funny with any kind of consistency was Flora, and it was difficult to tell how much of that was just a child idolizing her father. “I tend to lean more towards the not. But… Humans can be just as bad. Worse, sometimes.” He still resented Lucio far more than he resented the vampires his uncle had sold them all out to, after all.

With a sigh, Emilio glanced down at the corpse. The blood spray wasn’t bad, but cleanup had never been his favorite part of the job. It was part of why he preferred to stick to vampires — they had the good manners to turn to dust when you stabbed them. Made cleanup a hell of a lot easier. But a bit of blood was far easier to get rid of than an entire corpse, so the compromise seemed like a fair one. Especially fair, when you factored in the favor Metzli promised they’d owe him. “I’ll be holding you to that. Go, get rid of this. Consider the blood taken care of.” If nothing else, he’d learned the best practices for cleaning up blood through years of dealing with his own staining his clothes and floor. “I’ll be seeing you, Metzli Bernal.” It was either a threat or a promise. Emilio wasn’t quite sure which.

#muertarte #metzli: dangerous things #wickedswriting #head trauma tw #s1 writing #season 1

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

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This Dark Thing That Sleeps In Me - a Magnus Archives AU, Chapter Seven

This is a DARK AU; it is not a kid-fic, though Jon is young. Bittersweet ending ahead.

Spoilers for the whole show, though this is very much an alternate universe.

“Have you been to Oliver’s mountain?”

“No. Hey, Marto, how come the Eye didn’t choose this guy?”

“Wish I knew.”

It didn’t feel particularly good to hear that. Jon was beginning to dislike being a mystery.

AO3

Art by @iiiumihottie

Nobody answered Tim.

“So,” Mike said into the silence. “Is it always this exciting in the grand ol’ tower?”

“No, it is not,” said Sasha. “Is everyone all right?”

Some murmurs of assent.

Not from Jon. He knew what he’d been promised. Felt it deep inside, maybe in his soul. Answers. To everything. He kept swallowing, producing saliva as though hungry.

“Jon, are you all right?” said Sasha.

“Is he all right?” huffed Tim. "What about the rest of us?"

“I’m fine,” said Jon, who was still visibly shaking. “Can we go see everything? He said I could see everything.”

“First, let’s… okay. Martin, can you grab him some clothes, since Tim didn’t get the chance? I’ll get him fed and washed.”

“Thanks, Sash,” Martin said, and left.

Mike stayed. No one had expected Mike to stay.

“Hellooooo?” said Tim, as though Mike had forgotten.

“So what’s the deal with you three?" said Mike. "Is it open, or closed?"

“Not the time, Skyboy,” said Tim.

“Here,” said Sasha, and handed Jon a plate.

Food. Chicken? Some meat chopped up small and a bunch of vegetables he didn’t recognize and—

He groaned, mouth stuffed. He’d never had anything so good at Amherst’s place.

“Slow down,” said Tim, slowly. “Geez.”

“Who was taking care of you?” says Sasha.

“No one,” Jon says around another mouthful. “I took care of myself.”

“So you were… what, eating garbage?” said Tim.

“No,” huffed Jon, and scraped his plate clean. “I was trading.”

“Trading what?” said Tim.

Jon shrugged. “Needful things. I’d wash dirty dishes, or organize shelves.”

Tim started laughing. “Are you serious? They’d come downstairs in the morning, be… what, out some bread, or something, and find their kitchen redone?”

Jon slowly went red. “I’m not a thief. I traded. Without… telling anybody. It still counted!”

“Oh, my gods,” said Tim. “I love you. I want one. Hey! Martin! Dibs when you’re done!”

Martin stepped back in. “We are not doing dibs.” He’d changed. Impossibly fast, it seemed, but he was clean, his hair wet and slicked back, and his clothing swapped out for dry things. Gone were the velvety blacks; he’d gone into greens now, with an elaborately embroidered vest and a bright red cravat. “Here.”

Jon took the bundle of clothes.

“Shower,” Sasha pointed.

Jon obediently went to the corner shower to clean up.

He could hear them while he did. The conversation was odd, but… intimate.

“You are so pale,” said Sasha. “Drink.”

“No, I’ve taken too much from you lately already,” Martin said.

“Well, I’m not pale and bloodless yet,” said Tim.

“Guys,” Martin said. “I can’t. I’ve been greedy, and now I’m paying for it.”

There was a pause. Jon had no clue what they were doing over there.

“Nice,” said Martin, breathless after a moment, “but still no.”

“I’m here,” said Mike.

Silence.

“What? My blood works.”

“It does,” said Martin. “Well?”

“It’s up to you,” said Tim. “I mean. Your mouth going on him.”

“I’d return the favor,” said Mike.

"Wow," said Martin. "Right in front of everybody."

"If that's your thing," said Mike.

Martin laughed. "You're hopeless."

“Let me at least test him. Make sure he’s clean,” said Sasha.

“Do whatever,” said Mike. “So you gonna take the kid and gonna explore? I’m staying here.”

“Why?” said Martin. “My friends are… we…”

“I want to get to know them,” said Mike.

“You really know what you’re offering, don't you?” said Martin softly.

“Yeah. I do. I know it’s intimate. I know it’s permanent—we’d be tied. I know what I’m offering.”

“Damn,” said Tim as if impressed, and their voices lowered.

Jon missed the rest. The sensation of hot water was so glorious that nothing else mattered, anyway.

Martin was safe. Martin was… fed. So Jon could do whatever he had to do. Whatever that meant.

Stay focused.

“Sure, past self,” he muttered to the Answers, and hurried.

“Hey, Jon, you cleaned up all right.”

Jon smoothed down his weird new clothes. He’d never worn anything like it—blue velvet, a vest, a tie. He needed help with the tie. He did not like the tie. “Thank you. I’ll pay for this, somehow.”

“You don’t have to. Jonah sort of said you had to stay? That means he has to provide for your needs.”

You do not know this man.

He’d rather not think about Jonah. “I want to see everything.”

Martin sighed. “Everything?”

“Everything. He said I could.”

They all looked at each other.

“Please?” Jon added.

“Sure,” said Martin. “Might as well do it right. We’ll start at the bottom of the place and work our way up.”

“Geez, look at that expression,” said Mike. “Hungry as fuck. How are you not Eye?”

Sasha peered at Jon through the lens of her goggles. “He’s Uncertain, as far as I can tell.”

“Wild,” said Mike, clearly not invested. “So what else are you working on? I want to watch.”

“Do you,” said Sasha.

“I want to watch, too,” whined Tim.

“No, you’re coming with me, I decided,” said Martin. “You know everybody, and that’ll make this easier.”

“Aww,” Tim somehow whined harder. "Fine.

“How are you at taking instruction?” Sasha said to Mike.

Mike’s smile was slow. “Why don’t you find out?”

Martin looked like he’d much rather stay and watch what happened, but that wasn’t on the table. “Come on, Jon,” he sighed. “We might as well get this over with. Follow me.”

Jon did.

“Is this anything like what usually happens when the Fingers come for people who weren’t chosen?” said Jon as they headed for yet another set of stairs, then he tripped again. These shoes were strange, heavy; the toes kept catching on things.

Martin caught him by the arm.

“Sorry,” mumbled Jon.

“Never wore boots like this, hm?”

“Not since I was little,” said Jon.

“Little. Wow,” Tim deadpanned. “Really long time, then, yeah?”

“It was,” said Jon with full sincerity. “And I don’t think the toes were this pointy.”

“No, they wouldn’t be. That style swung in about a year ago, and has yet to make its graceful exit,” said Martin, and led the way down.

The whole building, Jon decided, was designed to absorb light. He couldn’t think of another reason for it to be made of black or dark brown stone, with sconces spaced far apart, and nearly all windows just too high to be of use. He hadn’t gotten an answer for his first question. “So is this normal?”

“Not even close,” said Tim behind him.

“What is normal?”

Martin sighs. “They’re taken to Oliver’s mountain. Don’t know what happens after that. They don’t come back.”

“You don’t know?” said Jon. “I mean, they say they’re sacrificed, so I assume they die, but—”

“You don’t have to sound so disappointed,” said Tim, amused.

“I... I’m sorry.”

Martin glanced at him. “You also don’t have to keep apologizing.”

Jon frowned. “I don’t?”

“Definitely not. We’ll let you know if you do something that requires it.”

“Oh.” And Jon blurted it: “I don’t understand the rules here.”

“Nobody does,” said Tim. “And by the time we learn them, it’s time to die, and then we get to be reborn and have to learn them all over again.”

“You don’t remember them?” said Jon, amazed.

“No.” Martin glanced at him. “Jon, nobody remembers.”

Jon started to say, I do.

His past self said, don’t say it.

Jon closed his mouth.

“What?” said Martin.

“The… the walls are really brown.”

“Dibs," said Tim.

“Quit it,” said Martin.

“Why is it so dark?” said Jon.

“Because the Heart feels contemplation of death is best done without distractions. Thus, outside of Jonah’s area, there is no art, there are no carpets, and there’s no real color except for in people’s personal rooms.”

“But his area’s fancy as anything,” Tim muttered.

“Whose else lives here?” Jon tripped again.

Martin exhaled. “There are representatives of all the Other powers here,” he said. “And most of them are new, but there’s… there’s a core of repeats.”

“A core?”

“Some of us, reborn, are always going to end up here,” said Tim. “Me, Sasha—Martin, until he took this out and just doesn’t die anymore, the jerk.”

“Anyway,” said Martin, stopping at an enormous door at the bottom of the stairs. He took out an enormous ring of keys. “It’s the core group, and then the people the Heart picks.”

“Picks?”

“He’s Aligned dually, himself,” said Tim. “He was Eye first, then End. So anyone who’s Aligned dually like he was, he keeps.”

“Is that good?” said Jon.

“Depends,” said Martin. “Sometimes, sure. He gave me eternal life. He helped Tim. He gave Sasha a real purpose.”

“That’s all good, isn’t it?”

“I’m grateful,” said Martin in a tone Jon could not interpret, and unlocked the door.

A weird smell wafted out—a smell Jon knew. “That’s rot.”

“It is. You ready? You wanted to see everything.”

“I do want to see everything,” Jon confirmed, and walked right in.

Jon was very surprised to find Jane Prentiss in the basement. He was even more surprised to find her in chains.

She was even more surprised to see him. “Well, fancy meeting you here,” she said.

Jon stared. “Why are you locked up?”

She sighed. “Lost a duel. Did you get our present?”

“I did! Why did you send it?”

“Little spider told us to.” Jane grinned. She didn’t seem particularly bothered by her chains or being stretched prone on the floor. “Wait. Aren’t you past ten?”

Jon flushed. “Nobody wanted me.”

“Huh.” She stared. “What's very weird. Well, we would have taken you.”

“Well. You didn’t.”

“We still could.”

“No?” he said, and stepped back. “I think I’ve had enough Corruption for the rest of my life, thank you.”

“Fair enough.” Jane looked at Tim. “Would you tell Jonah we have learned our lesson?”

“I can’t tell anyone anything, Jane,” said Tim, somehow making it smooth and gracious in spite of the worms squirming all around their feet. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to pay your penalty.”

“We would have won if not for interference.”

“Maybe so,” said Tim, and it’s almost gentle. “But the Heart never cared about cheating, you know? He just cares who wins.”

“Next time,” said Jane. “Next time, we will overwhelm her, and she will smother and writhe as we eat her eyes.”

“Good luck with that!” said Tim, the soul of cheer, and stepped over her legs and moved further in.

Martin moved past quickly, but she spotted him, and she spat. “Filth!”

Jon gawked at her.

“Come on, Jon,” Martin said, hand on his back. “Keep going.”

“Wretch! Pirate! Foul creature not of the grave!”

Jon followed, eyes wide. “What was that about?”

“Oh, she hates Martin,” said Tim with great pleasure. “The Corruption can’t touch him, you see. Not even after he dies.”

“You won’t rot?” said Jon.

“No. Whatever the Heart did to create me means I will, uh. Collapse into dust, apparently?”

“Wow.” Jon was awed. “How does that work?”

“I don’t know?”

Jon’s eyes grew wider. “And you… you’re all right not knowing?”

“I don’t even know who I’d ask,” said Martin. “Though Sasha is busy trying to figure me out.”

“She’ll figure you out, too, kid,” said Tim, opening another door.

There were more prisoners in here. Some were chained high on the wall, dangling from fetters. Some were, like Jane, on the floor, stretched out as if meant to be stepped on. Two—just two—were in complicated torture devices, one of which stretched its victim into moaning misery, the other piercing its prey with a thousand metal barbs so they could never stop bleeding.

It was… horrible?

And Jon felt like he should feel more bad for them than he did, but he was so damn curious. “Why are they here?”

“Displeased Jonah,” said Martin. “Bad idea to do that.”

Jon could see why. “But what did they do, specifically?”

“You really do want to see everything, don’t you?” said Tim.

“I do. What did that one do?”

“That guy tried to murder someone. Pretty dumb move, if you ask me.”

“What about that one?”

“Attempted to escape. Thought by just traveling far away, they could leave the End’s power, or something. I’m not really clear on it? Something about a flat Earth.”

Jon scoffs. “The Earth isn’t flat. Eratosthenes proved that centuries ago.”

“I’ll take your word on it, little buddy,” said Tim, then looked over his shoulder at Martin and mouthed, “Dibs.”

Martin rolled his eyes.

“What about that one?” Jon pointed.

“Attempted suicide. Belonged to the Dark, so they didn’t appreciate it.”

“Huh. That one?”

“Tried to swap their twin for collection to the Fingers. Didn’t work, of course.”

“So the Fingers do bring people here,” said Jon.

“Nope. They go to the Will. Like I said, nobody ever comes back from that.”

“Where is Oliver’s mountain?”

“Somewhere over the sea.”

“Over the sea? So the Vast is working with the Will.”

“Yep. It’s why Mike’s sort of not in our crew, if you’ll pardon the pun. He always goes to Oliver whenever he’s reborn," said Tim.

“Have you been to Oliver’s mountain?”

“No. Hey, Marto, how come the Eye didn’t choose this guy?”

“Wish I knew.”

It didn’t feel particularly good to hear that. Jon was beginning to dislike being a mystery.

The dungeon didn’t last much longer. Martin led them out and up stairs. Everything smelled so much better, and now, they were in the guts of the place.

Machinery churned; rumbling and mysterious, it chugged, pistoned, steamed, sparked; Jon wanted to know what everything did, but neither Martin nor Tim really knew.

“Hot water?” said Tim.

“Lights,” said Martin.

“But how?” said Jon, and they could not answer him. “There have to be books or something explaining it all!”

“Ask Jonah over dinner,” said Martin.

“Dinner?”

“He wants you attached to my hip,” said Martin. “Well, we have this huge dinner every night. Awkward as fuck, but at least everyone here will know not to eat you.”

“Eat me?”

“You’re wandering around here, affiliated with nothing and no one. You’re not safe, kid,” said Martin.

“Fuck,” said Jon.

For no reason Jon understood, that cracked Tim up.

The next several floors belonged to people of the Flesh. The Flesh’s floors had a lot of large people walking around, bulging with muscles, challenging tailors with strange bodies and too many limbs. They smelled kind of bloody, but were nowhere near as gross as where Jon grew up, so he was unfazed.

Tim flirted with everyone they met. That was utterly bizarre, but it was satisfying to watch. Everyone seemed to like him. They cheered up when they saw him—or if they didn’t at first, they did after a moment of talking to him. Jon had seen and heard some wild sexual behavior in his time, hiding in attics and on the street, but this seemed above and beyond. It was friendly, somehow; cheerful. It didn’t seem to mean anything, or require anything in response.

It was just… pleasant. It left people smiling when they walked away (if they had mouths to smile, which they didn’t always, but somehow gave that impression, anyway).

By contrast, very few knew what to do with Martin. He got a lot of nervous looks; not even the really big guys had any interest in challenging him, though his presence made them nervous. Being chosen specially by Jonah seemed to be either a blessing or a curse. Jon wasn’t really sure which.

The wild thing was, unless Tim or Martin pointed Jon out, no one noticed him at all. He wasn’t sure why he’d expected that to change. It still felt bad, but it wasn’t new.

They climbed more stairs.

The next section belonged to the Hunt, and these floors were a maze, set up so people could chase each other and get caught and bump against dead ends and do it all over again. Jon hated the layout. The people there didn’t see him, either, but they really liked Tim. Jon could see they wanted to chase him. From comments, maybe some of them already had. Tim laughed a lot with the people on that floor. And these people, unlike the Flesh, thought Martin was the bee’s knees. They flirted with him.

In response, Tim got louder and more amusing. In response, Martin got flushed and stammery.

This was becoming genuinely funny to watch.

The Dark’s floors were impossible to see in. Tim talked to somebody; Martin laughed and joked with somebody; Jon stared into the gloom, frustrated beyond belief that he didn’t know what was there. He wanted to go in, to explore.

“Wait until dinner,” said Martin. “Wait until everyone knows Jonah’s got his eye on you, and then you can explore without an issue, okay?”

“Fine,” Jon, whined, aware he was being bratty, and followed Martin away from it and up the stairs.

That one is dangerous to you , came sort of an answer, though Jon hadn’t asked. Be cautious.

Huh. Well. Maybe. All right. But he wanted to know what was in there. Jon had never not listened to his past self. It seemed unwise to start now.

Each area in this tower was unique; they smelled different, and sounded different. The people there all had complicated relationships with Martin, but everyone liked Tim. Martin was right: It had been a good idea to bring Tim along.

“So,” said Tim, as they reached yet another floor. “Weird question: you weren’t… uh. Drawn to anything we saw, were you?”

“Drawn?”

“We both know the Eye’s gonna mark him as soon as they see him, right?” said Tim.

“We’ll see,” said Martin, and opened a door.

This floor was different, too—ceilings high and rooms wide, all the walls were lined with books, and Jon was heading for them before he could even think to ask.

“So this conundrum is about to be solved,” said Tim.

Martin shook his head. “Doubt it.”

“Look at all these books!” said Jon, reaching, then stopped. “Can I?”

“May,” said Martin. “Jonah’s a stickler for that shit.”

“May I?”

“Ask her.”

Jon looked to find a young woman staring at him. “May I read your books?” he said.

“What the hell is this?” she said, and looked at Martin. “Why can’t I see him clearly?”

“She can see him! What the hell!” said Tim, throwing his hands in the air.

“He’s… Uncertain?” said Martin.

“He’s too old,” said the woman.

“Well, he still is. Um. Do you want him?”

“I’m not done seeing everything,” Jon said, frowning at Martin. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

Martin looked aghast. “No, Jon! I’m not trying to get rid of you. I’m trying to protect you.”

The woman stared. Jon shuddered. Her eyes reminded him of Jonah’s, though not with the same weight. “This is very strange,” she said.

“Right?” said Tim.

“I can’t see him clearly,” said the woman again with dire suspicion.

Jon twisted a little. “Nobody can. May I read some books?”

“Martin,” said the woman evenly. “Explain now, or I will react with prejudice.”

“Geez, drink some camomile,” said Tim. “Gertrude, this is Jon—Jonah’s guest. Jon, Gertrude.”

Gertrude stared. She looked like a knife, Jon thought—sharp, polished, dangerous. “Sure. Read whatever you want.”

Whew. Happy to step away from her, Jon grabbed the first book he didn't know.

“What do you see when you look at him?” said Martin.

“It’s like an illusion,” she said, which made little sense. “What is he?”

“Don’t know.”

“I don’t like it. The Eye can’t see him, Martin. He’s invisible to the Eye.”

Martin stared. “Invisible to the Eye? Invisible? ”

“Invisible.”

“But that can’t—he’s clearly been accessing it! I don’t…”

“He’s accessing something, but the Eye can’t see him. Get this thing out of my space.”

Back to them, Jon hunched. “I’m not hurting anything,” he muttered.

“I don’t want him here. I don’t understand him.”

“Oh, come on, now, Gertie,” soothed Tim. “He’s not doing any harm.”

“Out.”

“What if I distracted you for a bit? Took you dancing. Listened to you ramble on about orbital patterns, or whatever.”

“Tim,” said Gertrude evenly. “I will not warn you again.”

“Shit,” Martin muttered. “Sorry, Jon. We have to go.”

“But…” Jon stared around himself at all the books. “Jonah said I could!”

“He hasn’t said it to me,” Gertrude snapped.

Jon felt like he was going to cry. New books! So many! Right here!

“He will at dinner,” said Martin. “I promise you’ll be able to come back.”

“If he does, then I will have to let you in,” said Gertrude. “Until then, leave.”

“Sorry,” Jon whispered, and held out the book.

Gertrude scowled. “You can keep it.”

“Really?” said Jon, eyes enormous.

Martin took his shoulder and directed him back to the stairs. “Come on. She wants to be a cranky old woman, she can be a cranky old woman.”

“Offer’s still on for dancing and orbital patterns!” Tim called over his shoulder.

“I think I got so used to people not seeing me that I forgot they don’t like me,” Jon said.

They walked for a moment. “I like you,” said Martin.

“Maybe you do,” said Jon.

“I do,” said Martin. “And the people who don’t are assholes.”

“Assholes,” Tim agreed.

Jon wanted to believe them. He couldn’t, quite. There were too many of them.

“One more area of Others, then we’ll get to the utility areas—kitchen, weapons training, all that," said Tim.

“Weapons training?”

“Jonah likes duels,” said Martin with a shrug.

“The Heart of the End likes a lot of things that aren’t the End,” Jon said.

"Dibs," said Tim.

“Shhh,” said Martin.

Tim leaned in. “You are right,” he said. “The running joke is he serves the End so faithfully so he can avoid it himself and keep indulging, but don’t say that. You’ll piss him off.”

“I swear, that woman,” said Martin, changing the subject back.

“Well, she’s got months left,” said Tim. “I don’t blame her.”

“She’s twenty-nine?” said Jon.

“Yep. The End comes for us all—except this dapper gent, of course.” He elbowed Martin.

“You’re close to thirty?” said Jon.

“Got a year and a half left,” said Tim. “So far, the only one whose life has been extended is Marto over here.”

“Oh.” Jon swallowed. “You don’t seem… unhappy about it?”

“Why would I be unhappy about it?” said Tim.

“I mean… so many others seem to be upset.”

Tim shrugged. “My future’s set, you know? I’ll be reborn somewhere, Jonah will find me, and bring me here. That’s what happens.”

For reasons he didn’t know, Jon glanced at Martin.

That was grief. On Martin’s face was grief.

Jon couldn’t engage with it. “How does he find you?”

“He can see all of us. Any of us,” said Tim.

“Except me,” Jon pointed out.

“That’s… well, he can see you face-to-face, so you’re not a ghost,” said Martin.

“Wh… did you think I was a ghost?” Jon blurted, feeling for no reason he knew like his past self was laughing at him.

“I considered it?” said Martin, and opened a door.

The final Other floor opened to a room of white webbing.

Martin sighed. “Annabelle, for the love of fuck.”

Tim gawked. Then he laughed. “What the hell? This isn’t the augury. What’s all this?”

“I have no idea. She’s filled the regular living quarters now, for some reason,” said Martin.

“Come in, children,” came a voice from who knew where.

“Annabelle,” moaned Martin.

“Yeah,” said Tim. “Um. You need help with this one?”

“No, it’s fine, you can wait outside. I swear, she’s worse with the drama than Jonah,” said Martin, and headed right inside.

Jon saw no reason not to follow.

The door slammed shut behind them, and Jon jumped. “Tim’s really not coming?”

“He can’t flirt with her,” says Martin, “and she unnerves him, so he’ll stay outside.”

“Oh.”

“It’s all right. She won’t hurt you.”

“You have to allow me a little pageantry,” said a woman’s voice, and its owner stepped out of the web as if materializing.

Jon stared. He shook his head and stared again.

She was a spider, but she wasn’t. She was a woman, but she wasn’t.

She smiled.

Martin looked back and forth. “You okay, kid? You’re pale.”

“Yes,” said Jon.

“Thank you for bringing him to me,” said Annabelle. “Now, we can begin.”

“Begin?” said Martin. “What do you—”

And without warning, webbing moved all by itself, wrapping around Martin’s wrists and arms and waist, and lifting him off the ground.

Jon gasped.

“Pageantry,” said the woman again. “Hello, Jon. My name is Annabelle. We need to talk.”

chapter eight

#rusty quill big bang #rusty quill big bang 2023 #rqbb2023 #tma #tma fic #the magnus archives #magpod #magnuspod #tma au #the magnus archives au #tma spoilers #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #sasha james #jonah magnus #annabelle cane #tim stoker #this dark thing that sleeps in me

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jayarrarr · 1 year ago

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Jen’s Dating Chronicles: Installment the Seventh

I'm breaking a number of rules with this post. Broken rule the first is that I told myself when I started this series that I would only write installments about people once the "relationship" was over or had run its course, and that is most certainly not the case here. Broken rule the second is that I told myself with installment the sixth that I was done and I wasn't going to write any more of these, yet here we are. Broken rule the third is that I never give identifying details about any of the people I talk about in these posts, but said strict anonymity seems a bit past the point here, and especially given broken rule the first, and more especially given that the person I'm about to tell y'all about was once a member of the Tumblr Writing Community, such as it was way back in the day, and that makes anonymity seem silly and pointless, even more especially given that I have posted pics of myself with this person on this very blog. Three. That's three broken rules. Three is a number. So yeah. Sometimes there are people just sort of hanging out in the background of your life. That's not to say that you never talk to them, or that you don't consider them to be friends of a fashion, or that you've never shared any deep or thought-provoking or emotional content with each other—we read each other's writing, for fuck's sake. But things don't click until they do. We didn't meet on an app, at least not a dating app, and not unless you consider Tumblr a dating app (some of us do, tho, it seems—I've had more actual relationships through Tumblr than through Tinder or Bumble or any of the others that purport to shove people's faces in your face so you can find someone to play mate with). And we weren't strangers, not really, even though we'd never met in person. We started chatting about writing one day and that conversation became a conversation about something else that became a conversation about something else again and so on and that conversation has never really stopped since June 21 when it started. So maybe that explains why, on the first of July, we were on the phone and I jokingly intimated when we were six hours into what would become an all-night phone conversation, that rarest of breeds, that if I'd gotten in the car when we first started talking I'd be halfway to him by then. And we kinda laughed about it and it was kinda funny but also kinda not funny because it planted a seed in my mind and that seed grew immediately and had to be harvested pretty damn quick and that's when I said, "I'm driving to Houston tomorrow." And then I passed out on the phone. This is the sort of thing that happens when you're on the phone all night. And then I woke up at 11 a.m. and my first thought was, "Did I really just say I was driving to Houston tomorrow?" And after I'd determined that wasn't some sort of fever dream, I commenced to trying to talk myself out of driving 12 hours and I just couldn't come up with enough reasons not to. I really couldn't come up with any reasons not to, apart from the "driving 12 hours" part, because I don't know about you but that doesn't exactly sound like the best time. Although, if I'm honest, I was less concerned with the driving down and more concerned with the driving back. If things went well, the driving back would be bittersweet. If things didn't go well, the driving back would be annoying. Neither bittersweet nor annoying are pleasant. So basically there's no way that the driving back would be a good time, even if the driving there wasn't the best. And yet. So off I went on Sunday, and you know what? The drive wasn't all that bad. At some moments, it was even really fucking cool. Was it the best? Eh. And then I got here and ever since I got here everything has been amazing. Sometimes there are people just sort of hanging out in the background of your life. And then, one day, they move into the foreground and everything clicks and the world comes into focus like things are just a little brighter and a little sharper than you ever noticed them being before. But before I left I assured everyone I talked to about this venture that there was no way in hell my fucking ass was moving to fucking Houston. I'm allowed to be wrong. So that's where I'm at right now. Falling in love and moving to Houston. One thing I didn't see happening any time soon, the other thing I didn't see happening ever. But ain't that the beauty of it? Take a fucking risk sometimes just to see what happens. It might suck, but it might also be something grand.

And just in case you’re wondering what happened to the guy from Installment the Sixth—he lied to me. Don’t lie to me.

#JRRM #bloggy blog #dating chronicles #prose

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romantic-reveries · 2 years ago

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Just had a guy tell me he’s falling in love with me and like—is this what they mean by fuck around and find out?

It’s all so annoyingly serendipitous. He’s been weirdly good for me on the heels of B. He’s so verbally validating and affectionate. He’s this weird culmination of manifestations—I’d been wanting someone to fool around with who would dirty talk me straight out of my mind, and boom, there he was. It literally makes me feel drunk, and the orgasms? My god.

With B, we’d stay on the phone until we decided we were gonna sleep, and I would sometimes wish we could stay on the phone until we fell asleep—all night. Maybe wake up together. This one asked me to do that only a few days in. Something I’ve wanted—not specifically with B, but I did think about it with him—was one day with a partner, to read to each other. Read poetry or a book or something. And when B and I decided to have a two-person book club, I thought ‘maybe’. This one asked me if I wanted him to read to me within the first few nights, and recently, asked me to read to him. And he recited a poem to me from memory.

But he’s not what I would want for a relationship. Even if I weren’t still hung up on B, this one is so… emotionally tumultuous. I’ve worked so damn hard to heal and be better. I need a partner who is stable. I can’t fix someone, and I don’t want to have to. I deserve someone who has already done the fixing themselves. And this one tries—I have to give him that. He said part of what attracts him to me is that I’m so emotionally stable and level, which is… weirdly validating, but again, like a really weird fucking mirror of the situation with B. Like the other side of a coin, and now I’m the healthy one, observing myself in someone else’s body.

I went from wanting someone stable to being that to someone else. And this guy, he lives three hours further from me than B did, and yet he’s saying the drive is no big deal—that if we met, if we ended up dating, he’d come to me, or he’d come pick me up and bring me to stay with him for a week (which would be a 20 hour drive, all told, here and back twice.) That feels like an insane ask. Which, he just flew to Europe a few months ago to meet a girl he started dating online, so yeah, I guess—what’s five hours to him?

It’s just—so weirdly paralleled it’s fucking mind-boggling. And he reminds me a lot of me. A more unhealed version of me, with worse mood swings than I ever had, but the same struggles nonetheless. He even mentioned how he wants someone emotionally stable, which “maybe makes him sound like an asshole”, and maybe isn’t fair since he “has issues too” and I’ll be damned if that isn’t exactly what I’ve been thinking for myself lately. I even said as much to someone, that maybe it was unfair of me to feel that way since I have issues too, but I’ve worked so hard to heal.

And then I was talking with my grandma last night before bed, and I mentioned, realizing how much this guy likes me and I don’t feel insecure or anything except for the occasional moment when I suddenly feel very attached, how it’s all a perspective game based on old emotional patterns (unworthiness, mostly) that’s breeding those feelings of insecurity. It’s not about the other person, it’s about me. How I was drowning in it with B because I liked him so much it made me insecure and irrational. How I suddenly realized how much of what happened was kind of my fault for getting so in my head. Anyway, when I mentioned this guy having feelings for me, she said something to the effect of not wanting to lead him on, and I said I wasn’t, he knew how I felt, I’ve been very upfront, he’s even said he doesn’t know what he wants, etc etc.

Just to get on the phone with him and him drop that on me. The timing was uncanny.

I can’t help but feel like this was supposed to happen like this. Like I needed to learn from it, and I am.

I even had an insane epiphany about B after that conversation last night. I feel this sense of pattern more keenly than I ever have. I’ve often felt like a metaphorical ping pong ball, disorganized and bouncing all over the place. This is the first time it’s felt so methodical. Like there’s a method to this madness called life.

I realized with B, that while I thought I was being “realistic” about things in trying to keep myself safe, I actually was just running scared. I was feeling rejected and I wanted to cut things off before he could, because I felt so sure that he would. I didn’t feel good enough for him partly because I liked him so much (which always makes me insecure because it’s sort of putting someone on a pedestal), but also because he was so stable and put-together that it didn’t make sense to me for him to want me. I was afraid that if he changed his mind, having all of these great qualities that I admired, and knowing me probably better than anyone bar my grandma, that it would reaffirm that I wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t about him—it was about me. I’m accountable for my own feelings. But I made them his problem, and I assumed the worst of him based on past experiences with other people and that was excruciatingly unfair of me.

And I feel so light, realizing that. Because I haven’t really quite been able to flesh it out ‘til now. I knew I reacted how I did out of fear and because I didn’t feel good enough. But I couldn’t quite parse it out to that level and really understand it, and I do now, and it’s liberating and wonderful to know.

#2.23.23 #personal

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automatismoateo · 7 months ago

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Off My Chest: I Hate Christianity. Heres why. via /r/atheism

Off My Chest: I Hate Christianity. Here’s why. To be fair, I find all religions awful. Even Buddhism which gets a pass in our culture has some seriously disgusting beliefs (tldr kids with cancer deserve it). Yet Christianity seems to be the only religion in the USA which increasingly affects my day to day life. From my healthcare to where my tax dollars go. I grew up in this nonsense. I went through conversion therapy. Just learning about evolution in school was met with massive protests. Heck, I was even kidnapped by a church as a kid while being forced to hear the gospel. As I got older, I really wanted to get involved more in charity only to learn that most of the tax free churches basically did none. They’d get money to help with homelessness then didn’t. They’d get money for addiction programs and didn’t do anything except a “pray the addiction away program.” At one point I proposed a cooperative business to restore citizens with criminal records and I was told “it’s better to keep them materially poor so they can be spiritually rich.” This church (Xenos Christian Fellowship) later received a $1 million PPP loan which was also forgiven. What really separated me from the Christian church was doubt. Even at 5 years old I was filled with doubt. I’d be told to read some book and I did, but was always left wanting. I studied theology for I could enter church leadership and we’d talk about the more scary parts of the Bible: Old Testament genocide and infanticide. Now we’d write off genocide as the murdered having deserved it, but infants? What did they do? Well there’s two answers: god can do what we want (but this also implies he’s a dick sending a lot of people to hell) or the more accepted answer: those kids were killed before the age of responsibility and thus got a pretty nice gift. Of course when 2016 rolled around and my church backed Trump because he would undo roe v wade, I had to ask: why? Wouldn’t it make more sense for abortion to keep happening to spare those lives? Hell we should be rounding kids now! Just as you’d put a suffering animal out of its misery, we could save multitudes from eternal damnation. The big problem with doubt in the Christian church is that at a certain point they make it a character issue: this doubt isn’t legitimate because you’ve been deceived by satan. Nevermind gods hands off attitude when being deceived by the second most intelligent creature around… it’s an escape hatch for religious leaders without answers. My question had me speaking with so many religious leaders and they couldn’t use the “deceived” logic. The calculus is self-evident. They’d just say “look you have to believe! What else is there?” Nothing. And that’s okay. I hate having given so much of my life to this religion, I go to therapy and it helps. However, none of this made me hate Christianity. It gives people comfort. You do you boo! Hell I’m not consumed with hate when they get loans that are forgiven. But over the last decade I’ve built a wonderful life for myself that doesn’t involve Christianity, but day by day that’s encroached upon arbitrarily. My healthcare. My freedom of speech and thought. There’s double standards in almost every aspect of my life. You can take my money and get your tax breaks, but let me have my damn autonomy. Haven’t you had enough? I hate Christianity. Truly. And I hate the idiotic Christians I have to encounter day to day. And it’s not because Satan corrupted me You really are just that insufferable. We could just leave each other alone, but here we are. Submitted April 02, 2024 at 08:42PM by TheKimulator (From Reddit https://ift.tt/X26aycl)

#reddit

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hannahsmusings · 1 year ago

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*~ new plot. again. ~*

*I had to be dreaming, I had to be in one of those hyper realistic dreams where you’re not sure if you’re awake or asleep, I just had to be* *I just got done with office hours with my advisor, we were discussing the tutoring program that I was part of that I loved for the most part, except now, now I wanted to do literally anything else with my time except being part of this tutoring program* *she had just given me my new tutoree since it was a month into term and I nearly told her ‘no’ straight up when she told me my new tutoree’s name, Anthony Clayton* *it was a name I hadn’t heard in four years but a name I used to hear every single day, it was the name of my childhood best friend, the person I spent every day with from the age of 3 up until we were 17 when he got super cool and really good at sports and I went the exact opposite way* *I was trying my best to do some breathing exercises on my way to my dorm; I knew he went to this school, we applied to this school together when we were 16, me staying up until 5am with him, helping him write his admission essay, neither of us wanting to be separated, we both got in and we were so damn happy back then when we were under the delusion that we’d be friends forever and ever and ever* *now we were two perfect strangers, we didn’t even follow one another on social media, we ran in two different circles and luckily this university was so huge that we never crossed paths - I was on course for med school, studying to be a physical therapist, where he was studying something but more so probably focused on going pro, he always was such a great athlete, being 'all brawn and no brains’ according to himself* *I had felt safe here until now when I was faced with the reality that I’d be spending 2 to 3 days a week with my ex-best friend, in a quiet library, just us, for an hour* *I couldn’t lie that a jolt of sadness had rushed through me when my advisor said that he was already so far behind and failing, and this class was just one of many, but if he didn’t get at least a C he would be held back and not allowed to graduate, this being a core class that he needed and it wasn’t his first time taking it* *I remembered all the late nights I spent with him while he struggled through schoolwork, him always taking longer than others when reading a simple paragraph in a book, having a difficult time with sentence structure when writing a paper, I hated knowing that those issues had followed him here, wondering if he had accepted any other help throughout the years, assuming not since he was in this predicament now, the thought of him just shrugging off schoolwork making my blood boil just slightly* *I walk back to my dorm, saying hi to my roommates before heading into my single bedroom, closing the door behind me and leaning against it, letting out a heavy sigh, not sure how I was supposed to prepare to seeing Anthony Clayton in the flesh tomorrow for the first time in four years*

__________________________________________________

*after class I’d gone to the gym, needing to burn off some frustration after the conversation with my lecturer, him somehow managing to make me feel more stupid than I already felt, forcing me to enrol in the student tutoring program in order to get my grades up, hating to admit to anyone I was struggling and needed help but I had no choice, I couldn’t fail this class and lose my scholarship, I needed to keep my grades up to have any chance of becoming pro, hockey having been integral to my personality since I was a young teen, not sure who I’d be without it* *I wasn’t ready to tell some stranger about my struggles with reading and writing, hating to call it dyslexia as that made me feel so stupid, the idea of having to struggle in front of someone made me frustrated all over again* *I work up a sweat, finally feeling better as I head back to my dorm, heading to my bedroom and throwing my stuff onto the bed as I begin to undress to shower as my phone buzzes, seeing it was an email from my professor with the tutor pairings, groaning and opening it up as I look for my name* *my eyes widen as my gaze locks onto a name, a name so familiar it stuns me for a moment, sitting down on my bed with my shirt half off as I re-read your name once more* Huh. *mumbles, grinning as I read ‘Renee Coppola’ over again, so confused as I knew you went to the same university as we’d applied together all those years ago but we’d lost touch, you seeming to have drifted off and focused on academics and we’d just parted ways, wondering whether this was you or just another girl with the same name, chuckling a little at how the universe worked in mysterious ways and suddenly not feeling so bad about this whole tutoring thing, knowing you’d had plenty experience when we were kids and I struggled, figuring this would be a nice way to get back in to touch as we’d been best friends, joined at the hip and I didn’t know what had happened, wanting to be at that point again* *scrolls through the email and see’s it had arranged meetings with the tutors for tomorrow, grinning to myself as I allow myself to think over all those happy moments from when we were kids, you and your home being such a safe space for me and I’d had moments of missing you over the years but I just figured this was what you’d wanted and we’d grown out of each other*

#renee plot

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dycefic · 3 years ago

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Have An Evil Day

No prompt this time, just a sequel to ‘Welcome To Evil-Mart’

Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a fun job.

But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.

I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it. They didn’t give me any trouble.

I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.

I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.

We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.

I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.

And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.

“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”

He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.

“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”

He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”

“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”

“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”

He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”

“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”

He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.

About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”

Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”

“Biohazard.”

“Oh. Class three?”

“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”

He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”

“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”

He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”

I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.

We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.

I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)

By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.

“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”

“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”

“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”

“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.

“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”

“Sir, I know you’re not – “

“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”

I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”

Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”

Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”

I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”

“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”

I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”

“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”

“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.

“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”

Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”

“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”

I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.

It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.

“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”

Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”

Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”

“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”

“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”

Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”

“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”

He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”

“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”

He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”

“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.

I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”

“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”

Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”

Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.

She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”

Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”

“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”

He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”

“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”

Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”

“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”

“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.

“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”

He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”

“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”

He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”

“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”

Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”

“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”

Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”

“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”

He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”

We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”

He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”

“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”

“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”

“A union? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”

“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”

“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”

“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”

His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”

There was a long pause.

“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.

“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”

We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”

“You want me to join the bad guys?”

“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”

“That’s a regular concern?”

“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”

“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”

“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “

Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”

“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”

Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.

Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.

But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.

Have an evil day!

#welcome to Evil Mart #good is not just good #evil is not just evil #people are complicated #and so is retail #tw graphic #tw gore #tw violence #tw murder #it's a supervillain story #supervillain shit happens #you are now warned

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mercy-burning · 3 years ago

Text

Good Little Helper

Pairing: Season 5! Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader gets assigned to be Spencer’s personal assistant of sorts after he gets shot in the knee. Category: SMUT(18+) Content Warnings: fingering (female receiving), blowjob, praise kink, dirty talk, blink and you’ll miss it cumplay Word Count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: So, remember yesterday when I posted about how I wished new ideas would stop distracting me from everything I’m currently working on? Yeah. This wouldn’t leave me alone, and I couldn’t work on anything until I got it out of my head, so here! Have a fic! (It was supposed to be a blurb, but I got a little long-winded so now it’s too long to be a blurb oops 😙✌) Also, I apologize for any editing mistakes, I just wrote this out in one go, so hopefully it’s alright!

***

Being assigned to assist Dr. Reid with practically his every need after he was shot in the knee wasn't exactly how I expected to spend the past few months.

And that's, like... a huge understatement.

In fact, when Agent Hotchner came up to me in the break room and said he'd like me to do the job, I dropped my coffee and shattered a mug. I could tell he was a little impatient with me, even through his kind reassurances that it was quite all right as he helped me clean it up and waited for an answer.

In the end I'd said yes to the job, though the more I thought about it the more I wondered how much lust and naivete had clouded my judgement when I did.

Because there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to survive weeks, possibly months, as Spencer Reid's assistant. Not only because he was intimidatingly intelligent and there was almost nothing I could offer him in decent conversation, but also—and more prominently—the fact that I was pretty sure I was in love with him.

Maybe that was a stretch. I definitely had a stupid major crush on him that felt more like we were in middle school, but I could barely look at him without going warm all over. In fact, I think we had only ever made eye contact once and I averted my gaze immediately, afraid I'd give myself away. If I'd have held it any longer, I was positive I'd have burst into flames.

He'd tried talking to me once, a few months after I started working at the Bureau, and it was only to ask if I'd send some files over to their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia, but when I tried answering, I stumbled over my words and ended up only getting out a squeaked, "Uh huh," before taking the files from him and scurrying off.

I almost cried that day.

Basically every time I was in his presence, I was a total wreck. Even more so than I was on any other given day.

Being his assistant did get fairly easy pretty early on, though. I mostly just stayed out of his way while he worked, and if he need anything that he could've gotten himself if not for the injury, it was my job to get it for him. I worked on my own paperwork most of the time, and he was always busy working on geographical profiles and whatever else, we only ever really had to talk when he asked for something. And that only required a, "Sure," on my end, so I could just get up, get what he needed, and then go back to work.

Still, it didn't help that sometimes I'd get distracted.

He was very distracting.

I usually waited until I was sure he was so busy in work that I wouldn't get caught. And that's when I'd peek over my computer or hide behind a book and stare at him. I know that sounds creepier than it is, but if you had to spend almost every hour of the day with him, you'd have done the same. Even though for months he was put on rest from the field, he always showed up looking more like a college professor than an FBI agent. Which, I suppose suited him more anyway. Regardless, it was a damn fine look. His hair was decently long and extremely pretty, and when he got the cane?

I was a goner.

It was at that point, though, when I started to realize that he probably wouldn't need my help anymore. He'd been allowed back into the filed by then, and even when I went with them on cases it still felt like I was more out of place than usual. Sure, I'd picked up on some minor skills that aided in profiling and otherwise, but at the end of the day I was still only a desk clerk. Sooner or later, I knew there would be a time where Agent Hotchner would inevitably tell me that I'd done a good job and could return to my menial day job.

So, even though Dr. Reid and I had gotten into a pretty regular, non-awkward rhythm, I was being a little more squirrely than usual.

And of course, he noticed.

"Y/N, are you doing alright?" he asked, looking up from his stack of paperwork. That was another thing we'd ended up doing— late into the night after everyone had gone home, we stayed late in the conference room and quietly filled out paperwork.

I barely looked him in the eye when I answered. "O—Oh, mhm. I'm fine."

"Oh... You just seem... a little different today."

On any other day I would have freaked out on the inside like a teenager, excited that he'd noticed me at all enough to notice a difference in my behavior. But that was his job after all.

"Actually, you seem rather... sad."

I did look up at him this time, and the soft glow of the table lamp lit up his features— features that looked me over with concern. I could feel my face grow warmer with every second I looked at him, until I quickly looked back down at my paper and shook my head.

"N—No, I'm okay. Promise. Just a little tired, that's all."

Usually he would have left it at that, given we didn't ever really have longer conversations than that that didn't pertain to whatever case the BAU was working on. But he pushed further, and I swallowed.

"Are you sure? Because... You can tell me if there's something wrong. I'm a good listener..."

Did I dare tell him what was really plaguing me? That I was scared I wasn't going to be able to spend time with him every day, thus most likely giving away my crush? That is, if he hadn't already figured it out by this point... Truthfully it wouldn't have surprised me.

The thought made me go warm again, and still, I kept my head down.

"I'm sure..."

And then I did something I probably shouldn't have. I looked back up at him, just a quick glance, but under his intense gaze I crumbled, flitting my eyes back down and playing with my hands.

"Is it... because of me?"

Afraid suddenly that I'd made him feel bad, I straightened a little. "No! No, not at all I... Um... I—I guess I'm just... A little sad that I'm probably... not going to be of any help to you anymore. You know, now that you're healing up."

A small smile flashed over his face, and I inwardly melted.

"Oh... In that case I... I guess I'm sad, too."

"Really?" I asked softly, my heart jumping.

"Mhm," he answered back in earnest. His features were softer than they'd ever been, eyes wide and kind, smile inviting... "You've been a great help. And you're fun to be around."

I couldn't help but smile shyly at his confession, completely bewildered that he'd think of me as someone he'd enjoyed being around, though I'd offered just about nothing interesting to any conversation we'd had. "Y—You don't mean that..."

"I do."

"C'mon, really? I... I—mean... coming from you that's... that's too generous."

He laughed a little. "How do you mean?"

"I... Well, y—you're you... I mean, you're... smart, and nice, and cu— uh,... n—nice..." I stumbled hard on that last one, squeezing my eyes shut at the thought of almost calling him cute to his face... And then I realized I'd called him nice two times... in a row.

I hadn't even realized he'd gotten up and walked over to me until I felt his cane gently tap my leg. I jumped, looking up at him and almost crumbled again right then and there. He stood over me, tall and clearly amused, and I wanted to just curl up and hide where no one would ever find me.

I also didn't want to be craning my neck so far up to see him, so I stood up, sending my chair rolling back a foot or two. The added height was better, but he was still fiarly taller than me, and with the way were standing so close to each other?

Maybe I'd made a mistake...

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered.

Still amused, Spencer tilted his head a small amount. "What for?"

"I... I don't know, m—making this awkward?"

"It's not awkward."

"It... It's not?"

He shook his head, quiet for a few beats before he nearly whispered. "What were you going to say?"

I paused. "I... What?"

"Before... You said I was smart. And nice... And... What else?"

It sounded like he was trying to get me to confess something, and quite honestly I couldn't tell if it was for humiliation or amusement or clarification purposes. I mean, it was probably safe to assume he wouldn't go out of his way to humiliate me, but... it still made me nervous.

"I—I didn't... I..."

"Y/N... Tell me?"

I'd been cornered. Quite literally, too, as my lower back hit the edge of the table. My hands shook anxiously at my sides as I contemplated what to say. The truth? Embarrassing for me. A lie? I was no good at telling lies, and I'd still end up embarrassed, because he'd be able to tell.

So, after a very long silence in which he waited on me to answer, I blurted out, as quietly as possible, "Cute."

The word sounded juvenile coming from my mouth. Right now, standing under Dr. Reid's intense scrutiny, it didn't even feel like the right word to describe him. Not that it wasn't true... But it just wasn't an elegant enough descriptor for him.

And that alone probably proved just how different we were. How out of my league he was...

"That's what I thought you were going to say," he mused, slightly breaking me out of my self-deprecation.

I would have asked him something then, anything to keep myself from looking like even more of a fool with a childish schoolgirl crush, but all words escaped me entirely. All I could do was look up at him, slowly growing warm under the intensity of his eyes and praying he wouldn't think of me as silly.

Though, it wouldn't have mattered, because he kept talking anyway, his body taking up even more space around me as his arms came around to well and truly trap me against the table.

"You're right, you know... I'm almost completely healed, and pretty soon I think I won't need an assistant anymore."

I was scared that maybe I was wrong before, and he'd actually humiliate me now, though the look in his eyes suggested otherwise. I wasn't sure what to make of all of it. SO I just stood there, trying to breath steadily as Spencer studied my face.

"And I meant it... That makes me sad. You know why?"

I shook my head, afraid to make a sound.

His head dipped lower, close enough that I could feel his breath on my mouth as he spoke. "I probably won't get to see you every day."

"Y—you want to see me?" I couldn't help but ask.

He scanned my eyes, amusement and something else lingering there as he did. "Yes."

And then he kissed me.

It was a short distance, but it felt like we went far. And I hadn't even registered that I whimpered into his mouth until he returned it with a low groan that boiled my insides and absolutely melted me. I was helpless against him as he pressed himself further against me and used his hands to keep my back steady.

The whole time my mind was swimming with dizziness. It felt like my body was covered in butterflies from head to toe, particularly strong where his hands pressed into me and his cane rested firmly along the inside of my thigh.

I leaned forward when he pulled away, because I was afraid that he was saying goodbye. But one of his hands came up to my face and my eyes fluttered open, immediately taking notice of how messy his hair was now that I'd had my fingers in it.

I must have looked scared, because suddenly his eyes changed, and he removed his hands away from me altogether, putting distance in between us. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you without asking..."

The relief that rushed through my body must have gotten to my head, because I breathed out a demand I'd never have had the courage to get out before.

"Do it again."

One second I was staring at him, admittedly afraid that he'd regretted all of it, and the next I was seeing stars as he came forward and kissed me again. His hands cradled my face as he did so, coming on to me with gentle care while still maintaining that hunger that surprised and excited me.

I hadn't realized how much I missed his touch until he'd given it back to me, my body once again melting into him and allowing him to do whatever it is that pleased him.

Apparently that was lifting my leg off the ground and making me sit on the table.

My body went along with it easily, and I was glad for it because my brain was nothing but mush, unable to process fully how he'd decided that I was worth kissing. All I really knew was that I wanted him. Anything he wanted from me, I was willing to give. And that must have come across very clearly, because when he pulled away and spoke to me, I whimpered at his words.

"Y/N... You've been such a good girl, helping me with whatever I needed these past few months..." Meanwhile his hand danced along the hem of my skirt, the tiny brushes of his skin against mine sending me into a mess of shivers.

"I think it's about time I've thanked you for all your help, don't you think?"

The implications in his tone made me whine again, and I pressed my forehead into his, our noses brushing as I answered. "Please."

I was so taken by the way he groaned as his lips connected with mine once more that I almost didn't realize that his hand was now fully up my skirt, his fingers drawing gentle lines over my panties and practically making me melt again. His hungry kisses contradicted the softness he took to my clothed cunt, a fact that warmed me to my core and made me want him more than ever.

When he slipped the fabric aside and ran the pad of his finger through me, I whined hard against his mouth, something that must have excited him— He nipped at my bottom lip and took a deep breath.

"How long have you wanted this, Princess?"

If not for the kissing and the finger slowly sliding up through my arousal, the nickname would have done me in. By now I was an utter wreck, but I somehow still managed to answer, even through a little stammering. "F—Forever."

It was the best I could come up with.

He breathed a laugh as his finger circled my clit. "That's a long time..."

"Uh huh," was all I could manage in response. My body and my brain were too focused on the things his finger was doing to my body, involuntarily rolling my hips forward for more. I needed more.

Thankfully he picked up on my urgency and reciprocated with slipping his middle finger inside me, one knuckle, then two...

I cried out as my head lurched forward, connecting our mouths once again. My hands clutched around his neck and my fingers tugged at his hair to keep myself from falling, because the slow, searing pace at which he fingered me made me wonder how I'd still been able to breathe.

He added another finger soon enough, picking up the pace and rendering me practically useless in his embrace. Meanwhile I registered the sound of his own little whines, still deeper than mine but little enough to tip me off that he was enjoying this just as much as I was, and that alone helped get me further along in pleasure.

I pulled my mouth from his reluctantly, squeezing my eyes shut as I allowed my forehead to rest against his. "D—Doctor, I'm c... I'm so close."

"His honorific falling breathlessly from my mouth seemed to do something sinister to him, because his fingers sped up and his breathing got heavier.

"Yeah? You gonna come for me, Princess?"

My stomach tightened and I nodded as best as I could, relishing in the sounds coming from below us, wet and downright filthy.

"Go ahead...Be a good girl and come for me... You deserve it..."

Each little sentence was punctuated with a slightly faster pace, each one bringing me closer and closer until I squeaked into his mouth and shook violently around his fingers, my vision going white. My legs had been open wide since he'd started teasing under my skirt, but now they threatened to clamp shut from the intensity. But I wanted nothing more than to be good for him, to make this as easy as possible, so I held out and kept them open as wide as I could stand as my orgasm rocked through me.

Spencer whispered praises into my skin as his hand slowed and his mouth trailed down to my neck. And even though it was more than nice feeling him lick and bite over my skin, I felt rather sad when he removed his fingers from me.

That sadness didn't last long though, not when he pulled back and studied me for a moment, eyes lust-blown and purely ravenous before he brought his glistening fingers up to my mouth.

I didn't even have to think. I brought my tongue out and let him slip his fingers over it, closing my mouth around them and sighing as I sucked them clean. This only seemed to excite him more, his features displaying all sorts of desperation until he couldn't take it anymore.

He kissed me again, bringing both his hands to rest at my waist. And with his hands so low I wondered if maybe he'd take to ridding himself of his own pants, but it never happened. Rather, he pulled away after minutes of more kissing, and sighed quite sadly as his upper body pressed firmly into mine.

Something else pressed firmly against me as well—right along the inside of my thigh—and I gasped, mind running wild through all the possible outcomes of the night.

But Spencer only stood there, occasionally nudging his nose against mine while his hands gently kneaded my sides.

"D—Do you want to stop?" I asked softly, afraid he'd regret what we did.

He proved me wrong. "God, no... It's... It's just that I'm still not cleared enough for any... strenuous activity on my leg, and I don't..."

I didn't want to push him, obviously, but I thought I could make the mood a little lighter. "O—Oh, well on the bright side... I could stay your assistant for a while longer."

The laugh that rumbled in his throat made me smile, though from the way he stood there, I knew he wouldn't risk it.

"Um... Raincheck?" he whispered.

On the one hand, that meant he definitely wanted to see me again, and I was more than happy with that. But also, that meant our fun for the night was done...

Yet... Maybe not...

"Sure," I answered, pecking his lips once more. Then I brought my hand to his chest and slid it down until I reached his belt, and I leaned back to look him in the eye, a boldness I never imagined coming from me in a million years.

"But I can still help you..."

I watched the desperation and disappointment in his features slowly dissolve into a newfound hunger—and an amusement—that grew my confidence tenfold.

"Oh?" Spencer mused. "How do you suppose you can help me this time?"

He wanted me to say it. So, without second guessing myself anymore, I grazed my finger over his erection. "I'm very good with my mouth, Dr. Reid."

He grabbed me by the hand then, dragging me along to the chair I'd kicked back before and sat himself down, one of his hands still gripping the cane. Matched with the desire in his eyes and the swollenness of his lips and the tousled strands of his hair, the sight was truly something to behold. It was something that only ever existed in my dreams, nd now it was real.

Not wanting to waste any time, I sunk to my knees and nestled myself in between his legs. He reached out and caressed my cheek before lifting my chin with his middle finger.

"You like being my good little helper?" he drawled.

I tried to nod, but he clicked his tongue and held my chin in place. "Words, Princess."

"Yes. I—I'd do anything you asked. Anything you want, it's yours..."

He hummed then, removing his hand from my face and moving to undo his belt swiftly with only one hand. The action, the sound, everything... it was enough to make me wet again, and I subtly ground down onto the heel of my foot as I watched him pull himself free from the confines of his pants.

I didn't have time to marvel at him before I was drawn forward like a magnet, my hands crawling up his legs and my eyes batting up at him, ready and eager to please him however he wanted.

"Eager, are we?" he mused once more, gently stroking himself with his hand.

"Yes, Doctor," I breathed, inching closer and kissing the outside of his hand.

His movement stopped then, and it didn't take longer than a second for him to decide to let me work on my own.

"Then have at it, Princess..."

I started by kissing my way up the length of him, taking my time to gauge his reactions as I did so, occasionally darting my tongue out to taste him. Once I reached the tip, I sucked on it gently, using my tongue to swirl around it until I could taste the saltiness of his precum.

And then I started taking him slowly into my mouth, watching above me as Spencer's eyes started to shut, obviously debating whether or not to lay back and enjoy this or watch me intently.

Either way, I was more than happy to keep it up, finally getting him to the back of my throat. I flexed my tongue and held him there as long as I could, promptly gagging over him and blinking tears from my eyes as he let out a loudest sound I'd heard from him yet. His head flew back and his tongue quivered along his bottom lip as he cursed my name.

The act made me proud, so I retreated for air, sucked at his tip again for a few seconds, and then repeated it, taking him down my throat again and watching through teary eyes as he visibly swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so... Such a good fucking girl..."

The praise caused my insides to burn hot, and I ground down onto my heel again, lifting my mouth to start bobbing up and down.

His eyes opened then, and he looked down at me, using his hand to brush stray hair from my face and the other to grip onto his cane for dear life. I looked up at him the whole time, making sure to convey through not only my actions but also my eyes that I loved this. I thrived off of his praise, I enjoyed the feel of his dick gliding over my tongue and hitting the back of my throat, and I longed to feel him coat the inside of my mouth with his release.

I was so entirely into him in every capacity, it wasn't even funny.

I was so glad he could tell, a smile grazing his features as his hand gently gripped some of my hair. "So eager to please, Princess... And so fucking good at delivering..."

I whined onto his dick as he held me down, rendering me immobile. The only thing I could do was look up at him and choke, and of course, I was more than happy to do it. In turn, I was met with a deep groan and a tug of the hair.

"Hold it, hold it... Atta girl..."

My cunt throbbed at his words, and my throat continued to burn, tears falling down my face at ten-speed until finally, he let up and pulled me off of him.

I coughed a little and blinked away tears as I caught my breath, Spencer's fingers combing hair from my face as he smiled proudly.

He didn't even need to say anything then. I wanted to give him more. So I leaned down again and took him in my mouth, quickly making work of his tip while my hand came up and stroked the rest of him.

"Fuck, Princess, just like that... Make me come just like that..."

Rather than just continuing, I offered him a high whine and a wide gaze, hoping to exceed expectations.

I guess it worked, because he came right then, his dick pulsing over my tongue and in my hand as his warm release shot down my throat and over my tongue. I hummed around him, fluttering my eyes closed at the taste and the feeling, probably enjoying the fact that I'd done this to him more than I should have.

It was worth it to see the look on his face, though, after he'd given me all he had and I purposely spit some of it out onto the tip of his dick so I could lick it up and give him just a little more stimulation after the fact. His mouth hung open, eyes heavy and unwilling to leave me, even as I finished and sat back to wipe the tears and saliva from my face with a satisfied smile.

Though, the longer he looked at me, the more shy I became. Funny when I'd just had his dick down my throat, but I'd never been good with people staring at me for long periods of time.

"Was that... Was that okay?" I asked, suddenly worried I hadn't done something to his standards. "I know I don't do this a lot, so I'm sorry if it wasn't that g—"

"Y/N..."

I blinked up at him, still on my knees and unwilling to move. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn't even if I had.

"That was fucking perfect... I meant it, you're... so good."

I knew he was capable of better words, but after having the life sucked out of you, I could imagine 'better words' were hard to come by. Still, I laughed a little, playing with the hem of my skirt. "Good. I'm... glad I could help."

He smiled at me, readjusting his pants and then moving to help me off the ground.

"Hey, uh... Even when you go back to your regular job after I get better, I... I hope you know you're always welcome to come visit me if we're not busy."

The words warmed me in a different way, my heart swelling as well. "You... You mean that?"

Spencer nodded, grabbing my hand and dragging his thumb over my wrist. "Of course. I mean, you're more than just a good helper, you know. You're also kind, and smart, and cute..."

I laughed at his emphasis on cute, heat warming my face. "Ha-ha..."

"I really mean it, though," he said softly, removing his hand from mind and bringing it up to lift my chin, so I'd meet his eyes. They were swimming with sincerity, the epitome of warmth and comfort and kindness— the kind that always drew me to him in the first place. "And... If you'd want to maybe ditch the paperwork one day and grab a coffee or something, maybe—"

"Yes," I interrupted without thinking. My heartbeat picked up upon seeing the look in his eyes when I agreed, a mixture of amusement and relief. "Y—Yes, I'd love to."

"Good. Then it's a date?"

"Definitely."

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